Cellaring in Beer Land!

I moved to Hyde Park a while back for a job. It ended up not working out so I shifted gears and took the first job I could find. Initially, I chose Hyde Park because it was close to the water and right off the Metra line. I picked a tiny apartment, thought, this will work through the winter and by then I’ll be more settled into Chicago and I can figure something else out. Well, when the job didn’t work out and gear shifting occurred, my relationship with Hyde Park changed as well. I had no idea that working in retail, I’d get to know and appreciate the neighborhood in the ways that I have. For instance, in Hyde Park, voting is free but bags cost seven cent.

Let’s get right down to business here: the underwear. I sell pretty much all the people here their undies. I sell plaid women’s thongs to men in olive-colored suits who won’t look me in the eyes. I sell way too many cartoon character print boxer shorts to grown ass men. Pretty much all of the women in this neighborhood are wearing panties three sizes too small. Really, they should just order them online. The selection here will never please them. (By the way humanity, please stop returning panties that you have worn to the store. This falls under the category of sure, you can, but should you? No. Take the hit on that one and re-distribute them yourself. I’d be happy to give you the addresses of some breweries I know who are really into women’s dirty panties. And pranks!)

Lastly, I’d sell more boxer briefs to anyone who’d pay for them but a guy comes in each night ten minutes before closing and fills a black garbage bag with all that’s left at the end of the day. I see the back of his hatted head with his black shiny bag slung over his back, rushing down the escalator a couple times per week. I imagine in his social circles that he’s a kind of clandestine Santa Clause Robin Hood! He’s a legend. He’s a super hero. He’s a thief. Who steals from people who can do nothing to stop him.

Cigarettes. Gosh they’re expensive here. I try to smoke them as little as possible on account of they kill you but geeze, from time to time one goes well with the second cheapest macro-American lager the liquor store has to offer the three times a month when I can afford a six pack. But a full pack of smokes is far too many! From where I live, when I walk back from the liquor store, I always pass the old man with the shopping cart on 53rd Street. He’s a large jollyish fellow. He takes naps in the coffee shop inside the department store sometimes. I can see him through the windows, dozing with his head in his hand.

I have a habit of not giving money to people asking on the street. I’m happy to offer extra food if I have it but money, even change, I cannot spare. I’ve walked past this fella enough times now though, to know that he smokes and at times, I’m happy to trade him a dollar for a couple cigarettes. Sometimes he has generics. Sometimes he has Name brands. They’re always menthol, 100s and two for a dollar. (I’d like to state that this is his math not mine. Being the human I am, I tried to explain that I’d do one smoke for a dollar. He insists on two. I was taught to respect my elders.)

Lastly, and where I’m about to go after I finish typing this, is the pizza place. It is right down the street, open later than anyone else around and magically delicious. One slice is the perfect size meal for under four bucks. The people there are as warm as the shop is when you walk inside on a cold winters day. They are clearly, lovingly dedicated to their craft. Want a pop to go along with your slice? I’d suggest the choice of a new generation. Cholie suggests a royal cola.