Not too long ago, I braved the crowds and went to the supermarket on a Saturday, and along with everything else I happened to pick up a bottle of wine.  When I got to the register, the cashier turned out to be underage.  As it turns out, the underage workers aren't even allowed to touch a bottle of alcohol, so the kid had to leave the wine sitting in front of the scanner while he went ahead and scanned everything else, all the while avoiding the wine as if it were toxic or contagious.  He finished scanning and bagging all of my other items, and only then called for a manager to come over to scan the wine.  Of course, it was a Saturday, so there were like half a dozen people in line behind me, and the manager took his sweet time coming over to see what was up.  By the time the manager finally scanned the wine and I signed the bill, I was starting to get angry stares from the people in line.

Come on now...really?

There's a hole-in-the wall pizza place across the street from the laundromat where I wash my clothes, so sometimes I go there for dinner while my laundry is in the dryer.  The big news at the pizza place is they just got a liquor license, which is a big deal in a town that is essentially dry.  So, the last time I was there I figured I'd have a beer to help wash down my greaseball slice of four-hour-old pizza.  It turned out to be more effort than I expected...to begin, this is the kind of place where you order at the counter and then take your food and find a seat.  The first problem was once again an underage cashier, so he had to find someone old enough to pour the beer.  The second problem was they can't just hand you the beer at the counter; they have to bring it to you at your table.  Apparently the wording of the liquor license says it has to be delivered by a waiter so that you can't be fooled into mistaking a restaurant for a bar.  Okay, whatever...so I picked a table and started on my pizza.  After a couple of minutes, the older guy from behind the counter came over and sheepishly explained that he couldn't serve me the beer at that table because it was next to the window, and I'd have to move to one of the other tables so that people on the street couldn't see me drinking.

...uhh, what..?!!

You've got to understand, like most New England holes-in-the-wall, you can literally spit from one side of this place to the other.  I mean, there are like maybe six tables in the whole place.  And it's not like it's a secret that they serve alcohol; in fact, they have a big sign outside that says "Now Serving Beer."  But for whatever reason, the guy couldn't bring me the beer until I moved to one of the tables that wasn't right next to the window.  So I moved, and he brought me the beer, and I drank it and ate my nasty pizza and then went back to the laundromat shaking my head in bewilderment.

I swear, it's like I never left the bible belt. 

To top it off, I hear Stryper has gotten back together and is releasing a new CD...