Oh, how cliché. My friend Jason and I aren’t in Cheers Bar & Grill more than three seconds when we’re greeted by ... cheers. For a moment I wonder if it’s a gimmick. But no—it turns out the group huddled in the corner was just at the comedy show down the street, where Jason performed. So while Jason greets his public, I order a drink.
This bar is slightly more raucous and divey than its television namesake. The walls are lined with rather plain-looking couches and stools under hanging Bud streamers. Several rowdy customers surround the five pool tables and the main bar, across which a roll of register receipts spills out haphazardly. Beside the door, there’s a photo collage on the wall labeled: “Cheer’s Halloween 2003.” I’m sure the updated collage is undergoing a few finishing touches.
“So, you guys are looking for pool players?” I ask the bartender. He answers me with a blank stare. “The, uh ... sign out front says, ‘Pool Players Wanted,’” I specify.
“Oh,” he says, “I haven’t noticed. They never tell me anything here.”
But it’s all part of the giant, main sign on the building. It’s a single piece that reads: “Cheers Bar & Grill, Pool Players Wanted.”
“But I think they may have a couple of leagues here,” he says. “Play on Thursdays, I think.” He then walks away, revealing a multi-tiered pool trophy positioned behind him. I let the matter go but begin to suspect that unlike the TV show’s bartenders, this guy probably doesn’t know everybody’s name.
Suddenly, an anorexically thin black woman sidles up beside me.
“Do you watch porn?” she asks.
“Um ... I’ve dabbled.”
“Well, tell me if you like any of these,” she says, pulling a pornography-filled black plastic bag out from under the bar.
“Thanks,” I say, “but I’m trying to cut down.”
“How about this one?” she persists. “This girl Sasha is crazy. She’s teaching me things.”
“Yeah, she certainly seems ... very limber.” To say the least. I thought only Gumby was bendy enough to strike such a pose. But he was involved with an entirely different kind of Pokey. Nevertheless, I respectfully decline.
“Nobody’s buying any of these tonight,” she complains. “I need to come up with something catchy to say to bring this up. Whaddya think?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never really pitched this kind of product. And you’ve got the Internet to compete with ...”
Looking across the bar, I see that Jason has opted not to pursue either of his groupies, and since I’m growing progressively more uncomfortable with the present conversation—plus, I’m a horrible friend—I say, “Actually, see that guy over there who got the standing ovation when he walked in? He’s a comedian. I bet he could come up with an outstanding pitch for you.”
Yes, I’m going to hell. Then again, if he’s not going to flirt with those girls, maybe he could genuinely use some porn. The smut saleswoman sets out after him, and for a couple of minutes, I observe from afar with increasing amusement.
“No, I get all my porn off the Internet,” I hear him say.
By the time I’ve had my fill of laughs, the porn-peddler has managed to interest the bartender and another customer in her assortment of DVDs.
“What the hell is going on?” Jason asks when I finally walk over. “We walk in to applause, and now this lady is selling us porn. It’s the Twilight Zone or something.”
This Cheers is definitely a lot more interesting than the TV show. Of course, this version would have to have aired on Cinemax.
Cheers Bar & Grill
1220 E. Harmon Ave
734-2454
Photograph by Richard Brian