The Gin Lady

I live in a dry county and I don’t drink...

...Except maybe unless my brother-in-law comes and brings us a sampling of wines. 

But the other day, I found myself leaving a liquor store laughing…and it wasn’t because I was drunk. 

After a full day in Fort Smith running errands, I called my parents’ to see if there was anything they needed me to do for them in town before I left.  Nobody needed anything special, except that my mother requested that, if it wasn’t too much trouble, I might stop at the liquor store drive-through on my way out of town and pick up a bottle of gin for her. 

Now this might not sound strange to some, but this was my mother and it sounded strange to me.  You see, I grew up in a family that didn’t drink or dance and my mother was as quiet and sweet and sensible as could be.  But today, she was asking me to pick up a pint of dry inexpensive gin.  Needless to say, I didn’t ask why she wanted the gin…riding with me were all my children and the deacon’s son.  I figured the drive-through couldn’t be all that complicated. 

The day drug on longer than I had anticipated and the children were all tired and ready to get home.  Knowing home was a little over an hour away even after my errands were completed, they had been asking over and over how many stops I had left. 

On my way out of town, they asked again if I was finally done. 

“No,” I said.  “Just one more stop.” 

“Awww…” came a general moan from the backseat.  “Where do we have to stop now?”  

“The liquor store,” I flatly replied. 

“The liquor store?  A little voice asked.  “Why are you going there?”  

“Oh,” I said, “I have to get something for Grandma.” 

“Grandma?”  They asked incredulously, as I pulled up to the window. 

“Can I help you?”  Came the question from a lady who looked a bit older than my mother. 

“Uh, yes,” I replied, as questions tumbled about in my mind as to why a nice older lady like her was working a liquor store drive-through window.  “I need about a pint of dry gin, please,” I requested. 

The woman stared as if surveying me and asked, “What ya want it for?” 

A bit taken by surprise, and hurriedly rummaging through the files of my brain for a reason as to why she was asking me this question, I thought, “Maybe somehow she notices that I’m pregnant.”  I don’t know why I would have thought this, seeing as my twelve passenger van sits pretty high and my door is definitely not transparent. 

I replied, “Oh…it’s not for me ma’am…it’s for my mother.”  Thinking this would send her on her way after my order, and still trying to think why she was questioning me, I dug through my purse to find my identification in case she might be thinking perhaps I was underage.  It wouldn’t be the first time.  After having two children and in my mid twenties, a librarian had once asked me if I had a note from my parents that would entitle me the privilege of obtaining a library card. 

I clumsily handed my driver’s license to the lady at the window, hoping I would not have to stay much longer, as she asked, “What’s your mother want the gin for?” 

Now my brain was really spinning.  Why was I being interrogated?  Wasn’t I allowed to buy gin?  Wasn’t I old enough to drink it myself at age 36 much less buy a bottle for my mother? 

“Ma’am,” I said.  “I’m not sure why my mother wants the gin.  I only know she said to get her some dry gin…about two pints…something inexpensive.” 

“Two pints?”  The lady continued to question.  “Are you sure she needs that much?  How about a smaller bottle?” 

This is truly strange, I was thinking.  Why is she asking me all these questions?  “Um…” I replied, “Like I said, I’m really not sure why my mother wants the gin. But do you have something in about a two pint size that’s not very expensive?  I’m sure that’s what she wants.”  Thinking of my mother and gin in the same picture was hard enough, so I guessed out loud, “I think maybe it’s for a medicinal reason.” 

Still staring at me through the window, the lady confidently stated with a mysterious sort of tone, “I know what she’s doing.” 

“You do?” I replied, feeling suddenly like I was a part of something secret and underhanded. 

“Yes,” she said, as she held both of her hands out of the window in front of me…fingers dangling. “See these hands…they’re wrinkled.” 

'Wow," I thought.  "This is really weird.  What does this have to do with gin?”  

“Several months ago...you couldn’t see any wrinkles.” 

“And this is a bad thing?” I was wondering to myself. 

She continued, “Several months ago I had arthritis so bad you couldn’t see any wrinkles.  Now my fingers are all wrinkly…see?” 

“Wow,” I said. 

“Your mother probably wants the gin for soaking raisins.  I started eating gin-soaked raisins for my arthritis and now look at all my wrinkles.  I have two sisters who are doing it now too.  It really works.  What kind of raisins does your mother use?”  

“I don’t know,” I reminded her. “I really am not certain why she want the gin.  She has complained about achiness in her hands, so maybe it is for arthritis.  But I am sure she just wants the two pints of dry gin.”

  “Oh,” the lady replied. “That’s probably more than she needs…and she doesn’t want dry gin.” 

“She doesn’t?”  I asked, thinking this was becoming a little more than weird.  “What does she want then?” 

“She needs apple-twisted gin.  It makes the raisins taste better.”  The lady said matter-of-factly. 

“Ok,” I replied, a bit anxious to get on my way.  “How much is the apple-twisted gin?” 

“Let me go check,” she said as she hurried away. 

I had not waited too long when a man came up to the window.  “May I help you?”  He asked. 

“No, I replied…I am already being helped, thank you.” 

“Looks like you’ve got some kids.” He said, looking out his window and surveying my van.  “How many have you got in there?”  He asked, as he thrust a large basket of candy through the window at me. 

“Oh, I have eight here and one on the way.”  I answered proudly.  Surprise registered on his face.  “I don’t need the whole basket, I’ll just grab a few for the kids,” I said, as I tried to pass the basket back to him. 

“No,” he said pushing the basket back at me.  “Let them pick out what color they want.”

“Wow,” I thought, “This is the strangest little store…very personal… “

My thoughts were interrupted as I heard him offer, “You know, I could tell you how that happens,” he offered as he gestured out toward the van. 

Realizing he was referring to the number of kids I had, I quickly replied, “No, I think my husband and I have got all that figured out quite well, thank you.” 

With a shocked look and unable to hide his laughter, he walked away out of sight chucking back, “I guess you have.” 

The lady returned to the window and announced that the price would only be a difference of two dollars.  Anxious to finally make my purchase and avoid any further discussion, I told her I would take the apple-twisted gin.  “Fine,” she replied. “And just for following my advice, I will give you a ten percent discount.” 

“Thank you,” I replied.  Needless to say, the lady was right.  My mother had been eating gin- soaking raisins to get rid of a lump on her finger she was now unable to find for me.  I guess it had worked for her too.  She wasn’t sure she liked the apple-twisted flavor though…but she did think the bottle was much prettier.   I’m glad she liked the bottle. 

I always knew I didn’t know much about my mother.  I wonder what the deacon now thinks he knows about me.  I’m just glad I was able to finally say what I’ve always wanted to say to one of those people who think they are so cute with their comments about fertility control.