Working at a liquor store always brings forth stories you’d likely never hear anywhere else.
For instance, someone came into work yesterday selling chocolate bars to pay for his mother’s wake. Regardless of whether or not it was bullshit, that’s a dark place I don’t think I would want to visit at any point in my life.
It feels almost voyeuristic the things that people will tell me about their lives; voyeuristic and sad.
Another woman came in, and told us how she used to join every sports team she could to avoid her alcoholic parents. She entered treatment herself later on in life, detoxing for 30 days while her girlfriend worked extra shifts to pay both halves of the rent. They’re married now, but she’s drinking again.
Even when they’re trying to be, the stories of drunks are never happy.