A Higher Glyphic

At six o'clock smoke rolled out of the front door and the blaring jukebox could be heard outside.
The regulars were ordering beer after beer already, and they were the only inhabitants in the bar. The place was Just One More.

Honky-tonk music overwhelmed the entire place, and the regulars were the cause. These country folks were unaware that the band setting up for the live show was a rock group. The looks on their faces showed that they were just fine for the time being.

Two women, who couldn't be over twenty-two, stood behind the bar and contributed to the gagging cigarette smoke. They were energetic, feisty women trying their best to make money off of old men.

The old men around the horseshoe shaped bar appreciated them and made comments on their beauty in a not so mannerly fashion. The bartenders didn't care, because they said they leave great tips, and they did.
Beside the bar people played rows of illegal poker machines. They shouldn't have paid out, but they did.

As soon as the band started to sound check, the machines and the horseshoe shaped bar became vacant.The band's distorted guitar volumes and overwhelming sound system did not go over well with the regulars. The crowd was an older, George Jones type of people. Just One More was a refuge from life for them, but the band killed it.

"What in the heck is that crap?" This was a question from an old gray haired man as he turned around and glared at the band. "I can't handle that crap," he said. The man and a biker buddy got up and walked out. Then, the owner, Sam Stilley, walked up and told the band not to worry about it. "If they don't like it they can drink beer somewhere else," said Stilley.

Stilley bought the bar two years earlier. It was more of a country place, but he wanted to start getting a younger crowd. He said that is why he started booking a lot of rock bands and bands with more of today's sound.

Around seven o'clock the younger crowd began to filter in. Some regulars made it through the booming sound check, but they stayed at the bar. A younger crowd began filling in a huge section of the bar that was equipped with tons of seats and tables. There was a noticeable shift in the music on the jukebox.

Beer drinking was the purpose to say the least. Even the younger crowd started on a beer-drinking extravaganza. The bar was dark and the only things that showed up were the huge beer signs, illuminating every wall. They called out for people drink them.
 
The place began to get packed around 7:45 p.m. and the bouncers assembled. A mound of money began to fill up the basket at the front door. Music on the jukebox became almost nonexistent to the noise that the rowdy crowd bellowed. The younger crowd started getting tipsy and the regulars were already well on their way to falling down.
 
Both of the bar tenders began scrambling around. The time of relaxation had come to a halt and a male bartender, who called himself Wagner, now accompanied them. He was a big, dark haired guy, about 30 years old. He said they were expecting a good crowd on this cold evening.

The jukebox stopped as soon as the Budweiser clock showed eight o'clock. The band took the stage, and the pool playing in the back slowed down. An unmistakable silence came over the entire bar. As soon as the first note dropped, the entire place erupted.
 
The bar was in organized chaos at the very beginning of the show. Every person in the place was tuned into the band. Almost everyone was dancing like crazy and singing along. Even the occasional old man and woman broke it down if front of the stage. A majority of college aged people filled the bar, the walls, the seats and the dance floor.
The bar was a place of balled up stress from the past week that exploded like a bomb.

As the band played on, the crowd drank more. The band drank too. Good spirits floated around the entire place. No fights, scraps, pushing or anything of the sort took place. Constructive yelling was the only ruckus going on. "You guys freaking rock," a girl in an SIU shirt yelled.

Last call came around at 11:45 p.m. and people were not happy. Surprisingly, the night had slipped by, and time only remained for Just One More. Bouncers had to spring into action because many people weren't leaving. Drunks were calling cabs and talking to each other. Sam Stilley yelled, "everyone get out."

The situation ended itself quietly and everyone began to make his or her way out the door. Bartenders were hurriedly counting money as other workers were scurrying to clean up the mess, and the band began taking down equipment. Smoke still hung in the air when the main lights were turned back on.

The bar looked like a total war zone.It looked as though bomb of real enjoyment had actually exploded inside! The casualties were the poor, defenseless, empty beers that laid or sat up all around the bar. The end of a good time had come, and for most, it would be the posttraumatic hangover that would be bad aspect of the night at Just One More.

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