It was hard work picking up the fallen tree branches and the refuse that had blown in from the toppled garbage cans along the street during the windstorm. As I drove downtown I was looking forward to a couple of quiet beers to soothe my aching muscles. Some conversation with the guys in Harry’s would help.

Harry’s Bar was unusually noisy when I pushed open the door and took the only available seat at the counter. Joe was busy pouring drinks. He signaled to me to be patient and carried a tray of glasses to a table where a group of elderly people were talking and laughing. Doris, dressed in a shiny white plastic apron and transparent shower cap, was helping out behind the bar making sandwiches and pouring coffee. More patrons pushed open the door and filled the remaining tables along the back wall.

“Usual?” asked Joe as he swept by in a big hurry. “Be with you in a moment.” He reached for more beer glasses and pulled at the beer pumps again.

Henry Isaacs struggled through a crowd of young people standing in the doorway waiting for a seat. He elbowed a leaning space at the bar next to me.

“What’s going on?” he asked. I shook my head and shrugged.

“Hey! Joe!” called Henry but Joe avoided him as he collected empty glasses and money from the tables.

Dave Prescott emerged from the crowd and grabbed a seat next to me. A customer had vacated it to join his friends at the dartboard where a noisy, impromptu game had started. “What’s going on?” he asked. “I haven’t seen some of these people out for years. Big celebration? Did I miss something?”

Joe appeared behind the counter again. “Sorry boys,” he said as he placed our drinks before us. “Big rush this morning.”

At the end of the counter, Doris was serving a burly customer dressed in a quilted vest and blue jeans.

“What kind of sandwiches have you got?” the man asked.

“I’ve got cheese sandwiches, ham sandwiches, cheese and ham sandwiches and ham and cheese sandwiches,” said Doris. “Which one do you want?” She turned and gestured at the refrigerator with her sharp knife.

“Ham and cheese, I guess,” he said. “On rye bread?”

“I’ve got good, old-fashioned American white bread in a real plastic bag from the supermarket. OK?” replied Doris.

“OK. You got mayo?”

Doris piled cheese and ham on a slice of bread. Then she slopped a spoonful of mayonnaise on it before pounding the second slice of bread on top with a heavy hand.

“Anything else?” she demanded. The man shook his head, picked up the plate and retreated.

The noise in the bar reached rock show proportions as Joe and Doris fed and watered the customers who were now standing three deep behind the bar counter. Eager hands reached over us to take their drinks and hand over their money. A little beer dribbled across our shoulders. Cigarette smoke filled the air with a blue, acrid haze. Someone opened a window to let out the hot air. Dave Prescott ignored the commotion behind him and silently sipped his gin and tonic as he turned the pages of the slightly damp daily newspaper. Henry turned and tried to say something to me. He shook his head in exasperation when I signaled deafness by cupping an ear with my hand.

An hour later the noise diminished as customers began to leave. There was a lot of ‘goodbyes’, hand-shaking and embracing as they made their way to the door and out into the street leaving the shell-shocked regulars alone at the bar counter. From somewhere in the back of the room Des appeared and climbed up on her seat to accept a fresh glass of white wine from Joe. Doris clattered dirty glasses onto a tray and swabbed down the tables with a wet rag.

“So what was all that about?” I asked.

“Look up at the TV,” said Des.

I did. It was showing the usual steamy soap opera. “What about it?”

“Cable’s been off for three hours. It just came back on. Main line into town was broken by the wind. They’ve been repairing it. Didn’t you know?”

“Is that why they all came down to Harry’s? No TV?”

“I’m not complaining,” said Joe. “Done more business today than all last week.”

“Well,” said Des. “If shutting down the TV for a few hours gets people out and socializing maybe they should do it more often.”

There was a deliberative silence along the bar.

“Nah,” Doris said as she kicked off her shoes. “Not worth it. My feet are killing me.”

Back