Political pundit Stumpy Wagers pushed two cases of Russian vodka forward with his foot when the counterman yelled next and the line inched up.
Here we were knee-deep in the Coronavirus crisis and the line in the liquor store stretched down through the hard liquor items, past the foreign wines, through the California vineyard wines and into the back of the place where even the Long Island wines were selling.
“I see you’re making a run on the vodka,” I said, pushing my case of red wine forward and holding three bottles of Jameson in the crook of my arm.
“Yup. Every damn store is out of Clorox bleach wipes, and the 99 cent story was charging four dollars for a 99 cent bottle of hand sanitizer, so I figured I’d swab my apartment down with the next best thing – 100 proof Russian vodka. It may not kill the Coronavirus germs but at least it will get them drunk.
“Yeah, things are getting surreal,” I remarked. “Kind of reminds me a bit when the terrorists hit the World Trade Center of September 11.”
Yeah, but after September 11, New Yorkers came together in group grievance sessions. With the coronavirus, it’s every person for themselves. I was in the supermarket yesterday and got into a catfight with some woman over a can of sardines. And I hate sardines.”
“They are kind of boney,” I replied.
“But you know the worst thing? Closing down all the bars with no contingency plans for adult vices. I haven’t heard a peep from either the governor or the mayor about addressing this dire situation.”
“What do you expect them to do?”
“They need to issue an immediate edict that if one liquor store is caught price gouging they’ll pull their liquor license.”
“Good point. How does the government expect us to isolate ourselves without a little liquid comfort?”
“Exactly,” aid Stumper. “The government should ration every adult over 21 with two free bottles of spirits of their choice. And for that matter, they need to open the marijuana dispensaries as an emergency measure and do the same. How can the government expect us to chill out and watch Netflix night and day without a little something-something.”
“You got a point, Stumpy.”
The counterman yelled next and we inched forward.
“I’ll tell you something else. The hospitals better start beefing up their maternity wards.”
“Maternity wards. They need to start preparing for their intensive care units. People will be dying left and right from coronavirus. It’s a plague upon us all.”
“Maybe so, but I’ll bet your favorite bottle of spirits against mine,” said Wagers, “that nine months after this all ends, the human race will replenish a bit.”
“Replenish?”
“That’s right. You isolate couples for a few months in their apartments with not a lot to do, you can expect a good share of baby-making – birth control aside.”
Stumpy scratched his head and rubbed his eyes, and then to the amazement of everyone in line, cracked open a bottle of vodka, splashed some on his hands, and started singing Happy Birthday twice through as he rubbed them together.
“What in tarnation are you doing, Stumpy?”
“Sanitizing,” said the Stump man, taking a slug of the vodka before recapping it. “Tough times call for tough measures.”
