Bucking the System

Some things about living in Sweden's social democracy are pretty cool—guaranteed health benefits, elder care, free education—and some are downright ridiculous. Take for instance, Systembolaget. System is Sweden's national liquor sales department, and the eponymously named retail outlets are the only places in the entire country (other than restaurants and bars) where you can buy beer, wine or liquor.

Okay, you say, so, System is just a liquor store owned by the government, right? So what's the problem? Well... you know how in U.S. cities, there are liquor stores and bodegas on just about every street corner? And you know how in most states they're open pretty late, so you can grab a bottle of wine on the way to a party? You can't do that here. First of all, there aren't that many Systembolaget shops (I'm not even sure "shop" is the right word—see the photo above.), so you definitely have to know where your local one is before you set out to buy booze. Second, they keep ridiculously short, government-office style hours, so there's no possibility of spontaneous drinking.

For the past few nights, I've walked home in the evening after a long workday and a trip to the gym and thought, "I could really go for a nice glass of wine with dinner." But then I remember that I don't have any wine at home, there's no place to buy any nearby, and even if there was, it would have closed at 5 pm. Damn! A couple days ago, I actually just sat at a bar by myself and sipped a glass of wine, but felt sort of weird about it. Luckily, my friend Rebecca (about whom you'll hear more, because she's coming here to visit next week) told me she actually really enjoys talking to strangers at bars in new cities, so maybe she can teach me how it's done.

Anyway, yesterday I left the office a little early and took a different route home than usual and—voila!—there was a Systembolaget. I decided to pop in and buy a couple bottles of wine so I'd be stocked up for future "I could really go for a glass" occasions. Well, the place was totally bizarre. It was lit with bright fluorescents and had a wall of agents stationed behind a counter with a digitized number system to tell you when it's your turn—pretty much exactly like going to the post office or the DMV. The vibe was kind of grumbly and official in that governmental way, too, with lots of people sitting around and waiting for numbers like 425, 436 and 457 to flash onto the screen. The walls were lined with glass cases displaying a fairly upscale selection of wines, beers, ciders, and hard liquors with item numbers that you have to memorize or write down before your turn at the counter. In short, System couldn't have been more sanitized or less fun if it were a dentist's office.

Once it was my turn to approach the counter, I recited the numbers of two bottles I wanted to buy (I'd been furiously saying them over and over in my head because I didn't have a pen), and the man behind the counter went to the back and retrieved them for me. Later I found out it's also possible to ask the well-educated folks behind the desk for food-pairing recommendations and things of that sort, so if you want, the experience can be a bit like going to a nice wine shop (in Bizzaro World).

But still, I don't like it. I understand the purpose for taking the fun out of booze purchasing, but there's something unsettling about Planned Drunkenhood. ("Here's a pamplet on safe drinking! We also have non-alcoholic beer on sale, just in case you're interested. 'Outercourse' is as much fun as sex, by the way. Would you like some free condoms with your '87 Lafite Rothschild?")

I'm sorry, but I'm happy to line up behind the slutty teens illegally purchasing Blue Nun in a dingy Brooklyn bodega. Give me drywall-encrusted Mexican construction workers sipping Mickey Ice from paper bags. Give me the smiling toothless guy behind the counter who calls me "sunshine" or "mami" as he hands over my bottle of Knob Creek. I want to trot into the liquor shop on John's arm, and laugh as we run around and pick random bottles to take to some BYOB eatery. The romantic, post-Prohibition aura of seediness and naughty fun is totally dissolved when the government takes over liquor distribution. Sure, tell us when and where to buy our hooch—even tax it to high heaven if you want—but for god's sake, stay away from the retail business.