I am resting my forearms on the topmost shelf of the convenience store. Or some store. Whatever store sells drugs. I'm in a Walgreens. Walgreens is a convenience store, right? I am resting my forearms on a shelf looking at the different bottles of painkillers displayed in front of my eyes. I have slung a small bag over my shoulder; its weight is momentous and I don't feel like displacing my feet in any direction for fear I'll fall over. I have also been drinking. I am drinking. There is a fifth of a sugary schnapp in my right hand. It is delicious. I am humming what I think is the jingle for Advil--did not know they had one until this moment--when someone calls for me. I hyperactively turn towards the noise.
"Excuse me miss" he says again, "that is not allowed in here."
I look at him and I look at my right hand. "Sorry. I can't drink in here?"
Sometimes asking a question in a cute way alleviates the guilt you feel for having committed an act. Also, most dudes stop being such jackasses when you appear to have not known any better. It is not working on this man. He is a pharmacist and he appears to be the only other person in Walgreens besides the two middle aged blonde women working the front counters I passed along the way. We are separated by eleven feet of brightly lit beige linoleum and a wide desk separating "over-the-counter" from "prescribed". He is around my height, a non-distinct face under a cloud of blemishes, south asian features and coloration.
"No miss, you cannot."
He is being harsh. I cannot tell if it is unwarranted or not. I blink at him several times to see if he will disappear. Like a lot of other things today, he does not. This upsets me further. I fight the urge to start crying, remembering I could probably be arrested for my current behavior. This makes me want to cry more.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know." I turn back to the schnapps that I had left sitting on the top shelf and screw its top back on. I look at it, look at the man--who is still staring at me, scowling--look back at the drink, and then take a few steps closer to the counter. The man moves his arms from their position by his side to in front of him, letting his four digit form a balance for him on the ledge, his thumb likely wrapped underneath. His stance seems aggressive. I stop walking.
"I'm sorry. You are new here. You must be new here. I'm sorry. I know it's really annoying to hear drunk--well I'm not drunk, I'm just tipsy--it's annoying to hear inebriated people say "they're sorry" like a hundred times but I am sorry and you must be new here, right? Have you ever heard of Spring Party Weekend?" He doesn't respond, but his face lightens a bit. He is no longer scowling. I continue. "Well it's Spring Party Weekend which means everyone at school begins drinking during the day, like right now, and everyone just drinks a lot. I have a terrible headache so that doesn't help, and my boyfriend is being a jerk and I just really need to drink right now. I know that that sounds really terrifying and I know I still have to leave the store but I will probably be back here again because I have a myriad of health problems and I just don't want you to think that I'm a poorly behaved teenager because I am actually a pretty decent and respectful person. I don't know why I said teenager. I am twenty-one."
During my monologue my eyes had wandered to rest on a pile of pamphlets offering custom medical I.D. bracelets and necklaces. I return to look at him. He seems to be smiling. I smile too. I wonder if he will jump over the counter to give me a hug. I could use a hug. He won't give me a hug. That is an irrational thought, I realize. Drunken disorder. I keep staring at him, wondering if he will give me some sort of speech or if he will sheepishly allow me to stay in Walgreens, drink in hand. But he raises his arm to point to the exit. I stare at his face a few seconds longer. There is no malice. He is still smiling though. My smile waivers. I turn to leave.
My canvas shoes hit the concrete outside and I imagine what the pharmacist's speech would have sounded like: "Face your own problems." Fine. I finish my schnapps, toss the bottle in a convenient trash can outside the convenience store, and begin walking across the parking lot, trying to remember the last place I saw my boyfriend.
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