Goodfellahs

I stopped at the party store around the corner after work today to pick up some Leinenkugel's Sunset Wheat, which I had for the first time on the camping trip and has become a new summer favorite. Going to the party store in the early evening is better than going later. Later, I feel a little wary walking in alone, what with the random male loiterers around the door, and the two guys who run the place don't exactly put me at ease either. They look like, sound like, and project the auras of two men who know in great detail what happened to Jimmy Hoffa.

This evening a new, younger guy was selling the lottery tickets and working one register while one of the goodfellahs berated someone on the other end of the phone, per usual. He's the one who asked for my ID once when I paid for a bottle of Grand Marnier with a credit card. "How d'you say that name?" he asked me. When I told him, he gave me shit about it. "Cinco de Mayo! Cinco means 'five!' Cinco de Mayo! Hahahahahah!" I risked winding up under the 50 yard line at Soldier Field with Hoffa and unsmilingly said, "That's not an original joke."

But I digress.

Young goodfellah hesitated to ring up my $8 microbrewed six-pack. Because I didn't stick my ID in my pocket when I walked over, I got carded for the first time in about four years. Now, I knew I had a pimple on my forehead and a sparkly silver butterfly in my hair because I woke up at 8:26 and had to be at work by 9:00 and grabbed the closest barrette. But the Delaware Water Gap appears between my eyebrows when I make an expression and when I smile several crows stamp on the skin around the corners of my eyes. My hair is turning gray. I've the start of a pizza-fed double chin and some nice strega-style black whiskers. This kid thinks I'm not 21?

He wanted to consult with the senior member of the staff. Goodfellah held the phone away from his ear. "What do you want?" he asked me. "You want a bag? You want us to help you drink it?"

"I'm in here all the time," I said. "I just want to take this home."

"She's okay," he told young goodfellah.

"You still owe me $200," he said into the phone.