I’ll See You in Hell: An Epic in Three Parts

Part One: The Setting

In downtown Troy, not far from the City Mission is a local watering hole of sorts. I say local because it is only known to residents of Troy and visitors with strong Troy connections. You won’t find this in Fodor’s Guide to Troy. And I say hole, because well, it is a hole. For years the sign was broken in half, as a brawl in the apartment above sent one of the residents flying out the window and through the sign. The restrooms smell a little like the thirty-seventh layer of hell; actually they make our familiar facilities in Penn Station look like a Kohler ad. The ladies room features indoor/outdoor carpeting. But the restrooms aren’t really a deal-breaker as half the patrons prefer not to use them or even move from their bar stool when the urge strikes. The bar is coated in a layer of something so thick that if you tried to slide a beer bottle to a friend seated next to you, the bottle wouldn’t move. I never ever order anything here that does not come with a cap. You never ask for a lime wedge to garnish your Corona here. In fact you never ask for anything that involves a knife, cutting board, or fruit. Folks with OCD or excessive cleanliness needs usually break out into hives upon passing through the doorframe. During the winter, well with gas prices being what they are and all, it’s best to leave your coat on. And your scarf. Gloves. Goretex boots.

The jukebox, though partially shattered and prone to skipping (nothing that can’t be fixed by a swift kick), is awesome. Hit 12B and the proprietor will hop up on the radiator with broom in hand for his rendition of “Surfing Safari.” 34F is another nice selection, because I promise you, you haven’t seen anything until you witness a row of down-on-their-luck hobos brighten and raise their scraggly heads to the sound of Whitney Houston belting out “I Will Always Love You.” Apparently HOPE does spring eternal. And with that, I say touché to a local bar reviewer who says he witnessed “hope staggering out the front door” here. Not so, sir.

For the teenage set (and yes, they are a large contingent here as a library card constitutes proper ID), there is also a pool table. A few of them have even retired their hockey jerseys here. Some professional-type hipsters out of quarters broke the lock box off of the table, so a game of pool is free…a nice bonus if you can actually locate enough balls and cues to play. Professional hipsters? There are a few who congregate here for the atmosphere and a chance to let loose (like break things, guest-bartend, and toss empty beer bottles against the wall “let loose”) without worrying that a current or future client might witness this. When the hipsters are in attendance you can bank on a pizza and wings delivery as they tend to understandably eschew anything BBQ-ed on the pint-size grill propped against the front door. The pizza also adds to sociability as guests from the City Mission see this as a nice break from their routine and the hipsters, as a chance to mingle with the other regulars. Come back in a week after said pizza party and you will likely catch the proprietor passing out leftover slices for a quarter each.

Have I made the atmosphere clear enough? Can you see yourself there, dear reader? Your thumb securely fastened over the opening of your beer bottle lest some asbestos fall from the ceiling into your drink? Your two dollars in change stuck, literally stuck, to the bar? Swaying with the others to “Once in a Lifetime”? Shifting uncomfortably from one cheek to the other as you think of what/whom might have preceded you on the bar stool?