Bottles of Wine, the Sexy Parrot, and Elvis Presley

Half an hour before the reading of my script began I walked to the liquor store on the corner to pick up a couple of bottles of wine for the audience to enjoy. A liquored-up audience is more responsive. Everyone knows that.

Here is how the encounter went. I came back to the theatre, bearing my gift, and told Mitchell and Jeff all about it and Mitchell said, “This kind of thing happens to you all the time.”

It does. It goes along with the deep involved conversations I have all the time with cab drivers (had a great one in Chicago as well – par for the course for me), and with dudes who look like Rocky Balboa. I think it might have to do with what my face looks like. One of those open blunt freckled Irish faces. A face people want to confide their feelings to. Or maybe it’s some remnant of good karma. I don’t know. But here is what happened at the liquor store.

The owner was behind the counter. (Mitchell, who used to work across the street a million years ago, knows the guy well. Told me about him later. He is from Israel – I had been trying to guess his accent. And he’s a great guy, really nice, and is always complaining about how the neighborhood is going to shit and he hates his own customers. But I knew none of that going in.)

The selection of wine was not large. We didn’t have a corkscrew so I was looking for wine with twist-off tops. Sadly, they had none. Oh well. Grabbed three bottles of wine and walked up to the counter. Right as I arrived at the counter, a guy in a cap came up beside me and totally barged in front of me, cutting me off, cutting in line (we were the only two in the store) and made some demand about a lottery ticket or something. I don’t know. I was too baffled by the overt rudeness. The guy behind the counter got rid of the guy in the cap pretty bluntly. Basically saying, “Go away.” The guy left, and liquor-store-man said to me, “I have such a problem with that guy.”

“Do you?” I asked sympathetically.

“Yes. You know what has happened? He lives down the block by the 7-Eleven and normally hangs out there, but the 7-Eleven has banned him.”

“Uh-oh,” I said.

“So now he hangs out here.”

“What is the problem with his behavior?”

“He’s a pain in the ass, ma’am. He stands outside and asks my customers – MY customers – for change.”

“Oh, yes, that’s not good.”

“The whole neighborhood is going to shit,” he confided in me.

“It’s tough when that happens.”

Then I asked him if he had a corkscrew. He winced. “We are out. I sold the last one today.”

“Oh, that’s okay. Don’t worry about it!”

“Do you have an event in the neighborhood?”

“Yeah. Tonight. Down at Theatre Wit.”

“I can open the bottles for you here. Would that help?”

“That would be so great! Thank you!”

I then heard a piercing wolf call. It made the wolf calls I have received at various construction sites in New York sound pale in comparison. I turned around. In a cage by the door was a giant, GIANT, white cockatoo. It was staring right at me, and whistling in a lascivious manner. Over and over and over again.

Liquor-store-man said to the parrot, “Now, now, Sasha, this is a nice lady. Leave her alone.”

Sasha gave me a crazy seductive wolf call, leering at me with his flat black eyes.

I said, “Hi, Sasha!”

Overtly sexual wolf call.

“Thank you so much, Sasha.” I said.

“Sasha. Leave her alone.”

Meanwhile, Liquor-Store-Man was opening my bottles of wine. He said, “Do you need paper cups?”

I gasped. “I totally do. You sell them?”

He pointed. “Yes, over there.”

I walked to go find the cups, as Sasha sexually harassed me from his cage. I grabbed two sleeves of cups and brought them back to the counter. Liquor-Store-Man said, “Oh – no – grab the two in one sleeve. You get 50 cups, much cheaper.”

I was in love with this guy. From the second I walked in, he was helpful, amusing, and an awesome store proprietor. Saving me money, opening my wine, and reprimanding his horny parrot.

I brought the cups back to the counter, and then noticed for the first time the poster hanging behind the counter.

Not only did I notice the poster, but I noticed all the little postcards and images placed along the edge. Nixon and Elvis caught my eye. I downloaded the whole thing in 2 seconds. My main impression was: “Hi, Elvis!!” but also: this guy obviously loved ALL the Elvises. Not just the hot young Elvis. But all of this happened very quickly. I gasped with happiness. (Of course, Elvis is everywhere. But it still makes me happy to see him.)

I said, “Elvis!”

The owner said, “You like Elvis?”

I said, “I am totally OBSESSED. Can I take a picture of your poster, please?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Sasha gave me a wolf call that made me embarrassed it was so sexual.

I took a picture of Elvis. Of course there would be a wolf-calling parrot as I took a picture of a damn Elvis Presley poster. Of course.

The owner said, all excited, “Wait. I have a surprise for you.” And he rushed into the store room at the back of the store.

I called out to him, “You do?? What is it?”

He came running out holding a cardboard poster roll.

“Wait, what??” I said.

“For you.” He presented it to me.

“Is this a precious item? You don’t have to give it to me!!” I shrieked.

“No. It is meant to be enjoyed. You love Elvis. It is for you.”

I took the poster out. It was the same one that was on the wall. It was beautiful and untouched.

“You’re GIVING this to me?” I said, looking at him.

“Yes. Just tell people you paid 100 dollars for it.”

I started laughing. “I am so touched.”

“It has been sitting in that back room for twenty years. It’s a little bit dusty.”

I felt strangely moved. Sasha whistled at me, picking up on my vibe.

“Sasha, stop bothering this nice lady.”

“Did you ever see Elvis live?” I asked the owner.

“Oh, no. I moved to the United States in 1980. But I grew up watching his movies.”

A-ha. A kindred spirit. The first thing he mentioned was Elvis’ MOVIES. Not his music, but the movies.

I said, “What are your favorite Elvis movies?”

He said, ringing me up, “I love the movies in Hawaii, and also the ones in Mexico.”

“He’s wonderful. Seriously – you don’t have to give me this poster if you want to hang onto it.”

“Oh, no. It’s yours. You love Elvis. You’re a nice lady. Please. I want you to have it.”

“Thank you!!”

He gave me the two bags of wine, which he had kindly opened for me.

“Thank you so much!” I said, as I walked out. “You have made my NIGHT!”

The owner called, “Have a great night!” and Sasha sent me on my way with one final blatant whistle.

I literally sashayed down the dark sidewalk, my heart singing. There was a liquor store at the opposite end of the block. I could have gone in there just as easily. But of course I chose the right one. When I walked back into the theatre, carrying wine, and a giant cardboard poster roll, Mitchell was like, “Uhm – what the hell is THAT?” Like, I was gone for 20 minutes and … what … I went shopping in that time?

I told Mitchell and Jeff the whole story and unrolled the Elvis poster to show them and we were all just dying with laughter.

A random encounter, and now I had a giant Elvis poster under my arm that I had to then cart back to New York with me on the plane. But it felt like a good omen. The world suddenly felt kind, and like it made total sense.