How to Park at the Bar, Circa-1951
Why tip the valet extra if you can park your own car at the door?
Sometimes—say, after a grueling Monday back in the office—folks need to get to the bar. And, if a patron is planning to drink in moderation, he’ll drive. Good evening, Donna. ‘Night, Dan. Good luck with that excision tomorrow, Steve. Then, down the elevator, out the door and into a dark ‘51 Pontiac. Speed down the boulevard—speed, speed—thinking about how to explain why dinner (Welsh Rarebit) was missed and how the overcoat came to smell like a stranger’s pipe tobacco. Then again, those are worries of a caliber no match for a double whiskey-soda.
Coming around the bed and there’s the bar in its glass-block-windowed glory. Parking lot looks full, no time or patience to circle the block. What about… the sidewalk? Just park on the sidewalk. That’ll do for the 20 minutes it will take to amble in, sidle up to the bar, sip and unwind. Those glass blocks let a little warm street light in, but also affords a little privacy to the frequenters inside.
Better than having the valets park your car out front is parking the damn thing there yourself. Cheers.
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