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A Horrifying Trip to the Spigot

Our story begins on a warm Monday morning, last Monday to be exact. Jim (my co-worker and friend&#41 and I were coming back from a grueling day at our company's Y2K certification test lab. Since the test lab is in East Hartford, and Jim lives in Meriden (which is South of Hartford&#41 and the traffic between Hartford and Meriden at 4:30pm is horrible, we planned on stopping off at the Spigot for a beer and a cigar after we were done at the lab. That way, we could de-compress from a long day, Jim could avoid the traffic, and I would have a reason to stop in at the Spigot. I told Janet about the plan, and she decided that she would come and meet us there around 5:45.

We pulled up to the bar a little before five and noticed that the parking lot was empty. Ok, it wasn't empty, there were three large trucks in the lot… and their signs stated that they were with a paving and driveway resurfacing company. I thought that it was a little odd, but paid it no attention. We pulled in, got out of the car and headed towards the front door.

Jim grabbed the handle to the outer glass door and attempted to open the door. Nope. It was locked. Then we noticed: the neon signs were all off and there was mail piled between the outer glass door and the inner door. This was not good.

Anyway, we went back to the apartment, I grabbed some beer from the fridge and we went outside to smoke some cigars and have a beer or two. At this point, I'm ready to write up a elegy for the Spigot, because in my mind, something major must be wrong… because bars just don't close without warning.

Jim, as he usually does, tried to be a voice of reason… but for every good explanation, I had a logical retort. If they had been closed by the Board of Health, Alcohol Board of Control or had been foreclosed upon, there would be visible legal notification. If the place had been a scene of a crime, there would have been police tape. Jim thought that maybe the owner went on vacation, but they have a staff of close to 10 people, so the owner being away shouldn't have stopped operations.

Regardless of the reason, the bar was closed… and there was no sign posted… nothing to let us regulars know what happened to the place, or when it would re-open. I consoled myself by thinking that maybe the afternoon bartender was sick and they couldn't find someone to fill in for him. Since Mondays are historically slow days for bars, this made sense, and I was sure that the bar would be open if I drove by after work on Tuesday.

Tuesday, 5pm: Closed. No sign posted.

Wednesday, 6:30pm: Closed. No sign posted, and a stack of Hartford Advocates (our weekly free newspaper&#41 stacked at the door.

Thursday, 5pm: Closed. No sign posted but the newspapers removed.

Friday, 4:45pm: Closed. No sign in the window, no signs of life on the premises. I decide to call… no answer.

Saturday, 10pm: Closed. No sign posted.

It's now 5:30 on Sunday afternoon, and there was still no sign of life at The Spigot. The bar is dark, the phone goes unanswered and there is nothing letting passers-by know when it's going to reopen.

To quote Dr. McCoy from Star Trek: I think it's dead, Jim.

Posted in Barflies At Large.

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