I remember when my grandpa would take all the kids in his 1962 Corvair to the Beer Joint. The proprietor was named Gus. All I remember is the boiled egg in some giant pickle jar and everyone yelling "Hey, Joe, what ya know?" when we went in. All the kids would get a root beer or an orange pop and Grandpa, in all his glory would have a "snort". The littlest child would get to stand on the bar and everyone would watch him try to drink a soda. The bottle was too big for the little hands.
I do not remember much about the places he took us. Many years later, I lived in small town out west when Grandpa came to visit. This was the first time he had ever flown on a plane. He used to take the train. As we were driving through downtown, a strip about a mile long with store fronts, a Sears Catalog Outlet, a bank and a Police Station, he said, "Hey Buddy, lets stop in that bar and have a snort later". First of all, he usually called me buddy but he called all the kids buddy and second of all I did not know there was a bar on main street or in the entire city for that matter. There was no sign that I could see. In fact, you had to be twenty one years old to drink and alcohol was only sold in Liquor Stores. He must have smelled the alcohol.
Well, back at Gus's, there were the sausages in jars, eggs in jars and peanuts on the bar. There was a few tables and some booths. If I go to any small drinking establishment around my house today, they are the same basic layout. In fact, I would swear the same guys are sitting at the bar drinking. One of them is small and loud wearing a baseball cap that is even dirtier than he is. Another guy is pouring his beer from a bottle into a glass. I never understood that. The women are fairly nondescript and quiet.
You never see old guys like Gus behind the bar anymore. Male bartenders must die at about forty years of age or find something else to do. Maybe they become owners and get lazy letting someone else run the place. Maybe they go on the wagon and have to stay out of bars. Maybe they become politicians and learn to use a crackberry and take pictures of themselves. I think Gus probably had a heart attack in his establishment. I hope so.
I do not remember much about the places he took us. Many years later, I lived in small town out west when Grandpa came to visit. This was the first time he had ever flown on a plane. He used to take the train. As we were driving through downtown, a strip about a mile long with store fronts, a Sears Catalog Outlet, a bank and a Police Station, he said, "Hey Buddy, lets stop in that bar and have a snort later". First of all, he usually called me buddy but he called all the kids buddy and second of all I did not know there was a bar on main street or in the entire city for that matter. There was no sign that I could see. In fact, you had to be twenty one years old to drink and alcohol was only sold in Liquor Stores. He must have smelled the alcohol.
Well, back at Gus's, there were the sausages in jars, eggs in jars and peanuts on the bar. There was a few tables and some booths. If I go to any small drinking establishment around my house today, they are the same basic layout. In fact, I would swear the same guys are sitting at the bar drinking. One of them is small and loud wearing a baseball cap that is even dirtier than he is. Another guy is pouring his beer from a bottle into a glass. I never understood that. The women are fairly nondescript and quiet.
You never see old guys like Gus behind the bar anymore. Male bartenders must die at about forty years of age or find something else to do. Maybe they become owners and get lazy letting someone else run the place. Maybe they go on the wagon and have to stay out of bars. Maybe they become politicians and learn to use a crackberry and take pictures of themselves. I think Gus probably had a heart attack in his establishment. I hope so.
No comments:
Post a Comment