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  • Lance Mannion
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I hate Dr. Pepper. It tastes like cough syrup, the yucky tasting kind. But talking of cough syrups, my father swears Coke tastes like an Indian concoction used to treat coughs and it indeed was concocted as a medicinal drink.


I always have a place where everybody knows my name and knows where I sit and how to fix my Coke "just right" and what items on the menu are my favourites....

Shakespeare's Sister

Dr. Pepper reminds me of my grandmother. When I was a wee thing, I was not allowed to drink soda (apparently because it would make the teeth I was about to lose anyway rot), but I was always permitted Dr. Pepper when we visited NYC. She kept it in the dumbwaiter in the hallway, which hadn't run down to the cellar in decades, although I remember being threatened with being sent down in it on a fairly regular basis by my harassing grandfather.

I remember being about three or so, and asking her for a pop. She looked at the strange Hoosier child in front of her blankly, then looked at my mother. "Does she want Rice Krispies?" she asked. My mother told her I wanted a soda.

My grandmother's been dead for almost a decade, and still, every time I taste Dr. Pepper, the smell of her home fills the air around me.


Gulp. I used to hang out in a bar like that. In my defense, it was on Kwajalein, and there wasn't a lot else to do as a single guy out there but drink, so that's what I and about 800 other bachelors did.


It’s quarter to three,
There’s no one in the place ’cept you and me
So set ’em’ up joe
I got a little story I think you oughtta know

We’re drinking my friend
To the end of a brief episode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road

et. seq.

Exiled in NJ

It took five years to cure me of the crick in my neck from watching the television placed high in the corner of the room, but I couldn't complain. I had my pookah buddy to drink and talk with.

Kevin Wolf

I met some interesting people and had some great conversations in my local, until the best bartender left and our little saloon salon broke up. Ah, memories....


Lance, face it, you're not cut out to be a barfly. But take heart, you already have "A place where everybody knows (your) name, where they're always glad (you) came." It's called HOME. :)


I had a local in Tokyo I frequented, but other than that brief lapse, I'm not really into them.


I take pleasure in being able to say proudly that I AM a barfly! I stop at a corner tap for 2 drinks every day on my way to the train home. While there I watch the early news/weather on tv, talk baseball (especially White Sox baseball) with the other regulars, mildly flirt with the Thai bartender, and otherwise decompress from my work day.
On Saturdays, I spend 2 or 3 hours in a local tavern playing video golf or watching baseball.
This is not time wasted IMO, this is time earned.
And where I live, smoking is still allowed.

mac macgillicuddy

"My grandmother was something of a character."

Beer and cake!


Greg, sounds like time earned to me too. But does your routine really qualify you as a barfly? Sounds to me like you're just a "regular." What does the Thai bartender say? Either way, that's what I'd like out of a bar. Except for the cigarette smoke.

Mac, my grandmother liked beer and cake too. Also she liked beer and Jell-O. Sometimes she liked beer and Irish Rose and that's when she got to be a little too much of a character. But I loved the bars she used to take me to at the Lake.

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