Bar Old Town, a now ghost town of the past, intricate psychedelic multicolored sugar skulls, buildings painted with murals, tourist filled trolley cars and won out orange arched Spanish roofing tiles. Tourists roam the streets, flocking towards all of the attention seeking attractions of the eerie town. In the middle of the town a store called the “Old Town Mexican Bar” stuck out from the highlighted historic homes, general stores and sit-down eateries. A neon sign dangled from metal rods overhead the bar entrance, it read, “OLD TOWN BAR RESTAURANT” in Christmas colors, light bled out onto the cobweb filled glass windows above the entrance.
The floor was covered in tiles with designs similar to faces of playing cards, black and red. The entire granite island behind the counter contained a plethora of alcoholic beverages that included Jose’s Margarita Mix and Patron Tequila and Jack Daniels Tennessee Whiskey. Above the back counter, beer glasses hung suspended upside down. The counters were covered with laminated wooden oak and along the surface were Mexican skeleton dancers in black dresses with flowers on the outskirts of them. The walls were covered in memorabilia of the town’s history and that of nearby towns. As I entered the bar, I could hear the sounds of pool balls bouncing off each other, as well as the sound of partially filled drinks clinking.
Near the bar’s restroom, a distraught looking green clothed pool table stood with wooden legs that were as ornate and intricate as an eagles talons. A group of locals who entered the bar directly after me, gave me glances as ifI didn’t belong, and they muttered about me under their breaths to each other, with the demeanor of grade school children, all I could make out was “gringo.” I decided to sit on the only barstool open, which gave out a screech like a hissing snake when sat on. I gestured to the the nearest bartender whose hair was disheveled, her eyes had deep bags under them, and she looked about 30 years old, although she was only 23. She seemed overjoyed to assist me as she glanced at with a fake half smile.
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Melissa said enthusiastically, “How is your night going?”
I responded by saying, “Alright and you? ”
She replied with, “My night has been alright, but my newly born daughter is sick with typhus fever.”
“That is awful,” I said.
She nodded in agreement and realigned her focus on the work as the manager stared at his employees scanning their actions with tunnel vision focus.
“What can I get for ya?” she said.
I replied, “I’ll have whatever beverage is your favorite sweetheart.”
She smirked and went to go and mix up the drink, which turned out to be a local beer with apple juice infused on the rocks called Applesbe Ale. Although the drink was crisp, it was mediocre at best and I could feel the sugary liquid coat my throat as I sipped it. I regretted not going with a drink that I would’ve enjoyed more. I thanked her for the drink, then I gave her a crisp mint $10 bill. Her ice cold blue eyes lit up in astonishment and acted as if tipping was something that she was not accustomed to. I left the bar with the uplifting euphoric feeling that maybe I uplifted someone’s day.
I remember my childhood here in Old Town, before it was completely developed and flooded with tourists, disturbing my once quiet town. Before the Mexican skull murals were painted on the walls, before the streets were paved and the echoing whistles of the trains could be heard in the distance. Many might say my town is haunted as ghosts haunt the homes, I would agree with them as it generates curiosity among tourists of venturing into a haunted town, which Is good for revenue.
When I bought the bar it was what one might have considered a “fixer upper” – it was completely dilapidated. The building’s insides were completely barebones, the floorboards were temite infested, covered in asbestos and the outdated turquoise wallpaper was peeling in every possible place. Electrical wires came out of the electrical sockets suspended like a waterfall. I recall hand laying all of the individual ornate black and red colored tiles into the ground, as well as putting up the custom neon sign that I got during a February many years ago for a discount. Or buying the lustrous metal barstools with colored leather seats from a closing corner side furniture store as well. The bar is somewhere in the town where many locals visit along with the occasional misdirected tourist. It symbolizes a place where the town’s people can visit and be among their own for special occasions or a more regular get-together.
It was a gloomy Friday morming, I arrived at the bar at around 6:00 A.M., something I hadn’t done in a while. I entered my bar with a smile on my face after unlocking the wooden western style swinging doors. Next I went to put all of the chairs onto the floor as they were put on the tables during the night so that the floors could be vacuumed by Melissa, one of my best employees. ome of my employees rolled into the bar later in the day. In the back kitchen, I supervised some of my new staff on maintaining the cleanliness of the stainless steel appliances; this is because I didn’t want to lose the A grade sanitary grade I worked so hard to get. Then I went out near the booze counters to view my workers and the general atmosphere of the bar.
My eyes were soon drawn to a man that was wearing a pristine condition black biker jacket that looked nearly unworn, almost perfect. His hair was covered in grease as if he hadn’t showered for at least a few days, and his eyes were a piercing emerald green shade and looked deceivingly welcoming. He gestured over to Melissa, who walked over as he rubbed the butt of his cigar into one of the ashtrays on the counter. There were some local men over in the corner that were in one of the copper tables, who appeared to be cursing out the motorcyclist. Two men played pool with laser focus on the game at hand, a crumpled twenty was set on the side of the table under an indented stone cupholder. The night ended with a bar fight between the local men and the pool players, because the pool table players were hogging table. The situation soon was broken up and the bar’s atmosphere went back to what it had been before after they were kicked out. Overall, it was somewhat of an average day at the “Old Town Bar Restaurant.”
