The Old Coot is a freedom fighter – sort of

I’m sitting in a café at a Publix Supermarket called “Pours.” I guess it was named that because you can get a “pour” of beer or wine, and sit and sip, or shop and sip. I’m having a large coffee and an apple fritter. The cost was three dollars and two cents. I paid with a five spot and got back two dollars in change, not one dollar and ninety-eight cents. 

I hate getting large amounts of change like that, but I bring it on myself; I never remember to carry change with me and end up with a pocket full of it when I get home. I toss it in a jar and there it sits, lonely and forgotten. I appreciated the clerk rounding off my bill; it’s a nice customer service and only cost the store two cents. 

This cafe is immaculate, operating room clean. And quiet too, in spite of it being open to the store and just a few feet from the registers. I like the way they do things in this country, Zip -32176. You want a bottle of wine to go with that French baguette? Just slip over to the wine aisle and pick one up – not leave and go to a liquor store like in my country, Zip -13827. 

That’s the way it is here – the laws and regulations are consumer driven, to a degree. Stop in a pharmacy for a prescription and a bottle of shampoo and guess what? You can swing by the wine rack for a vintage bottle of red on your way to the register; same thing in Wal-Mart, Target, and other retailers. 

In my country, where the governor had to practically be dragged off his throne, the politicians have wrestled with the issue of where you can buy wine for many, many decades. But the lobbyists always win out, not the people. I’m not a wine connoisseur, or even much of a fermented grape consumer, but it irks me, brings out my freedom fighter instincts, that we let politicians tell us where we can buy things. 

It’s the little, everyday stuff “they” never get around to, stuff they aren’t even aware of that cause inconvenience and frustration. And, we’re not energized enough to make a fuss over it. We just accept it; that’s the way it is. So, here I sit, gloating and happy in this foreign land, enjoying the freedom of choice. I’ll finish my fritter, take what’s left of my coffee, and peddle home on my bicycle. Not with a bottle of wine, but with the satisfaction that if I’d wanted one, I could have bought it right here. Kind of nice! 

Comments? Complaints? –  Send to mlessler7@gmail.com.