BAR EXAM: A Christmas Story

I stop by Giuseppe's Bar & Grille, an inviting little joint on a particularly dark and lonely stretch of Durango that seems to be perpetually under construction. A couple of beers should quell my holiday cynicism or, at the very least, give me an excuse to get out of the cold, but I'm also vaguely curious as to what I'll find inside. What types of people do you find in a bar on Christmas? I half-expect to see a dozen weeping Jimmy Stewarts, praying for wingless, second-class angels to show them the way. Instead, I find the usual assortment of married couples and single guys in baseball caps. The atmosphere is as cozy and casual as usual, with the barflies sipping their beer and wine over video poker. In fact, were it not for the holiday decorations scattered about the room, this could pass for any night out of the year. Good thing, too—frankly, I've had my fill of holiday cheer to the extent that I'd like to propose pushing next year's festivities back to the following April.

The lit-up Christmas tree and snowman at the center of the horseshoe bar are distinctly seasonal, and you probably wouldn't find red stockings hanging from the dim wall lamps in the middle of July, but the Christmas lights that line the walls blend well with the rustic Italian motif, and could be permanent fixtures for all I can tell. The lights are arranged into dual Christmas-tree formations at the head of the bar, but the patrons are paying more attention to the four TV screens in between, where the Jets are beating Miami. I guess Santa can't compete with Monday Night Football.

I grab a seat at the bar beside a woman who stands restlessly over her video poker machine. The ceiling fan sends a hunger-inducing whiff of parmesan my way. Two dining areas flank the central bar, but the diners are all seated close by, with a better view of the game.

The woman chirps excitedly, having won some kind of bonus. In fact, it's the bonus that spins the jackpot wheel of fortune prominently displayed on a screen at the head of the bar. I've seen this wheel in many a watering hole but have never seen it spin. As I look on curiously, the bartender brings the ecstatic woman a portable button, which she slams enthusiastically. The wheel spins and comes to a halt on the $1,000 grand prize.

"Whoa," I say to myself as the rest of the bar erupts in applause.

"Merry Christmas," the bartender says, forking over a pile of cash.

"It's a Christmas miracle," someone else proclaims.

Blah. It's a fluke. I return to my beer, and literally two minutes later, another woman across the bar shrieks with delight. She's scored the bonus as well. This time it awards a measly $10, but it's enough to convince me to give the game a shot. Forty-five minutes later, I'm down 20 bucks.

"Bah, humbug."

I turn to leave and am confronted by a life-sized Santa Claus mannequin that was concealed by the wall when I came in. It looks at me disapprovingly.

"This is because I was bitching about Christmas, huh?" I say sheepishly.

His plastic eyes answer me with an icy cold stare. You win this round, old man, but we'll meet again ... in about 365 days. By then I should be just about recovered from this Christmas.