The Bar
By BobbiTodd
Featuring:
Ian
Harbinger
SuperGrover!!!
Rune
Echo
Scrib
“Echo?”
“Mmm? Oh, hello, CiCi.” Echo looked up from the letter she was writing to speak to her secretary.
“I found that bar you wanted. But I’m afraid the owner isn’t interested in selling.”
“That bar,” Echo echoed, raising one eyebrow in question.
“Two years ago, you asked me if I’d ever heard of a really interesting bar. Well, I found it.”
“Two years … Oh!” Echo vaguely remembered a casual comment, made when things had gotten particularly boring around her place. Chercheur was nothing if she wasn’t persistent.
“Shall I see if anyone wants to come along?”
“See if anyone wants to come along,” Echo smiled.
CiCi returned a little later with the news that Ian, Scrib, SuperGrover!!!, Rune, and Harb would love to go with them.
As they all piled into the van, Rune asked,
“What’s the name of this place, anyhow?”
“Callahan’s,” CiCi replied as she started the vehicle and pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic. During the ride, CiCi told them everything she had been able to learn about the bar. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to pique their interest.
They pulled into the parking lot just after sunset. The lot was nearly full even though it was the middle of the week.
“So far, so good,” Ian intoned. CiCi led the way as the group converged upon the bar.
They entered just in time to hear a tall man say,
“Even the king of the jungle knows that readers digest and writers cramp.”
Everyone in the place smashed their glasses in the fireplace amid a chorus of jeers and boos. The man stood grinning sheepishly for a moment, and then he sat down.
“CiCi!” An enormous redheaded man waved to them from behind the bar as he quickly filled a dozen or so glasses for his patrons.
“Grab a table, I’ll be with ya in a second!”
Echo and her entourage found seats around a table, though Harbinger had to get an extra chair. Scrib stared in surprise as a large German Shepherd climbed onto a table and began to speak.
“Many people remember ze Shah of Iran, but few people remember his cousin, ze Shan of Iran,” the dog said in a heavy German accent. “Zis is because ze unfortunate Shan had been subject to epilepsy since yout’. It vould have been a disastrous embarrassment to ze family if ze Shan's ailment had become public knowledge, so if anyone vere present ven he vas struck by an attack of epilepsy, ze palace guards had strict orders zat zose people must be killed immediately.” The dog paused to look around at his audience. He had their complete attention, including the newcomers.
“Now, it came to pass zat a grand party vas t’rown by ze Shan to celebrate his vedding day, vit many, many guests in attendance. Yet cruel fate vas not to be denied. In ze middle of ze party ze Shan vas struck by another epileptic seizure. Some of ze guests, having heard rumors of people mysteriously disappearing ven vit ze Shan, realized vat vould come next, and ran for ze door. A few of zem actually escaped before ze palace guards gained control of ze crowd.”
“Ze next day von of zose who had escaped noticed somevon else he'd seen at ze party. He walked over and asked discreetly,” the dog paused again. Scrib would have sworn the animal was smiling.
"I say, vhere vere you ven the fit hit the Shan?"
The entire bar was stunned into silence for a long moment, then another barrage of glasses hit the fireplace. The dog laughed silently before climbing from the table.
“Okay,” SuperGrover!!! Said. “We we have a talking dog that tells bad puns.”
“Oh, that wasn’t a bad pun,” the redheaded bartender boomed from behind them. “Ralph’s just getting warmed up.”
“Hi, Mike,” CiCi said. “I wanted my friends to see your place.”
“Any friends of yours, CiCi, are welcome here at Callahan’s. What can I get you folks ta drink?” They placed their orders and Mike walked away. The piano player stood up and waved everyone to silence.
“A farmer had several horses that he was really proud of,” the man began without preamble. “He spent a lot of money making sure they were healthy and happy. He spent lots of time brushing and combing them, so that they’d look the best they could, too. One day, a flock of birds flew onto his place, and built their nests in the horse's manes. Before too long, the horses started lookin’ pretty ragged, and the constant noise of their chirping and whirring was driving those poor animals crazy.” The piano player stopped and took a drink from his glass.
“The farmer tried everything to get rid of the birds,” he continued. “But nothin’ worked. Finally, in desperation, he asked his vet for help. Now, the vet didn’t have a clue as to what he should do, so he called a bird specialist friend of his. This lady thought about the problem for a while. ‘I know what’ll work!’ she told him. ‘Just tape some ordinary cooking yeast under the horse's manes, and the birds will leave. And they won’t come back, either!’”
“The vet told the farmer, and the farmer decided to give it a try, even though he thought it was pretty strange. Sure enough, within a week the birds were gone and never returned.”
“The moral of the story, of course, is that yeast is yeast, and nest is nest, and ne'er the mane shall tweet.”
‘How can they afford to keep replacing all those glasses?” Scrib asked in wonder, itching to add her own small pile of glass shards to those already glittering from the fireplace. The pile was growing steadily with every story.
“You pay the regular price for the drink,” CiCi told her. “And a small additional charge if you want to keep the glass. Mike buys ‘em by the gross, so they’re pretty cheap.”
Several rounds later they had all decided that the additional charge was definitely worth the satisfaction of smashing their glasses in salute of the latest pun. Mike had even provided CiCi with a tray full of empty glasses, since she was the designated driver. She made use of them gleefully.
“Is it always like this?” Ian asked several hours later.
“No,” CiCi responded. “I forgot this was pun night.” She smiled. “Usually, it’s more interesting.”
“Last call!” Mike announced, then was busy filling order for a few minutes. When all the drinks had been delivered, CiCi glanced around nervously, then stood and cleared her throat. A respectful silence fell over the bar as her companions stared at her in disbelief.
She smiled shyly and began to speak.
“A man was visiting Scotland one day, and drove through the town of Fife. It was about dinnertime, and he was feeling hungry. He spotted a sign that read ‘Ying’s Chinese Cuisine’. He thought it was a little funny that a Chinese restaurant would use a French word to describe themselves, but he decided to give it a try. He went in and was seated by a polite young man. His order was quickly taken, and the food was delivered to his table in just a few minutes. The food was by far the tastiest he had ever eaten, so when he asked for the bill, he was astounded to find out that there was no charge. The waiter simply told him,” CiCi paused for effect. "The best Ying's in Fife are free."
The silence was so complete that the hissing of the flames in the fireplace sounded like a hurricane. No one moved.
CiCi blushed a deep red and sat down, staring at her hands clutching the edge of the table.
The first glass hit the fireplace like a small bomb. The thrower hadn’t finished his drink before launching the container. Ralph howled his approval as dozens of other glasses followed the first. CiCi began to smile.
On the way back home, Echo said,
“Really interesting bar!”
** Callahan’s Bar and everyone in it are the property of Spider Robinson, and are used here without his permission. I hope he doesn’t mind too much.