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I grew up believing Disneyland was the most magical place on Earth. Last weekend I found the most magical place on Earth, and it wasn’t Disneyland, it was this tiny liquor store just outside the city called “The Penguin”.
I was told of The Penguin a year ago, and drove there once, but never had the pleasure of going inside. The Penguin is in Lafayette, 20 minutes away from Purdue’s campus. The area surrounding The Penguin is unmistakable. The number of pick-up trucks sky rockets, as well as the frequency of the name Skeeter.
When I walked in, I knew The Penguin was special. The stale stench, the un-mopped floors, the grotesque specimen working behind the counter, it was too much to take at once. The lady behind the counter, who had a shocking resemblance to an overweight Smeagol from Lord of the Rings, stared me down as I walked in. Since I am under age I figured it would be best if I made small talk with the beastly creature. Bad move. If you plan on going to The Penguin, chances are you are walking out with alcohol regardless of how young you are and look. Do not under any circumstances make small talk with the fat Smeagol behind the counter.
She projected an aura of loneliness. You could tell that she pined for human interaction. Her eyes told a story, the story of a fat unattractive girl. Even as I write this I can still picture it, the only way to describe it is that she “longed” for me. Her eyes screamed desperation but her lips wept passion. It was a calculated risk on my part by talking to her, but this hideous monstrosity stood between me and a few 6-packs.
Me: “You wouldn’t happen to know the score of the game would you?”
Smeagol: “(in a southern accent) No I don’t care for baseball, I’m an NFL girl.”
Me: “What team?”
Smeagol: “Colts… You lookin’ to get messed up tonight?”
Me: “No, just a few 6-packs for me and my friends.”
Smeagol: “Why do you drink beer? All I drinks is Whisky. You get some Whiskey in me and there’s no tellins what I’s gonna do.”
Me: “(awkward silence) That’s nice.”
I’ll stop there and spare you the details of a long awkward and potentially impotence inducing conversation. Fifteen minutes later I was finally released from the grapples of the beast when she offered to help carry my beer to the car. With two hands and three 6-packs I rejected her offer and somehow made it to the car. I felt different after I left. I felt empty, like I left a part of me there. I’ve now come to realize that what I left behind was my erection. The beast took my erection, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back.