Turn the Page

In every city, there are certain places or streets or neighborhoods that, for one reason or another, you probably don't venture into too much, if at all. One such area in St. Louis is called Page Avenue. At its best, it's just sort of rundown and industrial looking, lots of warehouses and fast food places. However, this past weekend I got to experience the other side, if only briefly. Hilda, a friend Kia and I know from Oberlin, was visiting, and we wanted to get some booze. Being the complete dorkos that we are, we of course looked in a phone book for the closest liquor store, since I thought that the supermarket prices were a ripoff. (Seriously, who looks in a phone book for a liquor store? Honestly.)

Anyway, we locate one that seems reasonably close to our apartment, and we head off to Page Ave. Before reaching the one we were headed for, we found a different liquor store en route, which looked more like a cabin in the woods than anything else. We went in. Everything was behind glass, prices hard to see, sketchy people inside. We left.

We passed at least two other liquor stores before finding the one we actually set out to find. Another thing that happened before we found our intended store was that I ran a red light. Barely. I breezed through just as it was turning red. Fortunately, a police officer was right there to catch me and make sure I didn't hurt anyone. He pulled me over, took a look at my Maryland plates and my Massachusetts license and asked me "Where are you staying at?" I told him I lived here, he asked me where, and I told him. He asked if I went to college here, and instead of getting into a semantic argument about that with him, I just said, "Yes." Yes, I go to college here.

He proceeded to inform me that my reckless behavior could have hurt someone (that was expected). He also told me that what they usually do for people like me who have out-of-state driver's licenses is that they put them in jail (??!!?) until they can post bail. Um, what? I think I was too shocked and awed by what he had just said, and also I didn't want to make things worse, but in retrospect I'd really like an explanation for that. You're going to lock me up in jail, just for running a red light and not having a Missouri license? I'm not in Kansas anymore. Actually, they might do the same thing in Kansas. I have no idea.

Needless to say, this put a damper on the evening momentarily. This was alleviated by actually finding our destination: a bright yellow, sketchy-as-all-hell shack that supposedly sold liquor inside. We didn't even bother. We ended up going to the grocery store, a 2 minute drive from our apartment. I vowed never to venture into that neighborhood again.

[Here is the spot where I rant about social injustice and how wrong it is that so many liquor stores are located in the poorest areas of the city]

As a post-script, the officer who gave me the ticket told me I had to call to find out how much my ticket was for. I did this. The person who answered informed me that the clerk's office only accepted calls between 9 and 1. At this point, it was 3, and they were no longer accepting calls. But clearly someone picked up. So they were accepting calls. Could she not just tell me how much my ticket was for? No. But I could come by the courthouse and find out. Or call the next day between 9 and 1. I still haven't called.