She walked into the bar, placed a ten dollar bill down, and looked around for the bartender. There didn’t seem to be anyone in attendance. A couple of gay guys in on their lunch break from across the street said, “Help yourself. Bebe’s late again. We’re keepin’ a pile of money over on the counter. It’s the honor system.”
Kristie was familiar with this system, but didn’t really approve. Legally there should be a formal bartender keeping tabs on the place. She hopped behind the bar and said, “I’ll act like the bartender since I am one anyway, and we’ll try to keep it legal.”
The guys nodded in consent and she wondered how in the hell the place got opened in the first place. Later she found out that the tenant who lived in back saw that Bebe was late, and simply broke in to open the place up. The tenant thought the owners would approve. Kristie was simply amazed at the audacity of some people, but here she was the self-appointed bartender. She was in on the ruse.
She decided that it would be best under the circumstances if she did not drink and brewed herself a pot of coffee instead. She just couldn’t stay away from this place, it sucked her in like a vortex. The bar was perfectly placed in a corner tucked away a couple of blocks off the main street.
It was across the street from a popular gay resort, so they sometimes got a mixed crowd. It was amusing to mix rednecks with flamboyant queens. They capped on each other all the time. There was some improper name calling, but for the most part the behavior between the two groups was tolerable.
The place was funky, you couldn’t deny it. The carpet had been through at least two floods. The owners just squeegeed the mud and water out the door, brought in two fans and a heater to get the place to dry out. Then it was business as usual.
Everyone knew when it was going to flood and they walked around town in an almost festive mood wearing knee high rubber boots and yellow rain slickers. This old bar was the last place to close. When the water was six inches at the door, the customers helped the owner move all the liquor upstairs, bar stools on top of the bar, jukebox and pool table moved out of town…. The last stragglers had one final drink, wished each other “Happy New Year” and fled for higher ground.
Kristie headed for the bar seeking the company of these stalwart men and the light-hearted companionship she knew she would find there. In this town even if you’d been fired or 86’d from a place, it was likely that you’d be welcomed back into the fold with other fellow sufferers of the world.
She really didn’t drink much anymore. Oh, she had had her day and could match the best of them as a renown party girl, but now she seldom had more than one or two light beers. Occasionally she’d order a margarita – one was her limit. If she ordered a second, she felt sick after two or three sips. She did favor champagne and could easily drink a whole bottle of it, but then she ended up saying and doing things she regretted.
Red wine at dinner was nice, but generally her drug of choice was caffeine – lots and lots of caffeine! Coffee, tea, Diet Coke – all day in all ways; iced, hot, sweetened, lukewarm, with lemon or not – caffeine! So, now that she really wanted a cold beer, she would settle for hot coffee.
She didn’t like the way the two gay guys acted like they owned the place. They were looking through the unopened wine in the cabinet beside the bar. Why wasn’t this cabinet locked? She thought about calling the owner – an ass tight jerk-off control freak who would probably fire Bebe, put the tenant’s head on a stake, and storm the customers out into the street. She had already had a couple of run-ins with him and didn’t want to take a gamble on being shot as the messenger.
Several of the good old boys showed up just then. She automatically opened four beers, popped some popcorn, and put four bar-b-que beef sandwiches in the toaster oven to heat up. These sandwiches were disgustingly sweet and gooey with American cheese between two soggy white buns. But with some salty chips and a couple of beers, they provided the fuel the guys needed to get through the rest of the work day until the serious drinking could begin.
The guys worked in construction and operated heavy machinery. They did most of their work beginning just after dawn and working til dusk. They were hard working, Salt of the Earth types who started their day with a beer, a pot of coffee, and a big breakfast of ham, eggs, and toast. They would usually pop a beer mid-morning, have two for lunch, and finish off the night with a twelve pack and a few shots of the hard stuff. Dinner consisted of a steak and pasta washed down by a bottle of red. They were asleep by 10:00 or 11:00 PM to start again the next day.
Although they were loud mouthed, dirty talking racists, Kristie couldn’t help herself, she loved these guys. She loved the gay guys too, and this led to problems sometimes. They had tried to make this an all inclusive bar. The gay guys liked to come over for the cheap drinks – fully half price of the drinks across the street. They also liked the smell of the testosterone that was embedded in the walls of the place.
They played pool, drank their drinks, and for the most part stayed calm in the face of the bashing they were sure to receive if they ventured in. Somehow Kristie thought they must welcome the reciprocal teasing. The gay guys could dish it out too! Both groups seemed to appreciate the punishment like when you know you’ve been bad. Sometimes fights would break out, but they were usually quelled in short order.
Just then the owner stormed in. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
Kristie hurriedly got from behind the bar and apologized, “I was just trying to help. People were already here. Your tenant broke in and opened up.”
“Goddammit! I’m going to evict that bitch if it’s the last thing I do!” He was in a mood like usual.
People gulped down their drinks and cleared the bar. Now no one was there. He grabbed Kristie by the wrist and slapped her hand hard twice. “This is bad! Very bad! Why didn’t you call me?”
Kristie didn’t speak until he released her hand. “Well, for this very reaction. Exactly,” she said looking down at her throbbing wrist.
He turned away with a final “Humph” and began checking the register receipts. Kristie hurried out. Now the bar was completely empty. The bitch owner was there by himself with no bartender and no customers.
Kristie went across the street, looked in briefly to see if there was anyone she knew, heard the incessant blaring of the techno music, and decided to opt out. She went to the store, bought a six pack of Coors Light, drove home, climbed up the forty stairs to her little cabin in the woods, closed all the drapes, and turned on an old western. Today she would just have to drink alone.
(First published 3/28/12)
