Romolo's

     So this is an old matchbook from a bar called Romolo’s. When I was a kid, my parent’s life didn’t end just because they had children. My mother had a job as a cocktail waitress in a bowling alley, and my father was in a league there. Every Friday night they went there, and then out drinking afterwards. Their main hangout was Romolo’s, and as far back as I can remember, I heard all kinds of stories about that bar and the people who frequented it.
     I grew up with a romanticized ideal of what barhopping and Romolo’s was all about. To me, it seemed like a magical place full of good times, good people, and nonstop fun. I used to bug my parents relentlessly to take me there, to see this Shangri La in person! Now, my parents liked to have a good time, but they weren’t monsters. They certainly weren’t going to take their preadolescent child to a bar at one in the morning.
     Still, one day, I tagged along with my father someplace, and we were in Fort Lee, and we passed Romolo’s! I’m sure he instantly regretted pointing it out, because I made a big stink about going there again, so my father finally relented and turned the car around. So I finally got to see Romolo’s, even if it was only three in the afternoon.
     Well, it was basically a shitty corner dive bar. I got to sit there at the bar and drink a coke with some maraschino cherries in it, and play a song on the jukebox(which meant a lot because my parents sometimes gave me old 45’s that came off that jukebox when they switched out records). It wasn’t magical though. The thrill quickly wore off, and if you’ve ever been in a dive bar in the afternoon and seen the people that were there at that time, you know it’s kind of depressing. None of the crazy people I had heard about all my life were there. No one was doing anything zany or hilarious.
     So I went home somewhat disillusioned, but that didn’t last long. Soon I was listening to my parents tell more stories about the wild goings on at Romolo’s, and I just figured I needed to go there late at night to experience all the fun. It was kind of a goal of mine to grow up and someday get to drink at Romolo’s, which is a weird goal for any 8 year old to have.
     I never did get to do that. We moved to Texas when I was 13, and Romolo’s allure faded. By the time I was old enough to go drink, Romolo’s was long gone. So I found my own hangouts and my own crazy friends, and did my drinking there. Still, most nights I never found it to be as fun and magical as I imagined my parent’s nights at Romolo’s. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why in my 20’s and 30’s I always wanted to keep the party going. I drank way too much back then, and was up for anything, because I kept waiting for that wonderful experience my parents seemed to have had.
     Then one day, about 20 years ago, it dawned on me that maybe my parents had better experiences because of who they were. They love people, I am more leery of them. They find happiness in everyday things, I have very unrealistic expectations. They are open and engaging, I can be kind of scowling and perpetually annoyed. I guess Romolo’s was a great experience and good times for them precisely because they were who they were, not because of where they were.
     So I still have this weird vision of Romolo’s in my head. I still think back fondly on the stories and the people who populated them. I still wish I had a place like Romolo’s to go to sometimes. I guess it turns out that Romolo’s exists inside you, it’s not really a place or a time in history. If you’re that kind of person, Romolo’s is wherever you want it to be. So for the last 20 years, that’s the kind of person I have been trying to be, just some guy trying to enjoy life and tap into his inner Romolo’s.