A (drunken) blast from the past

This article was published in Hour magazine back on May 16, 2002. Basically, I decided to test Montreal's supposedly lax liquor laws by grabbing a giant can of beer and going about some daily activities. This is one of my favorite pieces just because it was so ridiculous to do. Go to the bottom of this post to see a scan of the article, replete with a picture of me yelling at my hairdresser as she takes a swig from my beer.

Are you looking at my can?

Taking the bar to the streets to see just how liberal our liquor laws really are

by Craig Silverman

Last
week Canada Post declared it would soon be delivering alcohol. The same day, Public Security Minister Normand Jutras tabled legislation
to loosen Quebec's liquor laws by allowing folks to get alcohol when
they order take out, and expanding the types of alcohol they can bring
into unlicensed restaurants. The casual observer might take these two
events and conclude our government wants us to, in the words of Andrew
W.K., "party hard". So I grabbed a few king cans and went about some
regular activities to see just how loose our liquor laws really
are in this already riotous city.

Hair Salon
Important note: Depanneur
workers don't give you dirty looks when you buy two king cans at 10:30
in the morning. So, beer in hand, I continued on my way to see the
legendary Julee Jonez, have her work her magic on my locks, and see if
I couldn't also get a little buzz going.

"I have a surprise for you," I told her, and cracked a can.

When
drinking during a haircut the most important thing is to avoid getting
any hair in your brew. Apart from that important caveat, drinking
during a haircut is an otherwise thoroughly enjoyable experience that's completely tolerated. It's even better when your coiffeur also
partakes in a swig or two. (But be wary if they keep, ahem, reaching
for your can. Drinking while having your hair cut is entirely different
than drinking while cutting hair.)

"This might become a tradition," I said.

"That wouldn't bother me," replied Julee.

Clothing Shopping
I
then decided it was time for something a little more active than
sitting in a chair and drinking. (Hell, I can do that at work any
time.) Equipped with 950ml of Labatt 50 and a photographer/accomplice
named Samir, I set out along St. Denis Street and arrived at the Mexx clothing
store. I set my can down on the counter to look at some sunglasses. The
cashier looked at me, then the beer. Then off she walked. I was pretty
much left alone as I brazenly browsed and boozed. In fact, they seemed
to paying more attention to Samir. It appears that Polaroid cameras, no
matter how casually carried, attract more attention than large cans of
beer. That changed once the salesman tracking Samir noticed my can and
held a mini conference. They sent over a lovely Asian woman.

"Are you having a good day sir?" she asked, all smiles.

"Yes indeed," I said, "and you?"

"Very good, thanks. It's a lovely day isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," I said and took a swig for effect. "Do you get many people in here with beer?"

"No, not really."

"Is it against the rules?" I asked.

"Well,
you
are supposed to put it in the paper bag but it doesn't really matter,"
she said. "I'm actually kind of jealous of you. It's a beautiful day
and I'm stuck
in here..."

"...while I walk around drinking a beer with complete impunity," I said.

"Yes."

"We'll I won't torture you anymore, have a nice day," I said and left.

We
next went to The Gap to see if the greeter at the front of the store
would turn into a surly bouncer at the sight of my very unfashionable
large dark green beer can. (I think 50 is probably more of a fall or
winter beer, but please consult your cosmologist.)

"Welcome to The Gap," they said.

"Cheers!" I said.

Nothing.
Samir went looking for a nice button down. Another pass by the greeter
caused him to convene a quick meeting with a young manager-looking
woman.

"Can I help you with anything?" she asked in French after coming over.

"No thanks, just looking."

"Well if you need any help just ask for me, my name is M-------."

"M-------?"

"M-------."

(Look, I was drinking a king can. I don't remember her name. But it started with an "M", okay?)

Again
I found they don't really seem to care, as long as you pass the
"send-over-the-cute-salesperson-to-see-if-he's-belligerent-or-too-drunk-to-get-out-his
credit-card" test. I'd like to think I passed with flying colors, but
maybe that's the beer talking. (What, you expect me to write this
sober? Ak;jsn. Oops, sorry.)

Renting A Movie And Buying A Magazine
I
was eager to see if a chain like Blockbuster, which rents censored
versions of movies and lacks an adult section, would tolerate a drunken
lout like me in their family-oriented franchise. I saddled up to ask
about renting an Xbox, placing my can on the counter. The man behind
the counter did a double take on the beer but kept his focus.
Meanwhile, Samir was in behind the two Blockbusterinas to get a parting
shot. They heard the sound and saw the flash, but Samir was out the
door before they turned around. Again, nobody cared at Blockbuster,
or at our next stop, Maison De La Presse. Only when I placed my can on
the counter with a thud while buying two magazines did the cashier give
me a look, which seemed more of a longing glance anyway.

Conclusion
Nobody
called the cops, I didn't buy anything ridiculous in a drunken stupor,
I spoke to two positively lovely young women, and put one over on a big
franchise. Yes, this city does rock.

Click for a larger view:
Can

November 16, 2005 | Filed Under Hour, Humour articles, Newspaper articles 

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