Azar’s Package Store

Pathetic excuse for a neighborhood package store. Steer clear.

Like a Skittle squashed on Boulevard, Azar bursts with flavor. It’s as sketchy as I had hoped and more. Last night my betrothed and I swung by to pick up some liquor for a Stock the Bar party. One car populated the huge bumpy parking lot.
For staff and stock security purposes, not only is the front wall fortified with iron bars, but also the entire store is inaccessible to patrons. What should have been a 30-​second shopping experience took 10 times longer. All we wanted was the tiniest possible bottle of Jim Beam.
«Thissun? Thissun’s $ 35,» the employee screamed from the back, shaking a huge container in the air.
«Thissun? Thissun’s $ 25,» she hollered while suspending the next largest size over her head.
«Thissun? Thissun’s $ 17,» she yelled at a still-​too-​tall jar. The process continued until she slid a teeny Jim Beam off the shelf.
«Thissun? Thissun’s $ 7,» she sighed.
«We’ll take thattun,» my betrothed nodded. (He didn’t really say «thattun,» but that would have been funny.)

So you’re always limited for options when looking for hard liquor when you live intown, but this place is truly to be reserved only for when you have a serious wound and you need the alcohol to sterilize/​numb the pain!
The fact that this place is so far back from the street leave you feeling over exposed in what is clearly a magnet for all kinds of crackpots!
They had what I was looking for… cheap tequila, sitting right at the window which made the trip pretty quick, but not quick enough for me to not be asked «.what you drinking on man? You getting on that wine?» by a local zombie.
…erm no! Bye.
The Pepe Lopez seemed over priced but trying to get this transaction finished before the sun went down, I paid the man and left.
On that note, they are one of those cool places that’ll add 7.5% on if you’re using a debit/​credit card or not if you’re paying cash — another superb reason to skip Azar.
Note to self. Try to plan FAR in advance for all hard alcohol purchases to avoid going back to Azar.

I’ll admit, I haven’t been here in a while for reasons that will be abundantly clear in a moment. I had forgotten to bring a bottle of liquor to a party and made a quick pit stop to the Azar to amend that.
Now I’m not one to be intimidated. I lived off of Ponce back when it was positively Dickensian – if Dickens, you know, wrote about tweekers and crack whores. I once lived in a neighborhood where the crackhouse was actually one of the nicer residences on the street. Living in the sketchy part of town, I’ve long since learned that the proper response to hearing gun fire outside is not to go to the window to see what’s going on, but to slink just a bit lower in your seat.
Which brings me back to the Azar. It’s hard to miss with its flashing neon arrow pointing directly to it, Looney Tunes style. I walked through the door and immediately noticed that, with an Obi Wan Kenobi-​like wave, this may not be the liquor store I’m looking for. The clerk was safely ensconced behind 2 inches of plexiglass leaving me exposed with people who actually have to come UP to the gutter. Comparing them to riff raff would offend riff raff. Welcome to the liquor store of the damned. Attempting to make eye contact with the clerk and only the clerk I said, «A fifth of vodka, please.»
«What kind?»
«Stoli. No, not that one. The other one.» Not being able to physically pick up the bottle itself, you have to verbally direct the clerk to the right one. It was like a cross between the old Wheel of Fortune («$ 200 on the ceramic dog and the rest on account, Chuck») and that carnival crane game where you’re using a robot arm to grab a teddy bear stuffed with old newspapers and asbestos.
«No, just normal Stoli. No flavors. No, you just picked up a Smirnoff.» I honestly think the clerk at this point was screwing with me.
Then it comes. «Hey man, you gotta quarter?» Well, at least it’s just the one guy and not the other three in there asking. Maybe they’re taking turns. Bum etiquette and all.
«No man. Got no change.»
«What about after you pay for that bottle?»
«Let me see what I can do.»
The bottle comes, handed to me through a little safety box like many banks and the Ponce Taco Bell drive-​thru use. «Hey man, how ’bout that change?» He steps a little too close for comfort.
«Credit card, man. Sorry.»
«You sure? What’s in your pocket?»
«Nothing man.» I can usually take getting panhandled and have given over change from time to time, but overly aggressive panhandlers are a pet peeve.
I drive off and head to the party. I hand the liquor to the host and say, «So let me tell you about the Azar next to Turner Field…»