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I moved into my apartment over the summer. Being new to the city/the neighborhood, I decided to take a walk around to get the lay of the land. Where’s the nearest subway stop? What are my drunk food options? Should I worry about getting skin-suited on my way home from the bar? More importantly, what bars are near me?
As I walked, I saw a few sports bars that were about half a mile away. That’s not bad, not by any means. But as I came back home and circled my block, I was mesmerized by a decrepit building denoted only by a neon Old Style sign. The sign was on, so obviously it had some source of electricity. I looked at my phone. It was around 7:00 at night, so I figured I might as well stop in and grab a drink.
I don’t know how to describe this place other than it being a stereotypical dive bar. Long, skinny room with a jukebox at the end playing Pearl Jam. Random dog walking around through the patrons’ legs. Popcorn machine. Cash only. Top shelf booze was a bottle of Jack Daniels. Smelled like stale cigarettes and the chance of a fist fight. The bartender was a bigger woman, but not intimidatingly so. I pulled up to a stool at the bar and she approached me. In an attempt to act like I’ve been there before, I ordered the first thing I saw someone else drinking.
“Can I just get a shot of whiskey and a PBR?”
“What kind of whiskey?”
“Eh…whatever’s in the well.” Mistake. She shook her head, laughed, and poured me my drinks.
“That’ll be $5.”
“That’s it? Only $5?”
She laughed at me and told me, “You say that now, but you haven’t taken your shot yet.”
And I’ve been back countless times since then. I’ve gotten to know people that go there every day, been invited to events there, and even gotten to know some of their girlfriends and wives. For some reason, I didn’t think myself a regular until one night recently, when I stayed and hung out with Lindsey and two other guys for two hours after the bar closed.
The signs were there the whole time. Free shots. Getting asked about the project I was working on at work, not just “how was your day?” Taking my first shots of Malort with the bartender. Being on a first name basis with Chicago’s Tamale Guy (shouts to Claudio). Learning that whenever someone said, “I’m gonna go deliver some GrubHub,” it was code for, “I’m gonna go hook up with that girl I told you about.”
In sitting there with Lindsey and two other regulars, I felt both a sense of belonging and shame. Here we were, a group who bonded over drinking, but ultimately had very little in common otherwise. I came to realize that I was about 15-20 years younger than everyone in the room. This was their life, hanging out at a bar way past closing time, smoking cigarettes and bullshitting about the future of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and here I was, in my twenties and just starting my career. I would compare it to Cheers, except instead of heartwarming and fun, it was kind of depressing.
It’s not that I think I’m going to end up that way. It’s that I know it’s a very real outcome to my lifestyle right now, and that’s not something I like thinking about. But with that in mind, winter is here, and it’s nice to know I have a watering hole roughly 3 minutes walk away. I’ll ride it out for now, but come spring, it may be time for a change. .
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Charlie
Using sarcasm as a defense mechanism since 1993. At any given moment I'm either tired, drunk, or stressed out. Get at me at charliepgp@gmail.com or whatever.
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Becoming a regular is largely incredible until you get exhausted of the same drink but feel guilty telling the bartender you want to switch when they’re so used to giving it to you without asking.
I should be clear about this: this actually happened at my local sandwich shop and not a bar.
I know the feeling Will. Café in my office building has my Friday lunch order waiting for me where I can just cut line and pay.
I’ve found the solution to this. My regular bar does actually have one monthly rotation tab and they generally do it justice. If you always order the rotation, you get some variety over time.
You think you can leave, but once you try different bars, the longing for the comfort of the local watering hole keeps calling you back. You’re stuck unless you move to another area.
For me, it’s the free popcorn that keeps me going back. Snacks and drinking are the best.
Hosed on Brady?
Congrats on your first shot of Malort and welcome to Chicago.
Nobody can explain to me why it exists, only that it’s the first step to becoming a Chicagoan or something
I’ve been told that it a coal miner, or some other physical burdensome job, who lost his sense of taste so he invented Malorts so he could taste the drink.
Taste like crushed up asprin and melted rubber-bands. Welcome to Chicago’
Malort is objectively terrible. Fernet is far superior in every way, and the couple times I was in Chicago over the summer seemed to be available almost every where. Guess, it’s not just for us (West)coastal elites any more, but give it a shot instead of Malort.
Fernet is objectively disgusting. There’s a reason that $20 bottle costs $2 in Argentina – the illusion of being cultured costs a lot.
Literally tastes like bug spray
I love that everyone has a different thing that they compare it to. I thought it tasted the way burning tires smell. My friend thought it tasted like she swallowed a marker. You thought it tasted like bug spray. Funny stuff, man.
This is exactly what I said the first time I had it. But I’ll be damned if I don’t like it now.
I didn’t realize I was a regular until I texted the manager to open up at 10 am just so I could watch a football game, and he did. That was actually pretty amazing.
The bar I’m a regular at used to have 22oz Bud and Bud Lights for $4 on Saturday nights. I realized I was a regular when my buddy and I walked in and our bartender just set out one Bud Light and one Bud in front of “our stools” as soon as we walked in the door. We didn’t even say anything. It was awesome.
I worked for a Budweiser distributor through undergrad and a few of the bars we’d deliver to would set out a couple of cold Buds before we finished up…and then another couple….and then another couple.
Ok dumb question, but what does it mean to be skin-suited?
It puts the lotion on its skin, or it gets the hose again.
Ok got you. Thanks for helping out the slow minded of us here.
I never experienced the greatness that is free popcorn at a bar until I went to Wisconsin and Chicago this past year. That trend really needs to make it’s way down to Texas.
Some bars here have it. Warning: after midnight it turns into “piss corn” from all the degenerates who don’t wash their hands after leaving the little boys room.
True, although usually after midnight I have enough alcohol in my system to kill the germs.
I always assumed it was a thing everywhere – is free popcorn actually an upper Midwest thing ?
Regular-ass dive bars are one of the biggest things I miss about Chicago. They’re surprisingly hard to find in Manhattan. Everything around here is so bougie.