I Miss The Royal

[Ed Note: This post has been sitting idly, unpublished for the better part of two weeks. It's about time to publish it for what it's worth.]

Everybody had their stomping grounds; everybody has a place that they call their home away from home. Some people call it Moe's, other call it Cheers, but it's the same for everyone, it's the watering hole where we are comfortable, everybody knows your name, and where you can unwind and relax. When I lived in Lethbridge, I found comfort in the campus bar, The Zoo, which I mentioned in the recent post here. But my favorite bar of all time, also happens to be the first bar I ever went to: The Royal Hotel.

I don't even want to think about the number of nights I've wasted in that bar, nor do I want to think about the number of brain cells I have destroyed within. The bar has become a staple of my past, my present, and my future. I have dragged family, friends and even strangers to my stomping grounds, trying to explain to them, and show them, what it is that makes the Royal so great.

But in the last three years, the Royal has lost its' edge; its' ambiance; its' character.

The Royal is a dump of a bar. There are few places I have been to in my travels that are dirtier, or have a rougher crowd. I have seen health inspectors shy away from the bar, as they feared for their lives once stepping foot inside the local watering hole. I have seen nursing students take samples from the draught taps, have them analyzed, and vow to never set foot in the bar ever again. I have seen people of all walks of life enjoy themselves in that bar. I have seen bums blow their welfare cheque in one night, I have seen Hell's Angels drink and argue, I have seen women take off their clothes (especially those who shouldn't), I have even seen doctors, lawyers and even College Professors sit down and listen to the eclectic music that the live bands had to offer. The Royal is really diverse.

And believe it or not, very safe. In almost thirteen years of going to this bar, I have only seen about three fights. People are too drunk to fight in this bar. They are either too drunk, or too high to care. There are many "cleaner" bars in town where the testosterone is so thick in the air, that you can cut it with a knife. I have seen more fights in one night at a "clean" local bar than I have ever seen in my lifetime at the Royal. It is true that the Royal has the motto: "The Good Times Bar"; you do forget about the trivialities of your day, and you can really unwind.

When I first started regularly attending the Royal, it was not uncommon to find two guys and three ladies smoking a joint in the men's bathroom. Those days have since passed, since the management of the Royal took a zero-tolerance policy to the trafficking and abuse of illicit drugs in their bar. The change has been for the better. The place has cleaned up quite a bit since I began attending, even though I have always felt safe walking into that bar.

About three years ago, the bar took a dive for the worse. The owner sold the bar to another local entrepreneur, who had some brilliant ideas on how to run the business. The owner decided that changes to the beverage prices were in order, as well as changes to the entertainment schedule. He also decided that the place could use a little fixing up, so he began to renovate.

The bathrooms got a major overhaul (which was necessary, I might add). The ugly carpet that was throughout the bar was removed and replaced with linoleum tile. The shooter bar was moved and expanded, the lottery terminals moved to another section of the bar, the pool tables were moved, and the foosball tables were removed from the bar. To make the bar a little less nocturnal, the owner installed glass-block windows in the bar.

Nowdays, the bar doesn't even resemble anything like it used to be. The place seems so cold and sterile now that the carpet is gone. As much as the windows look great, letting light into the bar was a bad idea. A lot of clientele came to the Royal on the sole premise that there were foosball tables there. All those foosball players have found new bars to hang out in. The move and the expansion of the shooter bar, including the migration of the pool tables to the rear of the building cut down on the seating for those who come to the bar to watch the bands. A lot of people go to that bar for the sole reason that it is the only bar left in town the features Classic Rock bands on a weekly basis.

Mind you, it still is the Royal, even though it has lost a lot of its' character.

I first went there when I hit legal age, as I was a fledging musician, and I wanted to network with other musicians. Back then, there was an open stage two days per week. The bands were all talented, and played six nights per week. In my college days, we would go there, buy dollar draught, help ourselves to free popcorn, and get drunk with ten bucks. We would normally get rowdy, and end up throwing popcorn at one another. We hardly ate any; it was more fun to throw popcorn at one another.

The Royal has also been a staple of my music career. I have lost count at the number of weeks I have played there. When I startled playing there, the weekends were a blast. To say the place was packed would be an understatement. There would be three hundred classic rockers poisoning themselves, dancing, and making all kinds of racket. I have seen some of the greatest parties within those walls.

Even when the place wasn't packed, the Royal had a cool vibe to it. We would often check out bands on a Wednesday or Thursday night, when it was relatively quiet, and hang out with the band. It was sometimes even better going there on a Sunday or Monday night, when everything was quiet and we had the bar to ourselves. Some of my best memories of that bar are on the nights that there were only three or four of us friends, drinking copious amounts of alcohol, hanging out with the bar staff.

The bar manager had a habit of playing pranks on his friends, including us. Many times we would return to our tables from a trip to the bathroom, only to find our cigarette packs reversed. He has shrink-wrapped a few Harley's in his day, which was normally met with a few cuss words followed by some hearty laughter. He had a paddle, which he would threaten a few attractive females with the intent of "spanking them". That is, until a female friend of mine got ahold of the paddle and proceeded to break it on the manager's hind-quarters. One other night we covered the bar in silly string, and one night, he got out the garden hose, and proceeded to drench us all. It was unbelievable fun.

But a lot of the fun is gone. I may attest it to the fact that I have grown older and more responsible. I don't go out during the weekdays anymore, as I am usually so tired due to my lack of rest. A lot of the people I used to hang out with at the Royal have moved on. Some have moved to different cities, others have stopped attending the Royal altogether, and others have even passed on.

The strangest thing is that I miss the old, dingy below-building code atmosphere. It is no secret that I have attachments to places I hold dear; I still have an inexplicable attachment to my parents' house, just as I have the same attachment to the University of Lethbridge (believe me, I have even kissed the concrete pillars of that institution many summers ago). I have that same attachment to the Royal of Old. Whether it's a fear of change, or if it has to do with a comfort level with my surroundings, I do not know.

I do know I am most comfortable in familiar surroundings. And I like my space. And for some reason I cannot explain (besides claustrophobia), I do not like being in confined spaces.