Goin' to the ghetto liquor sto'

Alex has never understood my comfort with the ghetto, and I guess that's because he's from Minnesota and not from Georgia where ghetto culture is, well, everywhere. I don't think I've been to more than two or three establishments that sell alcoholic beverages down here that can't say that most of their clientele is ghetto. Here in DT Atlanta there's a liquor store almost across the street called "AZAR". I have no idea what that means and the "Z" on the sign is obviously a "N" turned on its side. That's one of those things that I find fascinating and lovely about life; Alex is terrified by the place. That is also reflected in our buying history. Alex will only buy from there with great coaxing; I love the place and will walk there at night. Every time I've ever been in there I've met the coolest people - ghetto people, but nice, because they speak the language of the drinker, which has no prejudices. Maybe I'm stupid but I don't think I am. I know when shit is weird and scary.

The best thing about AZAR is that the main sales guy on nights is an Eastern European guy who is really tough as nails when someone tries to scam him. But when I come up there and make him pull down the Guinness he just looks at me like I'm nuts. I tell him when I ask for 2 Guinness, "It's got the same amount of alcohol as a six-pack and it tastes better" and he smiles (rarely) and shakes his head. I also work with a recent Eastern European transplant at my new job and I wonder at the different kind of educations about American culture these folks are getting.