Where Everybody Knows Your Name

What is the number one thing you look for in a good bar? Not a nice place or anything, but just your regular bar where you can drink heavily and not get judged, or go for that nightcap before you head home. What does that place need? For me, the TV sitcom, Cheers, really nailed it. Where everybody knows your name. I just like going to a place where there are a few regulars that I know and they know me. The bartenders know me. Once in while you get a free shot or a heavy pour on the wine. Mostly, it is just about going and feeling like the people appreciate when you come by. I don’t want to feel like I felt in Cortland, like pigs at a trough.

I’ve been searching for that bar in Vegas since I’ve been here. I actually found it too. It was a little Italian restaurant. The bartenders were Ray, Angel, and Samantha. There were always regulars there, like Terrick and Ben. I loved going there. But then I moved across town. Now, I’m working on finding another one.

Marisa and I have been going to this bar called Remedy’s. In Vegas, almost all of the bars are franchises or chains. It sucks. Like I’ve mentioned before, this creates a lack of authenticity. But you get what you get and you don’t get upset. One of my supervisors from grad school told me that one. We deal and we go try to find good bartenders as opposed to cool places.

The first time we went, we go in and the bartender comes up to us and introduces himself, “Hey guys, I’m Steve-o, have you guys ever been here before?” He was super  excited and now, so was I. “He’s going to know our names!” I thought. We bullshit for a minute or two and then he says, “alright guys, round of shots on me!” Awesome. Tequila baby. Time to put our party pants on.

We leave Steve-o for the night and we head on home. Our bellies filled with shitty food and good tequila.

Later that week, we meet a girl at the dog park. We start talking to this girl about the bars we frequent and what not. We tell her we like Remedy’s. She says, “yeah we go there all of the time, but the bartender always forgets our names.” I wanted to tell the girl, “who the fuck are you though? Does Steve-o really need to remember your name specifically, or should he just know you’re a regular?” Honestly, she didn’t strike me as a regular at any bar. I would say twice a week is a regular, not once in a while. But I didn’t want to be mean to the girl, because “we’re trying to make friends” or whatever.

Fast forward to Saturday night, we finish up at a wine bar and head back to Remedy’s. We walk in and who do we see? Steve-o, tending the bar. We sit down and he comes over and we both say hi to him. What does he do? He introduces himself to us, “Hey guys I’m Steve-o, have you ever been here before?” Are you sure you aren’t fucking ten-second Tom? This was the 4th time I’ve met him and the 3rd time Marisa had met him. We don’t even answer his question before he says, “you know what, 1st rounds on me guys!”

I really wanted a place where everyone knows my name, but should I settle for this instead? A place where no one can remember my name, but we get free drinks because he constantly thinks its our first time at the bar. The fucked up part is every time he introduces himself, he repeats your names over and over again like he’s trying to imprint in his brain. How many Italians, let alone Vinnys are walking into this bar. Bald Vinnys,  to be exact.

What do you have to do in this town to make a friend. No one can even remember your fucking name, forget about being your friend. It’s impossible to even create a semblance of relationships with people, because they are so self-serving. I’m not saying I’m a selfless guy or anything, but from these blogs, you can obviously see that I love talking to people. Even if it may not be to make friends. Hearing people’s stories amaze me. For the most part, it seems like people have their heads so far up their ass, they taste their food twice. If people for one second would listen to what people said, instead of concentrating on what they were going to say about themselves, maybe they’d be a little happier. Steve-o is trying so hard to remember people, you can tell by the whole repeating names things. It’s just so sad how badly he fails. So people, moral of the story, head out of your ass and remember peoples names. Or just say fuck it and enjoy the warmth of your own ass because honestly, you’re the real heroes. You make this literary nightmare a possibility.

Published by Your Cousin Vinny

I'm just a guy, who really is trying to figure out what the move is.

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