A Night at the Hole-In-One....Part I

Let me tell you about this place, he said.

It's hidden in the back of the China Bell restaurant, next to a boarded-up motel that used to be the scene of multiple shootings, stabbings, prostitution busts, and other lurid activities. I think bikers used to run the joint, maybe even a branch of the Hell's Angels.

He said this in a tone that seemed to suggest you'd have no interest in such a thing and that this was out of your league and that you wouldn't be caught dead in a bar in which known felons once slammed down shots of Wild Turkey, 151, and other thoroughly unpalatable and hair-straightening libations.

Sounds wonderful, you say flatly after gulping down the last of your second gin and tonic. He looks surprised, you confidently ask for the check. You are not overly excited about heading to this bar but you'll be damned if the past demons that may or may not still haunt the place will intimidate you.

So you and he pile into his 4-door economy import and drive the short distance to the Hole-In-One Tavern, which is indeed stashed in the back of a China Bell restaurant and indeed slightly on the unseemly side. You find that there's always something mysterious and secretive about establishments in which you enter from the rear. You continue to cogitate on this subject as the car is parked, and your immediate surroundings come into focus:

Straight ahead - what appears to be the lobby of the boarded-up motel. You make out what appears to be a condemned/no trepassing/keep out notice posted by the health department. However, it's much too dark to know for sure, as, in keeping with the general theme of deferred maintenance in the immediate area, the parking lot lights appear to have burned out.

Car interior right - Dark. Probably an extension of the parking lot, but it's impossible to know for certain. The gates of Hell could lurk in that darkness, and no one would be the wiser.

Behind - Fast food chain drive-thru. You hear an annoying, high-pitched voice ordering trans fats and grease.

Car interior left - Here sits the entrance to the Hole-In-One Tavern. Unassuming glass door, behind which lies a drab hallway, resplendent in the very best carpeting that 1973 had to offer.

Ready? He asks.

You both exit the car and as you get closer to the motel lobby, you see that it is indeed a condemed notice and you think of all the scurrying creatures that likely inhabit the structure now. This instantaneously makes your skin crawl and you rub your arms as if to knock off any fleas, roaches, or other vermin that may have somehow worked their way on to your person in the 10-foot walk from the car to the bar entrance.

He looks at you with a bit of a knowing smile, certain that you have been unable to avoid being overcome with abject fear at the thought of actually imbibing an adult beverage in this environment, as he takes you for more of a fancy, metrosexual character. He has a valid point, as you drink high-end gin and normally drink at bars in the heart of the city, but a drink is a drink. You will order one in this establishment with your head held high, just as you would at a trendy tapas bar that charges $15 for a lavender-infused martini.

You ignore his glance and stride briskly toward the door, realizing that when you arrive, you must take an abrupt right turn through another set of mahogany doors. The actual bar is tucked away in here. The ghosts of drunken bastards leer uncomfortably at you, but you vow to press on.

He opens the door for you and gives a slight wave, indicating you are to enter first. With a deep breath and an ever-so-subtle stutter-step, you enter the Hole-In-One.