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Monk's Pub Crawl For One (1 Viewer)

Black Irish?

Why is it that no matter where I call home I can always find the pub/bar I need?
I say need, not because I have some kind of drinking problem, but because I am a people watcher, a strange sort of social voyeur.
Always in the crowd, but never really part of it.
I drink, Oh yes I do, but most importantly I find the atmosphere in a pub very comfortable, see I spent a lot of time in that environment when I was young, and mama was tending bar.
Having a nose for interesting pubs I will admit is a small gift, …but I still think it’s an amusing little gift.
It’s been a practice of mine for many years that, once or twice a month I go out to feel around for a pub.
From the time I bought my first legal drink, I have always done this alone.
I travel alone always have, and I like it that way.
Not that I’m anti-social, it’s just my nature to seek new places and people alone.
If I were anti-social why would I be looking for a pub anyway?
No, I travel alone because I have found by way of years of experience that I meet the most interesting people when I’m alone.
So that’s the way I do it.

Hey, do I look Irish in this!

New Rochelle NY the home of two of my favourite fictional TV characters, Rob and Laura Petry an ice rink a mall and not much else.
The bar where I purchased my first legal drink was located in New Rochelle NY.

It was on my birthday, my legal drinkin’ birthday.
As I remember it, I had plans to meet up with a few of my friends to bring in my birthday right, but that was hours away and I was itching to exercise my government given right to drink myself stupid.

There was this bar in New Rochelle called “The Shamrock”.
The Shamrock had been there as long as I can remember.
Don’t know if it’s still there but all the years when I was growing up I can remember it’s blacked out windows & the green neon shamrock over the door.
Whenever my friends and I would leave our much smaller town of Mount Vernon & go to the New Rochelle Mall we’d have to pass right by it.
The Shamrock seemed to always be open.
It didn’t matter what time of day you’d always see someone coming out or going in.
It was just the kind of place my momma told me to avoid (in fact I’m sure I have a memory of my mother pointing at it and saying … “Don’t ever go in there!”)
For some reason I thought this was just the place.
I have always gotten a big kick out of going where someone says I shouldn’t.
I love crossing the line.
As I walked in through the cheap dark veneer door with the worn gold plated knob and took my first look in I thought to myself mama was right.
As I walked in on the right stood a very large Irish bar bouncer.

I only mention he was Irish cause he was so Irish, or what Irish meant to me back then.
Red hair. Cherry cheeks, barrel chest and more than a little confused by my sudden & very Afro-American appearance.
The floor was covered with those black and white marble vinyl tiles, the kind they always put down in diners.
It was only seconds till I began to feel the vibe caused by my entrance into this very insular environment, so I announced firmly but not too loudly that I had come in to purchase my first “legal” drink!
This announcement warmed the pub by at least 12 degrees, every one of those rosy red faces (all male) turned towards me showed a mixture if amusement, surprise and if I’m not mistaken a wee bit of malice.

The crowd watched as I crossed to the bar and ordered the best single malt scotch the bar had.
That scored some points!
As the bartender reached down behind the bar I removed my hat and revealed my heavy mop of Dred locked hair, surprisingly there was only a single gasp of “Oh my Gawd!”
Just in time my scotch arrived, I made it vanish as quickly as it came.
Just then I heard someone shout “Davey…Give us your darts!”
I savoured, smiled & ordered another.
This time, no ice if you please… Davey.
I think most of the bar’s patrons were waiting to see if I keeled over after that second drink and when I didn’t… the third was bought for me.
I drank all night at the Shamrock, played darts and made friends that I would never see again.
I walked out hours later, tipsy but with that warm glow you can only get from crossing the line…and scotch.


Senior Member
A warming tale of the breaking of social boundaries, something that is happening more and more these days. Being a people watcher myself (but also underage,) I could relate to your tale, but not the specific events. You've managed to create a general feeling out of these events, and you're to be applauded for such an act. Very nice!