Fredericksburg, Va doesn’t get a lot of snow, and the schools and government offices here tend to close as soon as the first flakes fall. And as usual, when nine inches of the white stuff fell last Thursday, things ground to a halt.
After spending the better part of three hours digging out my cars and my geriatric neighbor’s car, I finally settled down for a long winter’s nip, and I planned to enjoy the inimitable snow drunk.
I could almost imagine the first of many cool, refreshing Jagermeisters racing down my throat when a terrifying thing happened. I discovered I was out of booze.
In most other states this wouldn’t be a problem, but the Commonwealth of Virginia doesn’t allow honest hard-working Indians, Koreans and Pakistanis to sell liquor on every corner. Oh no. We only have state-run liquor stores, and it was a pretty safe bet these worthless bureaucrats were sitting at home while I wallowed in sobriety.
I drove to the store just to satisfy my curiosity, and as I crested the hill and caught sight of it, I saw something that nearly brought tears to my eyes. The store manager Jerry was out front dutifully shoveling a path through the snow so parched customers could come in and slake their thirst.
God bless you Jerry. Sure you look homeless, and you have a bewildering inability to eat your lunch without getting half of it on your shirt, but you’re an American hero and I salute you.