Booze & Bars: Drinking Booze In Bars, Cafes, and Lounges

Drinking booze. I have known booze, and booze has known me - including all the women, acquaintances, joys, troubles, writing, ailments, heartaches, immorality, goodness, tickets, arguments, political talk, and predicaments associated with my past drinking lifestyle. Christian or not, I am unsure anyone knows the drinking atmosphere as I have known it in the past.

As a writer that used to frequently publish short stories, editorials, poetry, articles, essays, and other literary-related pieces prior to converting to business writing - bars and booze provided the atmosphere and ambiance I needed to feel like I was on a cafe terrace in Paris all the time. (In fact, I actually took half a dozen real writing trips to Paris, France back in the day.) Cafes owned me. Inspiration.

Local bars, lounges, and cafe imitations often opened their doors privately for me as early as 10am to sit at the bar and begin writing amid the stacked-up chairs, over an hour before opening and their clientele even began arriving. Booze helped me, to some extent.

Yes, I was privileged -  served wine by the bottles and beer by the pitchers - even when I was alone. And, the Scotch... Oh my, the Scotch. 

I wrote, and wrote, and wrote, then stopped and talked, and talked, and talked more. (Ask anyone.) The writing was good, and the booze never had a negative effect. (I even had a few local columns at the time, and was self-syndicated in a few dozen other places fairly regularly.) Perhaps booze did lead me to fuss with editors, maybe....

I had an extremely high tolerance of alcohol, which I always seemed to reach and unknowingly surpass by late evening or at least late night. Blackouts abounded. People hit me sometimes, and vice-versa. I am no buzzed fighter; a kid could take me! Still, I always felt I was being Christian.

Taxi drivers were at once my best friends and worst enemies; they began to hate my late night calls and avoid them. Even being tipped well doesn't make "guy losing girl" stories from the back seat any more interesting.

I always viewed even the worst local pickup bars, lounges, and dives are being something special, somewhere Hemingway would hangout at if he lived in my town. Never have I ever been less than an incurable romantic with a nostalgic heart. That's me, and probably always will be.

I have (past tense) met hundreds of women in bars, and developed scores of ill-fated relationships with them, for varying purposes - dreaming of sudden love or maybe just lust. Sometimes something similar happened, often it did not. I was slightly shy without booze, yet a full-fledged Cassanova with it. Go figure.

Following many years, the alcohol eventually took a physical toll on my body, after serving as a sort-of God-given prescription to help me make it through my parent's individual sicknesses and deaths (as a single adult only-child), and other prior woes (many of which I allowed it to create). Shakes, headaches, soreness.... minor legalities.

Perhaps I should have taken a cue and cut-back or stopped drinking years earlier. I had hints. Once a woman approached me in a local bar/restaurant with a magazine in-hand wanting an autograph over my column. I gladly signed it. Then she said,"I am teaching my grandchild to read, and I always use your column." Ouch!

I don't know what the future holds, but if I ever do drink again it had better not be much at a time. This life has been quite a ride, but has had a few wrecks along the way. Can you relate? Many surely can.