I went to a bar

I was kidnapped on St. Patrick’s Day.

Three amazing men, John, Paul and George — the top reporters from the paper where I worked as a copy editor; the top poker players in my league; the people living in my other house — showed up after dinner to take me out to a pub.

I refer to them as ‘The Beatles.’

One minute I was on the phone with My Oldest Friend and the next I’m drinking Guinness in a bar that used to be the corner drug store — the very building where The Playboy Story took place.

I’ve been a wife and mom for about 17 years. The bar scene has changed a lot since I’ve been in it.

In the late ’80s there was always a dance floor and a disc jockey. Often there were pool tables. We would find a table, drink and dance with anyone who asked. It was a blast.

Now there’s a big empty room packed with bodies and a jukebox, if they still call it that.

I didn’t know what to do.

We stood there for a few minutes. Young people with fresh skin and hip clothes were everywhere. I was thinking I felt old.

John “Scotchie” said, “I feel old.” Yeah, well.

He said, “All I can think is that this crowd is a fire hazard. And the music is too loud.” Amen.

I watched a juvenile bartendress make some shots that looked like Shamrock Shakes. She squirted whipped cream on the top and handed them to giggly 20-somethings in tight green tank tops.

I looked down my nose at this. I thought those sissy girls were drinking that foo-foo because they can’t shoot whiskey with the big boys.

I have no idea why I thought I could. I’m the size of the average sixth-grader.

I ordered shots of Jameson, and clinked with The Beatles. “Sláinte.”

One Guinness and I think I’m a hardy Scotswoman.

Suddenly I didn’t care that there was neither dance floor nor room to move. I was dancing and singing along with Tom Petty, “… make it last all night.”

Suddenly I thought everyone in the bar was interested in hearing The Playboy Story. I showed everyone the window where it happened, as if it were the balcony John Wilkes Booth jumped over.

Now you know that I know that two drinks is my limit. But I had a second Guinness.

I felt old that night, but it was nothing compared to my age on March 18.

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7 Responses to “I went to a bar”

  1. Rhonda Says:

    The next time you go to Chuck’s Nuts for a beer, instead of a Guinness, get a black velvet. It’s Guinness and pear cider. At least they serve them at The Falconer. They’re a little more of a girl drink, instead of you drinking like the stud that you’re not.

  2. cb Says:

    I can’t believe you said that the music was too loud. It made a very old person like me laugh.

  3. Scotchie’s proposal « Stories O’ Mine Says:

    […] By T. The John of my personal Beatles, who I refer to in my posts as Scotchie, is celebrating his birthday […]

  4. Boyfriends in bands « Stories O' Mine Says:

    […] 10 years went by and I was back in my hometown. Scotchie, who I just really want to be as cool as, was telling me one of his favorite bands is […]

  5. Scotchie’s proposal « Stories O' Mine Says:

    […] John of my personal Beatles, who I refer to in my posts as Scotchie, is celebrating his birthday […]

  6. Boyfriends in bands « Stories O' Mine Says:

    […] 10 years went by and I was back in my hometown. Scotchie, who I just really want to be as cool as, was telling me one of his favorite bands is […]

  7. My cousin « Stories O' Mine Says:

    […] I was out on St. Patrick’s Day I apparently made to sell one of the Beatles on my […]

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