Quick with a joke and to light up a smoke
Even though it looks like a regular run of the mill Irish pub from the outside, Dempsey's holds a lot of really personal memories for me. I remember the summer I turned 19 when I started serving there and was admittedly one of the worst waitresses on staff. I gave out tartar sauce instead of sour cream, forgot to give refills, and one time I asked a gentleman how he would like his philly cheese steak prepared.
My dad came in often, and on Thursday nights he brought his keyboard in and was "the piano man." He modified the name John for Bill when he sang:
On St. Patrick's Day when I was 20, my dad played music at Dempsey's all afternoon, earning himself a free bar tab. When I called from Vermillion to complain to him about how TB and I couldn't go to the bars because we weren't yet 21, he said, "Come to Dempsey's! Free drinks on me!" TB and I hopped in the car and spent the rest of the night taking my dad up on his offer, drinking and celebrating the fact that Dempsey's servers didn't card us.
Each year Dempsey's houses the scholarship jam that my dad's friends hold in his memory. The number of people pressed up against Scotish clan tartans and holding tumblers of Irish whiskey rivals the crowd of Saint Patrick's Day itself. It's a hell of a party, really. And it's a really cool way to make new Dempsey's memories instead of only having the memories that still sort of hurt.
Now I'm back at Dempsey's, picking up a few shifts before I head to NYC. I see Bill, and Lynne, and Sean Dempsey and they talk about my dad like he's still here, just outside taking a long smoke break, and I appreciate that more than they know. I heard Lynne telling one of the other cooks yesterday, "I swear, he'd have a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and he's still be killing it on the keyboard." I had to agree.
Sometimes when I hear Bill play his bagpipes and Sean his drums, I go back to that day we followed my dad's casket out of the church and heard those same hauntingly beautiful sounds. My dad [would have] loved it. He would love that we still go back there, too, and he would be glad my waitressing skills have improved. And as weird as it sounds, when I came home from this 5 hour shift, it felt like I sort of got to spend some time with him tonight.
My dad came in often, and on Thursday nights he brought his keyboard in and was "the piano man." He modified the name John for Bill when he sang:
Now Bill at the bar is a friend of mineWe jokingly competed for tips; though at the end of the night, he always emptied his tip jar and gave me the money.
He gets me my drinks for free
And he's quick with a joke and he'll light up your smoke
But there's some place that he'd rather be
On St. Patrick's Day when I was 20, my dad played music at Dempsey's all afternoon, earning himself a free bar tab. When I called from Vermillion to complain to him about how TB and I couldn't go to the bars because we weren't yet 21, he said, "Come to Dempsey's! Free drinks on me!" TB and I hopped in the car and spent the rest of the night taking my dad up on his offer, drinking and celebrating the fact that Dempsey's servers didn't card us.
Each year Dempsey's houses the scholarship jam that my dad's friends hold in his memory. The number of people pressed up against Scotish clan tartans and holding tumblers of Irish whiskey rivals the crowd of Saint Patrick's Day itself. It's a hell of a party, really. And it's a really cool way to make new Dempsey's memories instead of only having the memories that still sort of hurt.
Now I'm back at Dempsey's, picking up a few shifts before I head to NYC. I see Bill, and Lynne, and Sean Dempsey and they talk about my dad like he's still here, just outside taking a long smoke break, and I appreciate that more than they know. I heard Lynne telling one of the other cooks yesterday, "I swear, he'd have a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and he's still be killing it on the keyboard." I had to agree.
Sometimes when I hear Bill play his bagpipes and Sean his drums, I go back to that day we followed my dad's casket out of the church and heard those same hauntingly beautiful sounds. My dad [would have] loved it. He would love that we still go back there, too, and he would be glad my waitressing skills have improved. And as weird as it sounds, when I came home from this 5 hour shift, it felt like I sort of got to spend some time with him tonight.
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