I Found a Bar Where Everybody Knows My Name, but They’ve Been Chanting It for the Last Three Hours and Won’t Stop

Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got. And it’s always been my dream to find a place where everybody knows my name and also ignores my growing alcohol dependency.

So naturally, I was overjoyed when I stumbled across a friendly little, unmarked basement bar several flights below the earth’s surface.

And wouldn’t you know it? Despite this being my first time there ever, everyone knew my name and even yelled it at me in unison when I entered.

Actually, they haven’t stopped yelling it. Just over and over again, and it’s been like three hours. Or possibly thousands of years, time sort of has no meaning here. But still, I appreciate the camaraderie!

I decided to mosey up to the bar and ask the barkeep which of their IPAs were gluten free. But before I said a word he poured me a boiling hot brew of indeterminate origins. Based on the drink’s temperature and the putrid stench, I think it was an English beer.

Not wanting to be rude, I asked how much I owed. But the bartender only uttered, “We pay for our sins in death.” He was just like Ted Danson aside from the jet-black eyes, and overall menacing aura.

I also very much enjoyed the “will they, won’t they” repartee between said bartender and the young, pretentious waitress. In case you’re wondering, yes, she did eventually strap a hot metal cage to his chest and drop a few hungry rats inside.

Also, this place has no cover charge. Pretty sweet deal!

Eventually, some of the regulars started streaming in. A downtrodden, portly man plopped onto a well-worn stool. At which point I quipped, “How’s life treating you, Mr. Peterson?” setting him up for a classic Norm zinger, you know? But instead he cried, “Jesus forgive me, please, I’m so sorry for all the pain I caused.”

I didn’t really get the joke, but I bet if there was a laugh track it would have been hilarious.

There was also a know-it-all Cliff Clavin type that talked incessantly, driving one patron to burst her eardrums with a melon baller. So that part was pretty much exactly like Cheers.

Speaking of which, I don’t think I ever got the name of this place. There was a sign above the door that said, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” But that seemed a bit too hipstery of a name for this place. Although the dude with the pentagram tattoo on his chest and cloven hooves definitely gave off a hipster vibe.

Overall though, it was a good experience. There’s something almost comforting about a chorus of cloaked figures chanting your name for the entire duration of a drinking session. And chewing the fat with the other folks at the bar helped me realize that our troubles really are all the same.

Still, I don’t see myself becoming a regular here. And I do intend to leave this place, assuming I can ever find the door again, which has seemingly vanished.

“Wouldn’t you like to get away?” Am I right?