Just random pop crap of the most inane order. It had obviously been put there by a company, probably mobbed up, that made zero effort to understand the business or its clientele. Typical of the whatever-happens-happens-and-no-one-really-gives-a-shit vibe at Harper’s, the jukebox was a fucking catastrophe. Afterwards, a friend used to joke that you could still see Dick’s nose grease on the mirror behind the bar. Word on the street was, they were inside jobs and Dick was splitting the loot. That was probably a little too frequent for the owner’s liking, but the owner never seemed to be around, and those weren’t the only liberties Dick was taking.Īfter Dick got held up at the bar a few times, he was gone. We tipped Dick well, and he’d give us every 3rd or 4th round on the house. The bartender would simply toss a fresh coaster beside your current drink, and that meant your next one was free. These kinds of transactions were standard operating procedure at neighborhood bars.
#Rosalie lyrics thin lizzy free
Tipping culture is stronger in New York than anywhere else in the country, and “buy back” is the term for the occasional free round a bartender pours his steady customers as a sign of loyalty and gratitude. He looked to be in his early 30s, had a thick brogue, a tricksy grin, and a bad ass handlebar mustache.īartenders are like lovers you never forget your first.ĭick was our guy, and in true New York City fashion, you take care of your guys and they take care of you. All we ever bought was booze.ĭuring the mid-1980s, the main bartender at Harper’s was a guy named Dick. Maybe a woman hawking black market movies on VHS, or a huckster pretending to be deaf and mute, collecting money for a fake charity, or some guy peddling roses that you could give to your lady. He never came back.Īt some point you were also sure to have someone come into the bar and try to sell you something. Like out of the blue one night, some guy setup a guitar and small PA, and started singing sad sap Irish folk songs like “I Wish I Was Back Home in Derry.” Harper’s never had live music, but suddenly there he was.
Harper’s was the kind of quiet hole in the wall where nothing was happening, but anything could happen and it wouldn’t surprise you. At corner bars in The Bronx, no one even bothered to ask. I didn’t bother buying a fake ID until I went away to college in Michigan. The legal age in New York was still 18, and neighborhood bars usually didn’t care so long as you were within a couple of years. Me and my friends started drinking there when we were 16. The clientele was mostly old men, with a cacophony of younger people occasionally crowding in on the weekends. I mean a working class bar in the Kingsbridge section of The Bronx where Irish immigrants drank, mostly bottles of Bud emptied into small, stemmed glassware.
And when I say Irish bar, I don’t mean some contrived yuppie shit hole with an Irish name, a bunch of Gaelic tchochkes splattered across the wall, and overpriced pints of Guiness poured poorly. and Albany Crescent.ĭuring high school, my friends and I used to drink at a local Irish bar. The table of contents with links to previous chapters is here.īy Akim Reinhardt A latter day incarnation of Harper’s at W.
#Rosalie lyrics thin lizzy serial
Stuck is a weekly serial appearing at 3QD every Monday through early April.
0 kommentar(er)
