On occasion, after a long day in the office or a hard earned win on the Rugby pitch, my roommates and I are very fond of having a little drink. Often this will take the form of one of the fine range of American Light Lagers. These fine beverages boast a luxuriant range of flavours from 'over-hydrated urine' to 'fizzy water' and come in amusingly small, soft drink size cans. When purchasing a 'thirty pack' we tend to pop round the corner on to State Street, past Modern Apizza to Pan's Package Store. This is possibly one of my favourite places on earth and is run by one of my favourite people, living or dead.
It is difficult to know where to start with Pan and his store. To describe them separately would be to neglect the fact that the dangerously and bizarrely packed shelves are very much an extension of Pan's (potentially) dangerous and bizarrely packed, certifiably insane mind. I shall attempt to relate to you the wonder that is PPS through an imagined visit.
One enters, often after waiting for Pan to unlock the door during perfectly normal business operating hours, to the beaming face of Pan. With his broken English, he'll meet you with a traditional Chinese greeting such as:
'hey good boy'
or
'you a Doctor right?'
(The latter was I believe, inspired by the tweed jacket that I was wearing at the time. While it may have simply been a witty observation on the sartorial choices of those in the medical profession I would not entirely put it past Pan that he would allow me to perform major surgery on him)
Having passed the initial test of recognition, one clambers, quite literally, across a floor strewn with boxes of alcoholic drinks usually towards the large refrigerator at the back of the store. There one picks out his piss-juice of choice, 'perhaps a busch light tonight? I heard that a man in the factory knows a guy who once saw a hop'. It is then very important to check your thirty, to ensure that it is in fact a thirty. Pan, not being one to stick with the conventions.....or laws when it comes to vending alcohol, enjoys cutting up boxes of beer, resealing them with electrical tape and selling them in smaller quantities at a premium. He also enjoys secreting well disguised bottles of paint thinners and industrial lubricants among the hard alcohol to catch the less-observant shopper unawares...what a joker!
With beer in hand, one approaches the counter, trips over a crate or an unfortunate victim of methylated spirits consumption, gets back up and reaches our beaming Chinese friend. What follows is often the highlight of the trip. Who knows what magical journey Pan's (probably diseased) mind will take us on now. Will he tell us about his son studying medicine at the Michigan State or perhaps he postulate a political explanation of the special relationship between the UK and the US. One thing is always certain, he will rigorously enforce the drinking laws of Connecticut with the oh so cunning: 'you twenty one right?' Once this has been established beyond all reasonable doubt one is free to leave and enjoy your purchase, chuckling on the walk home about Pan, that wonder man.
Finally, here is the conversation/insane diatribe that Nathan and I were party to last night:
'Hey doctors!'
'Hi Pan'
(To Nate, I am giggling in the refrigerator*) 'What's your major'
'Oh, I majored in English'
'English Writing!! Great, Thanksgiving!!'
'Yer...Thanksgiving?'
'My first Turkey Party (mimes large bird) phwoar.....we eat some then (mimes throwing semi-consumed fowl with some gusto)'
'You threw it into the garden?'
'Yer!! I see a bird, can't fly, so fat hahahahahahahaha you twenty one right.....
That tale of avian cannibalism is just one of the ways that Pan lures the potentially under-aged in before he strikes.
*Its walk-in
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