On Request - Gas Station Drinkin' (though there's really not that much of a story, sorry)

I did not spend Thanksgiving weekend in Quebec.  Or anywhere in the USA.  I point this out because these are the places that come to my mind when I think of being able to buy alcohol at a gas station.  Having spent a considerable amount of money on cases of Molson Dry at the Ultramar across the road from my apartment when I lived in Montreal, I know for sure you can buy alcohol at gas stations in Quebec.  I don't know for sure that you can buy it at gas stations in the States, but I figure if you can get it at Walgreens, why not. 

No, I spent much of Thanksgiving weekend in very small town Ontario.  Very, very small town Ontario.  I'm not sure what the actual rule is in terms of distance, but if you live in a community considered to be unreasonably far from a proper LCBO or Beer Store, there is probably an outlet set up in whatever local business is available - grocery store, ice cream shop, gas station, whatever.  Principal business in Brigden is the Super Choice Gas Bar, hence, gas station whiskey.  The available selection cannot be described as extensive.  Jim Beam it was.  Some of it was brown bagged in the Super Choice* parking lot, which was also just outside the gates of the Brigden Fall Fair.  Which was amazing, if you're into demolition derby, monster trucks (in addition to the demonstration, you could take a monster truck ride for 5 bucks), lawn tractor races, displays of prize pumpkins and zucchinis and pie, horse shows, lumberjack competitions, carnies (both rides and food), and people walking around wearing T-shirts with wolves on, and not one of them ironically.  Having eaten a quantity of carnie food, sporting some beer bloat from the night before and apparently wearing a very, very bad choice of top, I was asked whether or not I was pregnant before I was allowed to ride the Polar Express.  No one hesitated to allow me on the Gravitron, whether because I did not, in fact, appear to be a few months pregnant, or because the carnie operating the Gravitron was not concerned about the health and welfare of the unborn no one will ever know.

Much of the rest of the bottle disappeared later that night as my companion and I ate cotton candy and played duelling solitaire while sitting in a trailer.  Not the immobile, shanty-town, 9 Mile kind of trailer (sorry, I meant 8 Mile), but the kind meant for camping, which is marginally better.  I play strategic solitaire, and won by two rounds.

*Not to indulge in a really terrible pun, but I will not (cannot) describe Jim Beam as a super choice. It was, however, perfectly drinkable.