I went to Bar after my soccer game last night. No, you don’t understand, that’s not a typo. I went to BAR - that’s what it’s called. It’s the next day, and I still feel dirty.
The evening started out with a bad omen - notably, the slight drizzle turning into a torrential monsoon the momment we parked next to the gym where our soccer game was to be played, only to stop after we entered - but the game was well fought and we came out of there happy with the knowledge that we would indeed be fighting for the championship once again in the playoffs. Afterwards, glancing outside, we were all relieved to see that the rain had stopped, so we made out way out to discuss where we wanted to go celebrate with a drink. The mighty rain gods however, seeing their favorite prey just standing around so utterly vulnerable to their whims, decided to once again unleash hell and soak every last one of us in the span of 30 seconds. Shrieking like little schoolgirls, we ran to the cars and continued our conversations in a more "pardon-me-do-you-have-any-grey-poupon" type manner, and it was unanimously decided that no one knew knew where to go. With such conviction in our spirits, we headed out in search of cheap beer.
Riding in the lead car, discussing our options, the driver and I came the realization that there was a place right off the highway that we could grab a drink at, and so we made our way there. Arriving, I see a giant unlit sign proclaming "Tavern" as well as three giant letters B-A-R painted in the corrugated frosted plastic windows. Small speckles of light from cristmas bulbs (no doubt as old as the place itself) shone through the plastic just enough to make the place look even tackier from the outside than it already was.
We gathered our resolve and made our way inside.
We looked around.
The place was deader than the proverbial horse that one has been kicking for the last three hours. Actually, scratch that - there were two people in there. One of which was a grizzled old man sitting towards the back of the place near the BAR (ha ha), smoking up a storm and wearing tinted glasses. The other, I cannot descirbe to you as he quickly made an exit towards the back of the place and dissapeared behind a closed door. Ahhh.. so very reassuring!
The old guy got up and greeted all eight of us, and proclaimed that "nous fermons!" (we’re closing!), but not to worry, there’s somewhere else we can go!
He walked towards the wall. He grabbed on to a hidden latch and pulled. A door, invisible before, magically appeared!
"Go on through!" He growls.
Nervously we enter what could only be called the only bar crawlspace that I’ve ever been in. Dark looming stairs lead down, up and away from the platform we’re on, and there’s another door to our right. We’re led through it, and emerge into what was actually (relatively speaking to the last one, of course) a "happening" place. i.e. it had music and a waitress.
We sit down, carefully chose our beer (they only had one kind) and laughed at the sign on the back door proclaiming: "Warning! Falling bricks outside!".
Danny thinks often about opening his own restaurant one day, lovingly calling it: Heated Food
