My Wonderful Job

Melissa S.

My first day working at [a liquor store in Central Texas] was quite an experience. I had worked in this type of environment before when I was working for 7-11, but this was different. I was in my hometown, and after 12 years of living there I was seeing a whole different side of the people of this town. I have had my good times and bad with these customers. There are days I laugh, and joke with them. Then there are days that I am just being a bitch, and I want to kick some of them. I have done some spiteful things such as throwing a pint of cheap whiskey at this old lady because she threw her money at me. Even though they drive me crazy sometimes, I really do love my job.

Somehow I have managed to bond with my silly customers. It is very common around the store to be greeted with a friendly hug. The hugs are nice as long as it is not one of the little old men trying to get fresh with me; however, normally one threat of telling his wife will stop the "freshness" forever. With other customers it is a common practice to exchange the most current jokes we have heard. It has almost become a silent competition to see who can come up with the best jokes. One little lady, who pulls through the drive through about every three weeks, always has a joke for me. Some may say she is childish, but I think her jokes are funny. My customers all fall into one of the following categories: habitual drunkards, cowboys, hypocrites, and alcoholics.

My most frequent customers are the two well-known town drunks, Ms. Naples [name changed] & Mr. Potter [name changed]. I see these two individuals at least once a day, but that is only when their money is tight. I normally see them two or three times a day. They will buy anywhere between a half pint (200 ml), and a half gallon (1.75L) of either Kentucky Deluxe Whiskey, or Rikaloff Vodka. Ms. Naples commonly refers to me as "little bitch", so the day that she pulled up to the drive through window and said" hi, sweetheart." I about fell on the floor. As soon as she left, I called my boss in the hospital, and told her what had happened. She laughed hysterically, and then got onto me for making her laugh because it hurt!

Mr. Potter tells everyone that will listen to him that I am his girlfriend. I know that I have never said one thing to lead him to believe this. All I can think is that I am the only one that is nice to him. He really is a kind-hearted man, but he has made many poor choices in his life. Because of his struggles with alcoholism and his failure after several trips to rehab, he has lost all of those who used to care about him. He has been given up on. Up until the end of February I thought he was in his sixties, but then I found out the truth. This man is only 49. He is barely older than my parents. He had a son, a wife, loving parents, brothers, sisters, and nieces and nephews until 2000 when he relapsed after his fourth trip to rehab. They all gave up, and disowned him. He is now living in a tent in someone's yard. He tries to do odd jobs on the side, and that is the money that he uses for his booze. If he runs out of money, he bums money from people. I often have to threaten to call the police on him for being publicly intoxicated and harassing my customers. He is a really nice guy when he is sober, but very annoying at times. Many people will not come close to him because he does not shower often. He smells like booze, and he is constantly bumming things off others. The next time he asks me for a cigarette and gets mad because I only give him one, Mr. Potter might have a harsh reality coming to him!

Besides my little drunks, I have many pleasant customers as well. Several regular customers come in daily for beer. Most of them just buy a single beer or two, but others purchase any where between a 6-pack and an 18-pack daily. I do know that many of them don't drink all of the beer they buy themselves, because I have questioned the larger daily purchases of some. A very common answer is that beer is just a part of life for the hard working rancher. I have lived in Central Texas for the past 19 years and have failed to realize how many ranches and farms are actually still in this region. About 300 dollars a day in my sales can be counted on by just these hard-working men and women that drink beer as a part of their evening winding down routine.

And then there are the hypocrites. It kills me selling beer and liquor to these people who told me constantly that alcohol was of the devil. I now know that they were hiding their personal lives when they told me this less than five years ago. I went to church all through high school at a Pentecostal church in Lampasas. The church was very against many of the things that I did as a teenager, including drinking. I know that these select people still belong to that church, and come in at least once a week to buy HARD liquor. I cannot look at the members of that church body the same anymore.

We sell mostly single bottles of liquor, but we also sell liquor by the case and offer a discount to purchase it in this manner. One couple purchases a case of whiskey a week. And many others buy a case either bi-weekly, or monthly. This has been a practice for so long that my boss knows by heart exactly what week each customer will be in to purchase [a] case. There is no feeling like the feeling that overwhelms you selling a case of whiskey each week to an old man that is too weak to even carry one bottle himself. It makes me wonder if the whiskey is what is keeping him alive.

An artist, who lives in town, also frequently buys wine by the case. I have not ever questioned her about it, because she won't speak to the lowly life form of a clerk. These are the words she uses when she talks about me to our manager. All I do know for sure about her is that she does wonderful artwork, and she always appears drunk when I see her around town. I have noticed that since I have been working at the liquor store I have begun to drink more frequently. I used to drink rather heavily, but had gotten to where I barely drank at all. Now I have at least a glass of wine before bed. On the weekends I have gone back to my trusty old tequila based margaritas or my tasty Malibu rum and coke. I don't drink to get drunk, but to relax. When I am too stressed to even do my homework, a nice glass of wine will normally do. When I am extremely stressed, like during midterms, sometimes I feel that I need something a little stronger. This is not a good habit, and it frightens me that I might one day turn into Mr. Potter, or Ms. Naples, or even Mr. Underwood [name changed]. Mr. Underwood owns the liquor store, but . . [he] stays home almost always, for he is on dialysis.

I love my job because I have had the opportunity to see friends from high school that I would not have run into otherwise. I hear jokes, mostly funny, but sometimes crude. Most of my customers treat me as if I am their friend. If they have had a hard day, are making a difficult decisions, or just need someone to listen they know that I am there and will lend them an ear anytime. I have become more than a clerk to them, I am dear to them. Many were saddened to find out that I am moving to Dallas in August to finish college at a 4-year university. A few of them even got a little teary eyed. I will miss them all even my little drunks that drive me crazy sometimes. I truly love my customers.