my first san francisco liquor store was on van ness and vallejo, and i wound up taking it as a second job to turn beer, smokes, and beef jerky free. one of the workers was five feet tall, hated gay people, and always watch ufc as if he were readying for a fight of his own. once we were robbed at gunpoint and he did absolutely nothing and then quit.
the second was out in the foggy stretches of 36th avenue and owned by a man who called himself "big toine", had unhealthy dreads, unhealthy teeth, and an unhealthy obsessed with talking about losing money in reno, or trying to give me
my third liquor store relationship happened downtown and started off badly because the owner joked, "i'm just used to seeing him with a brunette" when i brought in my blonde girlfriend. not cool, man. but ultimately, that is where i spent nearly $10,000 on addictions-- it was during my alcoholic prime-- and they would sell me liquor 30 minutes after last call because i was likely 25% of their business. and for that reason, i cannot tell you their name.
and now, my store-sized whiskey cabinet; my second home; and my new liquor store is up on nob hill. it's owned and operated by a twenty-seven year-old chinese man with the body of a ten year-old and a voice that resembles an insecure hamster whispering a secret.
that man-child is barry beer.
his name is really barry wu-- and i know because we're facebook friends-- but he's barry beer in my phone. and yes, i also have his phone number.
sometime after he realized travis and i were going to be more than regulars, and sometime before he started giving us eclectic gifts, he told me to take down his phone number in case i needed some last-minute liquor and he was about to close. i have thoroughly abused the privilege of keeping his store open long enough for me to get home from later jobs, just as i have thoroughly abused the newfound ability to prank call barry at any time i desire.
and he calls me, too.
something i learned when i worked at van ness & vallejo's corner shop is the importance of the neighborhood store. we knew everyone's names-- the dogs, too-- and we even had a collection of house keys that regulars would leave with us in case they were ever locked out of their apartment and needed an extra. a corner store cannot survive if it isn't intimate, somewhat comedic, and trustworthy.
barry passes that test with flying colors-- like an amazing caffeinated hummingbird.
his market is a place where i can sing and dance; i can speak in an english accent, or poop in his toilet. sometimes i'll walk in to find barry trying to shoot me with his price-gun. and other times i'll do my best to creep in like a ninja and sneak up behind him and the counter undetected. it reminds me of my 9th grade literature class and how i was allowed to dive-roll into the classroom without being reprimanded-- it's a safe-haven, where being goofy is entirely appropriate.
on my birthday he gave me a $7 bottle of sangria. it was absolutely horrible and i've not once come into his store to buy any form of sangria-- but he was a fan of giving me and travis presents that we didn't necessarily want. he once gave us both a pack of caffeine gum, and has gifted us several flasks of cheap canadian syrup whiskey, or hot damn! cinnamon-flavored schnapp's knock-offs.
it's not really about whether or not we enjoy what he's giving us, it's much more about enjoying that he feels like giving us anything at all. one time he even shared his dinner with me.
in fact, with his gifts, i could start my own corner store the size of a fairly impressive lemonade stand. it would have canned IPAs, a door-sized banner for tsing tsao's chinese new year's celebration, some rice candies, wax teeth, several plastic flasks of $3 liquor, and plenty of other things i simply can't remember.
barry beer is a part of the family. we're neighbors, we're friends, we're pranksters, and we'd be married if his wife weren't always in the shop to be sure things didn't get any more intimate than they already are.
there have been times he's asked me to help him close the store because he feels unsafe after the time he was robbed, or emergency moments when he'll throw me a pack of camels and let me pay later so i don't miss the bus. he's even walked to our apartment to deliver a six-pack of anchor steam on account that my feet were too drunk and travis was sick.
and, more often than not, he'll ask me to take a picture of him holding up his latest sale so i can show travis, or post it on facebook.
this is perhaps the best corner store i have ever lived by/in. if barry's were to be sold, closed down, or exploded in some microwave-related catastrophe, i would suddenly feel less okay about the price of my rent.
sometime within the next week, he and his wife will be having a son: a baby barry beer. and in an act of the greatest liquor store relationship ever to be invented, i will be babysitting his liquor store while he takes his wife to the hospital. so long as it happens on a weekend.
how about that? not even smoking weed in the basement of the van ness vallejo market can compare to this. being given a bbq burger at big toine's is nothing. and no matter how late my downtown store sold me liquor, i still find it less amazing than what is about to happen at barry's.
this is legendary.
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