I looked for this one bar at least twice in the hotel. It's one level up on the mezzanine with the conference rooms back when conferences meant popping out for a tipple. Sometimes I gave up and had a drink at another bar, but the first time I came to this bar more than a decade ago there was no space to sit at the bar proper. I had to sit in the most undesirable table for two underneath the lone television, a 13" CRT, and next to the supply of potato chips and other nibbles. I was drinking vodka cranberry at the time. The bar seated 20 odd people. Otherwise a few more can stand.
I was posted to London after that but I had some return rights so every week I was back I would come back to the bar. This was before smartphones so most of my time was observing the crowd at the bar. Slowly everyone at the bar retired. The seat I am in now was occupied by a man who died of cancer. I arrived a few years after smoking was not allowed. I can only imagine in a completely interior facing bar with one door modeled after the square footage of a bar car you would be fumigated with tobacco. There is a model train that runs along the top of the bar. When it used to run, she would blow a train whistle and put on a conductor's cap. Countless people take photographs or videos of this. It was also a good way to announce last call - pun intended. Perhaps fitting as a metaphor the train slowly broke down. It couldn't get around the entire track and sometimes never started. It, like the bar and the bartender, headed for retirement at the same time.
When I returned after my London assignment, I made it a point to come regularly especially after I moved to a flat one block away from here. This bar opens 12p to 7p; again to cater to a crowd that doesn't exist anymore. When I decided to change jobs in the middle of the Great Recession, I debated leaving my job of 8 1/2 years with her. When my grandfather was in decline, I shared my struggles. When my mother finally retired, I shared the news. When I brought in my harem of women, she would evaluate them for me. When I had issues with bosses, she would take pity on me. When I got a bonus, I'd order expensively, as expensive as a small bar was capable - there is no champagne - and always always tipped lavishly.
In return, we'd share our interests in television shows; Downton Abbey, Mad Men, Boardwalk Empire, anything British and pro monarchy. She missed one season and I bought her the DVD set. She has Netflix now. When a new rail line opened, I got her a transit card so she could travel one rail stop instead of two subway lines. I have her birthday in my mobile so I drop off a card with cash, or flowers, or whiskeys I had a chance to taste, or cosmetics when the toll of the job was getting to her.
I came by even in the warm summer months when one ought to be at a patio. She used to have hot happy hour canapés Wednesdays to Fridays and I went from getting two to a plateful that made me embarrassed compared to the one the customer next to me got. That got axed due to cost savings. I probably ate 10kg of crisps during these past years. If I was getting a little out of hand, she'd make sure I was fed. If I told her my fridge was empty, she'd give me trays of takeaway from lunch service leftovers for free.
I moved from vodka to Stoli diet, then to rums and then because of Mad Men, I tried every old cocktail recipe she had from Singapore Sling to Old Fashioned. She didn't use a smartphone app to find them. They were bits and pieces of yellowed paper from a scrapbook in the back cupboard. She made my first Manhattan. And because she knew I was infatuated with the 1960s, she would give me 1960s sized martini glasses where the alcohol would fill up to the rim with a bubble. I later got to keep a set at home as a memento. I learnt about gins under her. Through 6 or 7 weeks I'd try different gin martinis to develop a palette.
When I was posted in Atlanta, I started coming for lunch. I'd have a three martini lunch and then head to the airport for the plane. Even for me, three martinis in 90 minutes can make one a bit wobbly.
Throughout the years I saw a lot of people here. The Indian chap who regaled about how the place reminded him of clubs in Bombay (not Mumbai) who clearly used the place to entertain accounts. A banker who checked his mobile like me as a way to decompress after work and occasionally inviting a host of industry friends. An old lady who would enforce the closing time and start cleaning up the bar, for the bartender always worked alone, when the patrons were still there. The people who were here ages ago and brought their adult working kids to drink here. The old 90 something lawyer who had the same soup, sandwich and crisps on a designated week day. A spunky lady who was always telling me about young people squeezing her into retirement or gambling. An Englishman footy fanatic who comes here to have two glasses of wine and goes back to work from lunch always in business attire. A lady who always has another professional lady date and splits a bottle of wine. A lawyer or accountant couple where the man is shorter than the woman but both quite affable. It's a hotel so some people make it a point to stay just to be at the bar; business men, retirees, tourists from Australia to Britain. One magical day about two months ago, I knew everyone in the bar...everyone. This would be the closest I would ever get to Cheers - except I never saw Cheers other than the intro.
There is no debit here. There is no chip and pin. You have to calculate and sign your credit card or charge it to your room. I've picked up cheques for some regulars. I've helped her pick up and eventually be paid back from gratuities cheques where people didn't sign or didn't pay properly. I always say whatever gets her to punch out faster I'd do it. I try to drink the full bottles and not empty any so inventory measurements are easier. When Macallan jacked up their prices she would let me know.
Every year there is a Christmas party she hosts. It's all the free hotel buffet food you can eat and a cash bar. It took me a few years before I was a regular enough to be invited. I ended up sitting outside the bar in the first year - the "patio" facing the escalator inside the hotel. By my final years, I was at the bar because I graduated to being a regular; or the regulars died off or retired.
I always tried earlier to invite coworkers and industry friends to try the place. Somehow she remembers their drinks and my drinks. When sales were down and she thought her place would be closed, I'd offer to buy out the place and put on a big bash. Luckily it never came to that. But in the end I stopped inviting all but my most intimate acquaintances. I didn't want the place to be polluted by a boisterous drunk. This was a place I'd knock off to ruminate about work for two hours, or if I'd come here to drink away my frustrations and then hit the post 7pm meetings after.
Those that come here regularly know to get our last drinks in before 7pm. She closes the door and takes down the sign around 645pm. When we leave, regulars close up the door so people don't come in. The bottles are protected by a glass door. It only closes up for me when I leave regardless of time because I'm always offered a whiskey for the road. At times the bartender needs to leave to fetch supplies or a washroom break and she entrusts us regulars to, as I always say, defend the bar. We welcome any patrons coming in to grab a seat or table and wait whilst keeping a watchful eye at the liquor cabinet.
For a time I was at Dale Carnegie and the classroom was down the hall in the hotel from this bar. It felt wrong looking in and not being able to grab a tipple. You can never buy her a drink because all these years she is professional when she is on the clock. I always joked self medicating and talking to her was cheaper than hiring a psychiatrist.
Now this place will be knocked over to make yet another conference room. 28 years later run by an employee of 42 years. Whilst I have three other watering holes closer to my flat with other bartenders who know me, it won't be quite the same as this place. Not by a mile.