We had a late night last night far out in the country where we had absolutely no cell phone service. Needing to use the phone, we pulled into a place and I said, “Doug, I think this is a beer joint.” Immediately he pulled away and told me we would go on down the road. We were trying to find a telephone or directions. Nothing was open, so we turned around and went back to the beer joint. He invited me to come in with him while he used the telephone. Well, that was an eye opener for me.
The little country store was filled with alcoholic beverages. The high prices, the beautiful bottles, the dim lit bar in the back…well, you know me, I couldn’t stop asking questions of the beautiful young lady who was working behind the counter. I told her about calling it a beer joint when we first pulled in, and later she called it a “package store.”
The young lady later admitted she had been trying to get her husband to sell the business, that her granddaddy didn’t like her working there. I said, “I wouldn’t either.”
I stood to the side as we talked and watched the customers come in and make their purchases, as well as those at the drive through window.
I laid our church directory on the counter near her, and we talked about different members that she knew. She was very complimentary of them.
I couldn’t help thinking that I called her business a beer joint, and she called it a package store. Dressing up the name doesn’t make the effects of the products sold in there any less damaging to the human body nor soul. You can’t “pretty up,” “ugly.” I lived in it approximately 21 years before my daddy laid it all down and gave his life to the Lord. I know the effects alcoholic beverages can cause on the body, the family, the home, and yes, the soul. But to say the least, last night’s experience was a first for us.
I did leave there with a bottled Diet Coke. Somehow, it wasn’t even good.