A Tavern Can Be One Entertaining Place

I was sitting in a local watering hole the other morning and as I was sipping on a crisp beverage of my choice, I gazed around the knotty-pine decor  to take in all that was entertaining to me. Granted, it was 6:45 AM and I had just finished my eight-hour shift at the P.O. so the local talent was not in full Saturday night revelry, and yet the entire bar area was filled with patrons doing as I … cooling their dusty pallets. The faces before me were not gender specific nor were they of a single demographic but the unifying phenomenon was quite simple, they enjoyed the atmosphere that they were surrounded with.

There it was: all of these tavern-goers celebrated their parked rear-ends in their beloved stools in the precise location as, no doubt, the previous day. Perhaps not the day before but guaranteed the one prior to that. They all appeared very comfortable with their band of brothers and the one conducting the entire mornings festivities was, of course, the bartender.

Todays bartender was Alice. We’ve known Alice for years but hadn’t been in her company for the last few. Much of this had to do with our infrequent trips to the local beer scene since my decision to quash the seemingly endless gallons of alcohol that I had consumed the preceding decades. (Curious. Ones time spent in drinking establishments has a direct correlation to the amount consumed. Huh?) Visiting with Alice was enjoyable and she appeared at the top of her game. With upwards of 30 guests all beckoning to be the first one over served, Alice was definitely in charge. As if a beverage savant, she walked to each patron, grabbed their tumbler or bottle and an immediate refill was positioned so closely to their meat hooks that they couldn’t possibly have missed it. She is truly gifted. Her ensemble of quaffing pets were conducting themselves with perfect order and, aside from one idiot who deemed himself the drink-King and was immediately squashed like a bug, the entire morning was just a lovely picture of mature adults on the downside of their days adventure.

To observe a professional server doing their daily tasks with minimal distractions was one of great respect. I truly admire a first-rate and honest bartender. Entertaining while still providing expeditious service.

My eyes are now focusing on the ubiquitous bar-olympics games. Included in this establishment are the pool table, dart board and full-length table top shuffleboard. All enjoyable and interactive for those who feel the need to rise up off of their haunches and gamble that their bar stool will remain unoccupied.(Truly this last statement has some merit as: to establish ones residency ‘at the bar’ is often considered the prime location at any saloon.) Once deciding to participate you then must pick teams, plunk in an ever raising amount of quarters, and begin play. To do this, you need to have skills and in particular, good to excellent eyesight. Remembering as to where you actually are, this hand-eye coordination usually is impaired and the ending result can be uproarious. Personally I thrive on listening to those who truly believe that they, “play better after 5-6 beers.” Sure you do. You also drive better as well. Go for it, dude.

However, as this entry is intended … to participate or simply watch these bar activities can be highly entertaining and I’ve done both with reckless abandon. Not unlike being the big cat at a kill or just the vulture overhead … I was in it to win it.

After countless hours of serious drinking brings us to yet another talent that many previously mild-mannered consumers shake out of their inner self-imposed closets: the art of arguments. Oh how scintillating these wordsmiths turn out to be. I’m always enamored with almost everyone who begins a simple statement, makes it his own observation, directs it to no one in particular and then pauses for someone to respond. At which point someone complies. As an observer, (or at times a willing contributor) I’m never sure if I hope those who retort agree with the guy or just the opposite. If he (or she, mind you) agrees, then there’s a lull for a second but if he’s in disagreement then the fireworks can commence. These hootch inspired debates are always delightfully fascinating and typically escalate for even more hilarity. The decibel level routinely rises with each response and can eventually lead to a physical encounter. Bar fights are common and in the “good old days” the winner of such squabbles was the last one standing. History will tell you what happened in the wild, wild west at their saloons. Never anything good.

As I started this piece … a multitude of things can happen in any drinking establishment and all can light up my day but there was one that presented itself to me that morning (aside from watching the sun come up which is always a bit disconcerting while belly up to a bar) and one I had never been associated with or even had come across. Here’s the scenario:

A small pack of, I assumed, co-workers made their way inside the rathskeller and positioned themselves just down and to my right a few stools. Great. More people to look at and see if they would add inspiration to this piece. I was ecstatic to have that dream fulfilled but it was not in the way I could ever have imagined. These folks quickly got their favorite beverages in hand, downed them with top speed and requested another round. You bet. Get serious with your bad selves. Subsequent rounds followed and I realized that their rather loud conversation revolved around the five video gambling machines that were directly behind me. Their discussion continued and it seemed that they kept their eyes on these games at all times. I didn’t get it as there was only one being played. The impression I was getting was they knew which machine either just paid out or which was about to. Now granted, these gaming devises are for entertainment only, but this horde were not about to be taken by just any machine. They wanted to put their hard-earned cash into a particular one and at just the proper time. Oooo how compelling. I was mesmerized. Seriously?

After listening (I really couldn’t help overhearing) to these comments for what seemed like an hour, a new older gentleman entered the bar and took a seat just one down from me. The others knew him, gave him a rundown on these same gambling contraptions, and then it happened: he ordered a pint of beer, turned his bar stool sideways and just stared at the guy playing the only device. What? No really, he just stared at either the dude or the machine itself. Since he was so close to me it felt as if he was looking at me as the machine was to his right as he spun. I was unnerved as his eyes were unwavering. He gawked. He gaped. As if he was in a trance he stared. Did I say anything to him? I refused because I had heard it was never a good thing to awaken one who was sleep walking and this was all to similar. I’m not sure if he even took an initial sip from his cold one. What in the hell?

There it was, my first sporting event that took place in a bar that I had never been a part of. Oh sure I have lost some money in more than one of those devices in my day and I’ve even watched a friend play for a moment if I’ve added some cha-ching to their pile but I’ve never just sat, unmoving and oblivious to all that was around me, and surveyed one machine with such reverence. I kid you not, I thought this was bizarre behavior and it totally creeped me out. I had to leave.

I have no intention to terminate my stopping occasionally at a local haunt to visit friends or have a hand in a game of darts or just to plop onto a stool and quench my thirst. I probably never will as I thoroughly enjoy the entertainment value a saloon provides. People watching is a favorite pastime of mine and there’s no better place than a bar. I have come to realize that going to just one can be a bit tiresome but familiarity has its merits. I’ve also come across many an odd duck as well as meeting good friends.

I truly hope that one odd duck lost a ton of cash that morning … after I left.