The Here and Now

One of the joys of living in the bush is the effort and trouble gone through for the simplest of things. For little stuff, stuff a normal person in a normal town would never think twice about.
If that normal person is over the age of 21, that is.

The “normal stuff” in question is, of course, the acquisition of alcohol.

Last year was spent in a village devoid of any booze. It was not a big deal. It was not something I pined for. It was not something I missed terribly.

But now, when liquid refreshment is within my reach, tickling my finger-tips, I decided to look at the necessary steps to get it fully in the palm of my hands.
This has not been easy.

Buying booze in a damp town is not as easy as driving to the county line and picking up what you need.
This is mostly due to the mere fact that the nearest town with these particular goods is several hundred miles away.

First you have to register. You have to become a card carrying member if the alcoholic club. This costs 25 dollars, includes long wait times, and requires going to the police station the alcohol distribution site and then the police station again.
And typically can extend from several hours to multiple days.

There are also several taxi rides at 6 dollars a pop.

Now you have your card. Now you are on the road.
The next step is to send a copy of your driver’s license to the liquor store in question, to be kept on file. Once they have proof that you are over the legal age and are approved to receive their substances you can place your order. This order must be mailed in.

For ten dollars Hageland Aviation will overnight your order and your check to Fairbanks.

The booze will arrive, safe and sound, a few days later. It will include a high cost for the usual fair and a nifty shipping fee.

I thought about the steps. I though about ordering.
I decided; I am way too lazy to for that kind of work.

My neighbor, however, was up for the challenge. She made the effort and offered to include me in her order.
Yay! Booze! Without all that “work” stuff!

However, my inclusion in someone else’s order does not make it easy.

My neighbor bought a money order in the necessary amount.
She brought it home.
She had it in a bag, possibly.

She threw it in the communal dumpster outside our building.

The dumpster was full of diapers, food items, moldy some-things.
And juicy parts of recently slaughtered caribou.

This is the dumpster we dug through for a two hundred dollar money order.

My nose is currently suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.

God, I need a drink.