52nd City

Some Things Don't Happen In Ladue

Saturday morning. 6:52. Shop n Save at the corner of Bamberger and Gravois.

I stood in the express line, paying for 80 pounds of ice as two women, a little worse for the wear, placed a Snickers bar and a 2 liter orange soda on the belt behind me. One of the women draped her arms around the other’s shoulders and buried a slurry face into her friend’s neck. She just sort of hung on there.

A well-built man wearing a security uniform approached from the opposite end of the check out lane. Having placed himself in the narrow channel, he edged closer to the pair while boxing me into an inescapable holding pattern. He spoke with a slight accent that I took to be African.

His stance made it clear that he meant business with these women as he demanded, “Is she drunk?” The clinger didn’t budge and her friend pretended not to understand. Security Man changed his wording, but not his tone, “Has she been drinking?” As the de facto spokeswoman for the duo, the one not obviously hammered challenged back. “Beer.” (This was spoken with two syllables and a jutting chin.)

“You don’t come in this store drunk! You got to leave! We don’t have drunks in here! Get out now!” As the man in blue fired off these admonishments, he physically pinned me to the check writing stand in an effort to reach the Snickers/Fanta/Beer ladies. The cashier finally called his attention to my immobility and he let me and my ice pass.

A full on verbal brawl ensued, overflowed into the parking lot and included more beautifully inflected insults from the guard (perhaps he was Caribbean?) and threats of physical harm from the now free standing drunk. It culminated in her throwing her cell phone at him to make calling the police easier and then wavering across the blacktop with a final directive expletive.

Mercy, I love the South Side.