Last night at the bar was another one of those shake your head and say ‘What the F…” nights. Sober people can be recklessly thoughtless. Drunk people are just plain recklessly stupid. Now I know that to anyone who has spent anytime visiting with those people that are in the ‘spirit world’ that this comes as no surprise but I still never tire of seeing just how stupid they can get. We have a number of plastic stackable chairs that we keep at the bar for evening when we have extra large crowds of people due to either live music or the full moon, which by the way is tonight, so look out. Some of these chairs are less than sturdy so we have them duct taped together in units of two which solves the sturdiness issue. There is always some moron that feels the need to undo the tape so that they have a single chair. They then go on to complain almost immediately that the single chairs are wobbly. No F’ing shit!! That’s why they were taped together moron. Not only do they complain but then they proceed to lean, tilt back on two legs and twist about to prove their point. Except for the legal issues involved, I would like to see some of they people fall and bust their asses. I have actually seen people abuse the chairs until they surprisingly break, act shocked that it happened, and then proceed to get another chair and repeat the same actions all over again. In the next week or so I am replacing all of the plastic chairs with steel stacking chairs. Let’s see how long it takes to tear them up. While I am on a rant about chairs and such, the main barstools are made of solid hard rock maple and reinforced six ways from Sunday. The drunks have managed to loosen up virtually every joint in the chairs by their constant leaning and rocking to and fro. These are the second set of barstools that I have purchased in the last five and a half years, The next set are going to either screw into the floor and be immovable or perhaps and will just pour a series of concrete columns will ass shaped indentions sculpted into the tops of each pillar. I either case, with no backs on them, if you lean back, you fall on your ass. I guess the ideal bar would be made out of solid concrete or skinned with solid stainless steel so that you could just high pressure steam clean the whole thing every night. The floor would slope into five horsepower industrial garbage disposals that would grind up everything; broken glass fragments, cigarette butts, bubble gum, popcorn that never got near someone’s mouth, and pizza crusts. Enough ranting and dreaming about a perfect bar world.

The same jazz duo happened to be playing last night that was present in the posting relayed to you yesterday. The bar was packed with a very divergent age group, everything from the barely legal college students to those in the eighties. It was an interesting mix of people to say the very least. One of the older gentlemen, Burt, who was seated at the bar is a veteran of World War II and is in his eighties. He is in amazing condition for his years, still owns his own business and goes to work every day. He is also, by the admission of several women, still very sexually active. A shining testament to young men everywhere concerned with how long their virility might last. Last night he was seated at the bar when two good looking college coeds came in and sat down next to him. He was in his glory with two beauties to talk to. Within a few minutes, another one of our regulars, Mike, a veteran of Viet Nam came in and immediately sat down and started talking to the girls and in doing so, pulling the focus of the conversation away form the first older gentleman. At this, Burt blurted out in a rather loud voice “You God Damned pussy thieving Son of a Bitch!” Just like Burt really thought either one of these two gentlemen had a chance with these two coeds. At this everyone laughed. One of the things I love about my bar is the diversity of people that frequent the place. Unlike some bars that our just filled with old farts bitterly reliving their lives and memories and hating their advanced ages or the bars that are the college aged meat markets, this bar seems to fit all of them. I am one very lucky bar owner.

Another interesting fact about people in bars that seems to transcend age is that as closing time approaches, everyone takes on the personality of a youngster who just doesn’t want the night to end and ultimately go to bed, alone, I suppose. Last night was no different. We had the last three customers at the bar, one in his thirties, one in his forties and one in his seventies. All of the drinks were picked up by the required legal hour and they just sat there, not wanting the night to end. Two of them talked endlessly about how hungry they where but the suggestion that they go and get some food seemed lost on them. The third, a good friend just stayed and continued to talk to me and the bartender about this, that, and bacon fat. My bartender, pictured above at the beginnig of todays' posting, and I were the two completely sober people present and wanted to clean up and go home, something that was lost on these three customers. It was definitely more amusing than annoying as these people are all very good friends but it was now three in the morning and we wanted to see something other than the inside of the bar. They finally all left; we quickly locked the door and began cleaning up the nights’ mess. By about 3:45 we left, leaving the last of the clean up for today. All in all it was a great night at the bar.