Disclaimer – Any resemblance of the characters in the story below to real people – alive, dead, or otherwise – is coincidental.
A Lesson in
Buying Beer
It was the Saturday before Super Bowl Sunday, and I had just
finished my final shopping before the big game. I paid the super market cashier
and lifted the three 12-packs of beer, one at a time, from the counter and set
them into my shopping cart. I was about to wheel the cart toward the door when
an unfamiliar voice behind me said, “hey, mon, you think you got enough beer to get you through the
first half of the Super Bowl game?” I turned to see a short, stocky man who was
probably somewhere between 50 and 80 years old heave a 12-pack of beer onto the
counter. Before I could respond to his question, the man said, “I know you’re
okay because you drink good beer.” He pointed a finger at the beer in my cart,
and asked, “How long you been drinking Old
“Dam,” I thought to myself, “this man
is one talking machine” and I wondered if he had a switch to turn him off. But
I replied politely, “no, but thank you anyway. Sounds too complicated for me;
I’d never figure out whether I won. Besides, after I drink all this beer, I
won’t even remember who played in the game, or what the final score was – let
alone what the scores were at the end of the quarters.”
“You won’t have
to worry,” the man said. “Just give me twenty dollars and write your name and phone
number in a blank square. I’ll call you if you win any money.”
“Yeah, I bet
you would,” I thought to myself. “This man’s got a lot more smarts that I gave
him credit for.”
The cashier, a
woman in her forties or fifties who was wearing large dark-rimmed glasses, a
reddish-colored wig, and too much makeup, had rung up the man’s beer on her
register and was standing there waiting to finish her transaction with him.
“Sir,” she asked, “do you plan to purchase that can of coffee in your cart?”
“No, cashier-lady, I don’t plan to
purchase no coffee,” the man replied to the cashier, without turning to look at
her.
“Excuse me,” the cashier shot back,
“but if you don’t plan to purchase the coffee, I’ll get somebody to put it back
on the shelf.”
“Just leave the
can in the cart,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
The cashier
pressed some buttons on her register and sang out, “that’ll be seven dollars
and eighty eight cents, sir”
The man spoke to me again: “Like I
said, you don’t need to know exactly how the pool works because I’ll call and
let you know if you win any money.”
“Sir,” the cashier said, raising her
voice; “your bill is seven dollars and eighty eight cents.”
“Okay!” the man
said, turning around to face the cashier; “don’t get hot
under the collar. I’m ready to pay up.” He took the coffee can from the
shopping cart and set it on the counter. “How much did you say I owe?”
“Seven dollars
and eighty eight cents, without the price of the coffee,” she replied.
“That’s it then,
because, like I said, I don’t plan to buy no coffee,” the man said as he began
to pick at the plastic lid that covered the top of the can.
“Sir, you’ll have to pay for the
coffee if you open the can,” the cashier said.
“I don’t think so,” the man said. At
that point the plastic lid popped off the can, rolled around on the counter and
then fell flat on the counter.
“What’s that in
the can?” the cashier asked, bending over to get a closer look at the can’s
contents.
“It’s money,”
the man said. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like a
can of loose pennies,” she retorted.
“Okay, so it’s
loose pennies,” the man said, “but it’s still money.”
“And you expect
to pay your bill with seven hundred and eighty eight loose pennies?”she asked.
“With seven dollars and eighty eight cents
of American money, however
many pennies that turns out to be,” he said, dragging out the
words.
“We don’t have a coin-counting machine.
What do you think we are, a bank?” she snapped.
“No lady,” he said; “a bank has
attractive cashiers who sit in cages and treat customers with a little respect,
and most banks don’t sell beer.” Several people had gathered around the
cashier’s station, and they softly applauded the man’s latest statement. He
looked around the crowd and a big smile came over his face. “Thank you,” he
said. The smile disappeared, and he said, “they sure
do make it hard to buy beer in this joint.” Something behind me caught the
man’s eye, and a big grin spread over his face. “Hey Darrel,” he blurted out. Several people standing in the check-cashing
line turned their heads. “That Darrel over there,” the man said, looking in the
direction of the people in the line, but pointing over my shoulder. I turned
around to see a man that might have passed for the twin of the man at the
counter, except the second man appeared to be a few years younger than the
first.
“Sir,” the cashier said to the man at the
counter, “what do you expect me to do here?”
“Take out payment for the beer,
cashier-lady,” the man answered, keeping his eyes on the man he’d called
Darrel. “That is part of your job isn’t it?” he asked. The crowd, which was
getting larger, applauded.
The second man recognized the first
and made a bee-line for him – grinning and beaming as he came – with obvious
pride and affection. He strode up to the first man and gave him a bear hug, and
the two men embraced warmly for a long moment. The crowd applauded. Both men
bowed to acknowledge the applause, and then the first man asked, “what you doing here, mon?”
“I’m trying to track you down, Darrel,” the
second man said. “I want to buy a chance on your Super Bowl pool - if you’ll lend me
the twenty dollars. What’s going on here, anyway?”
The first man answered the second,
“I’m trying to buy some beer for the Super Bowl, but the cashier-lady won’t
take my money. And I been trying to talk this man here into buying a chance on
my pool,” he said, pointing to me, “but I don’t think he trusts me. I’ve only
got two squares left. Okay, I’ll let you have one of them on credit – if you
buy me a beer next week at the Foreplay Lounge.”
“It’s a deal,” the second man said; “you
can take it out of what I win.”
The first man then addressed me, “I’m
Darrel and this is my brother Darrel. We have a sister and her name is Darrelene. Mama used to say a body was a fool to waste time
trying to come up with different names for children.” He paused and added, “and she didn’t waste none naming us.”
When the man stopped talking, I said, “I’m
Buck; and it’s nice to meet you, Darrel.”
“Likewise,” the two men said in unison.
“You like to play golf, Buck?” the first
Darrel asked.
“Yes, I do, but I’m not very good at it,” I
answered.
“Then you’ll fit right into our group,” he said.
“The next time we get a warm, dry day, what say I give you call?”
“Sounds good to me,” I said.
The
first Darrel looked at the second and asked, “You think you’ll be able be play,
Darrel – or do you expect to be under house arrest?” He saw the look on my
face, and clarified. “His house mate is kind of strict on him.”
“You
mean his wife?” I asked.
“ No,” he said, “if she was his wife, he could divorce her,
but he can’t figure out how to break up their union – and survive the
consequences of her wrath.”
“The second Darrel spoke slowly and
deliberately: “She’s waiting in the car, Darrel, and I’ve got half a mind to
bring her in here and sick her on you.”
“No, please don’t do that,” the first
Darrel said to the second. He turned to me and said, “actually,
she’s okay for Darrel, I reckon. She tells him where he should be and what he
should be doing and helps him spend his money. I think Darrel sort of
appreciates that kind of moral guidance and attention to his financial
affairs.”
I guess the cashier had decided to get some
help in dealing with the situation, because two store employees had walked onto
the scene and were standing a short distance off observing what was taking
place. The first was a uniformed security guard and the second had on a dress
coat and tie. The security guard stepped behind the counter with the cashier
and asked, “what’s the problem here, Gertrude?”
The cashier pointed to the first
Darrel, and said, “that man has interrupted my
business and tied up my station. I’ve told him we don’t have a coin-counting
machine, but he insists on paying his bill with loose pennies.” She paused for
effect and added, “a bill for seven dollars and eighty
eight cents with a can of loose pennies.”
The first Darrel said, “cashier-lady,
you could have finished our transaction a long time ago – if you’d simply
started counting out pennies when I first opened that can of pennies - instead
of standing there huffing and puffing and making excuses.”
“Yeah, he’s right, you could have already
counted out the pennies,” the second Darrel said.
“ The man wearing
the coat and tie stepped forward and addressed the first Darrel – before either
the cashier or security guard could respond. “Sir, I apologize for what’s
happened here and for any inconvenience it’s caused you. I regret it came down
to this, so please take the beer as a token of our appreciation for your
business.”
The first Darrel stepped closer to the
counter and bent over to squint at the tag on the man’s coat. He straightened
up and said, “Mr. Store Manager, I appreciate you stepping up to the tee box to
take responsibility for this trouble and inconvenience, and I accept your
apology. But I’m not a thief or free loader, and I’ll pay for what I take from
your store.” He retrieved his wallet from the left back pocket of his trousers,
took out a five-dollar bill and three one-dollar bills and handed the bills to
the cashier - with a little curtsey. The cashier glowered at him as she took
the bills. She pressed a couple of buttons on her register and handed him a
dime and two pennies change. He dropped the pennies into the coffee can, turned
to the crowd and said, “now I got a coffee can worth
exactly seven dollars and ninety cents.” The crowd applauded.
The man put the plastic lid back on the can
and placed the can and the 12-pack of beer into his shopping cart. I handed him
a twenty-dollar bill and one of my business cards, and said, “Darrel, how about
writing my name and phone number in that last square in your Super Bowl pool.”
“Okay mon,”
he said, putting the bill and card into his shirt pocket.
“I’d love to play golf with you guys
sometime, so give me a call the next time you decide to hit the links,” I said.
“Okay,” he
said, “we’ll be glad to have you.”
His brother Darrel chimed in, “and
bring some folding money you can afford to lose, cause we usually initiate a
first-time player pretty good; if you know what I mean.?
“I think I do; thank you for the
warning,” I said. “Maybe I’ll even put up bail for you if you’re under house
arrest.”
The two Darrels
grinned and headed for the door.