This weekend, for the very first time in my 28 years as a resident of the state of Georgia, I was able to purchase alcohol on a Sunday. Those living in states and counties untouched by traditional southern Blue Laws may scoff at such a mundane act of grocery shopping, but for my friends and I the seemingly mundane ability to buy, say, a six-pack of beer on a summer Sunday afternoon has always been the stuff of legend. I don’t know how many last-minute spaghetti meals have been rendered mediocre by an inability to grab a quick bottle of wine at the end of the week.
So, on New Year’s Day I stopped by my local grocery store solely to exercise my newly acquired rights. Bottle of champagne in hand, I was ready to head straight to a friend’s house for the traditional southern luck-inspiring lunch of Hoppin’ John and collard greens. But I didn’t want to leave just yet. I realized I was also there for the sheer novelty and spectacle of seeing the lights turned on in the beverages aisle—a spectacle of sorts never experienced and nearly beyond my comprehension. I spoke with two strangers when they laughed as I pulled out my camera to snap a photo. “I just did the same thing,” a young woman about my age said, and we chatted for a few moments. Several folks I’ve spoken to about the new law, while incredibly happy to be finally able to buy on Sundays, are ever-so-slightly sad that they will no longer have it to rail against. No more weekly polemics against the inanity of an outdated ordinance, no more diatribes into the importance of the separation of church and state. It’s been a hallmark of mine and many others’ adult lives that we have had to endure this law and plan in advance for entertaining and parties. Now it’s a brave new world.
Before I left the store that day, I managed to experience one more surreal moment. What I’m about to describe next actually happened, but I’m not sure how many folks will believe it. I can only assure you that I couldn’t have thought of something so unbelievably, for lack of a better word, cool.
After I grabbed my bottle of champagne, I headed over to the snacks aisle and grabbed a few things. Passing the beverages aisle again on the way to the registers, I noticed a couple by the cooler embracing. They had just hefted into their cart a case of beer, and were grinning like crazy. I chuckled and thought that even for me this was a bit over the top, but then I realized how exactly surreal the moment had gotten. They were hugging because the song playing over the PA system was none other than Etta James’ classic torch song “At Last.” Now, I doubt that this was the work of anything other than just pure chance, but I laughed out loud and marveled at this absurdly comic and yet strangely touching moment. They were happy, I was happy, it was a happiness that could only be shared by those who have lived under the life-long iron fist of the Blue Laws and emerged on the other side of Sunday afternoon on New Year’s Day 2012. Long live Sunday sales.
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