Misery and Gin

As many of you are probably well aware, I spent the better part of my college years holed up in a smoky little establishment called Maxine's Tap Room.

Maxine was the proprietor of this establishment and words can’t quite describe her. You had to know her to know her and it has come to my attention that today is her birthday.

Maxine had an uncanny ability to make you feel right at home while also making you think she hated you, your entire being and everything you ever stood for. She would show you her diabetes-ridden foot like she was your thoughtful grandmother worried about her disease and the next minute call you a bastard and light a cigarette.

Anthropology classes should have been taught in that bar. It was there that I really learned that everyone, no matter their social status, was a welcome addition to the party. Sorority girls sat next to the local radio announcer who sat next to the guy with the minor cocaine habit who sat next to the English professor who sat next to the college alums reliving their college days.

It didn’t matter if you were with a crowd or alone looking for a place to wash down the troubles, you were welcome to smoke a cigarette and down a beer. In fact, as many as you wanted. Maxine’s was the kind of place where judgment was left at the door and for a few hours we were all in it together. Maxine sat right there in the mix of everyone. On that same stool. Every. Single. Night.

Maxine died about two years ago, and I liked the old bird so much that I drove three hours to attend her funeral. In prime Maxine fashion, everyone told their favorite funny memory, Jed Clampett, an old timer who played guitar in her bar from time to time, sang “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain,” we all went to the graveside, then the bar was opened at noon. As Margariete, the woman who took care of me as a kid once said after the funeral of one of her friends, "You know who would have enjoyed today? Maxine."

Maxine, you and your bar gave me some of my most treasured college memories. No matter how far away I move, or how many nonsmoking, trendy wine bars I now frequent, I’ll always return to the Tap Room and my roots for Miller Lite and a $5 pack of Camel Lights.

So, here’s a bleach-tainted beer in your honor, you old bitch. Happy Birthday.

L.