back in the days when the bar formerly known as El Camino was known as its former and current name (which shall not be named...) i stopped by with the boys on thursday nights to claim my status as "lady" and thus, free appetizers. on friday's i'd go with B for our free 9-10pm well drinks, competing to see who could drink more (until she went to rehab). in the beginning, i hated the place, and would have much rather gone to Guillo's. but alas, by the time the place shed its pseudo-mexican interior, i was joining softball teams, friends with the barbacks, and showing up solo.
and somewhere along the way, i've realized that this is how you know a bar is "yours": you have no hesitation to go it alone.
and now i find myself happily, unexpectedly, wandering into the bird on friday afternoons. and people shout my name as i walk in (i mean, really, who hasn't always wanted to be "Norm!"). Greg asks if i want a yuengling--amusing because it was just a fluke that i ordered it the first time, but i'll go with it. i help people with crossword puzzles, and get updates on the pool to see if Ralph really will get married (he did). but that's the afternoon. its easy to shout names and remember beers when the lighting is good and there are 3 people in attendance.
but saturday night, i wandered in around 10:30, and heard the same "Nell!" as i sauntered in with a birthday crowd. now something magical happens to the bird around 8pm most days. the disgruntled government workers have their fill of schlitz and wander home, while skinny jean donning 24 year olds with unkempt hair filter in. the bartender starts carding. and they stop keeping tabs. and with this transformation, i never expect special treatment. but alas. John (who i had not seen or talked to since the spring) called my name from behind the bar, took my order, and told me my drink was on the house. and i breathed a sigh of relief.
in a way, i had come home. not just to the bar, but to the neighborhood. to the community. to the city. and maybe its silly to say that community exists in a neighborhood bar. or maybe it just makes me an alcoholic. but i would argue that its a public sphere in a habermasian way. i've had conversations (or arguments) ranging from immigration law, to charter schools, to heroin addiction. i've critiqued the capitalist economy, and then gone to the atm to pay my tab. and i've cursed myself many a time for ending up at the raven, because i always drink one too many drinks and can't sleep, but the reason i go back and stay too long is not the schlitz. its the people. good conversation and feeling like i belong. and isn't that what everybody's really looking for? and you can't entirely control where you find it, i suppose.
