The Pub Crawl
A holiday short story
Dear friends,
This week’s post is a small gift: a lighthearted story. I hope it keeps you company for a few minutes, wherever you find yourself.
It begins behind a bar, where an ordinary night takes an unexpected turn…
The clock was pulling my attention. I kept glancing at it, thinking about tomorrow morning and my eight-year-old daughter, our standing date at the city ice rink and one of the few traditions we’d held onto since the divorce. I didn’t see her often, and I’d promised myself I wouldn’t be too tired to keep up.
Being the owner helped. It meant I could decide how late to stay open. The bar wasn’t doing great, and I spent most of my waking hours there, but the nightly cleanup was already done, and the three regulars—my only customers—would be gone by ten. An early close felt reasonable.
So after filling a bowl of pretzels and topping off their drinks, I leaned on the bar, watching the game with them.
Until my phone buzzed.
“Hi, it’s Jennifer, from Crawlz. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
I assured her she wasn’t while I watched my team try to score. “How’s it going?” I asked.
“Oh, fine.” She sounded out of breath. “Would you mind if I stopped by in a few minutes?”
My team missed, but my attention shifted to the phone. It had been months since I’d seen her. I’d always thought she was cute. I knew she ran a pub tour through the downtown bars, but she rarely brought groups to my place.
“Uh, sure,” I said, ambling down to the end of the bar. “It’s pretty quiet here.”
“That’s great,” she replied. “I’m only down the street. Ten minutes, tops.”
We clicked off. I turned and the TV caught my eye as a time-out was called. The scoreboard read 9:04, the numbers tucked inside a little wreath. Christmas Eve. I wondered why she was out so late.
Fifteen minutes later, the door opened. A line of men traipsed in, bringing with them a chilling gust of air. My regulars glanced toward the door, muttering about the bad weather. I grew annoyed as more dirty, wet snow appeared on my clean floor.
“Could somebody please shut that?” I shouted.
One of the men approached the bar. He was short, graying, and wore a red knit cap patterned with holly leaves. “Sure, mate, just give them a minute. They’re not as fast as they used to be.” He grinned.
“How many in your group?” I asked, watching my bar fill.
“Twenty-five.”
Jennifer came through the door, closing it behind her. “I’m so glad you were able to take us,” she said, tugging off her gloves. “I didn’t realize our last stop was closed for a Christmas party. You’re a lifesaver!”
My jaw dropped. “This is one of your pub crawls?”
“Uh huh. A last-minute booking. I don’t usually take them this time of year because of the weather, but this one was special.”
“Hey, Jennifer!” A guy in a striped hat approached the bar. “We’ve lost three. They must have missed the turn off Main.”
Jennifer turned and counted. “You’re right. Do they have phones?”
“No, ma’am,” said the man in the holly hat. “I’m the only one with a phone tonight.”
“I’ll go get them,” Jennifer said, already turning. She glanced at me just long enough for my stomach to flutter. “Be right back.”
It took me a second to notice the noise again.
The room thronged with men. Some made themselves comfortable, shrugging out of coats. Others lined up expectantly at the bar like children in front of Santa Claus. Many of them could barely see over the counter. My regulars shifted their stools, sipping their beers as they watched.
“Good evening,” I began.
“Evening!” “Howdy!” “Hullo there!” echoed back.
When the noise died down, I tried again. “Welcome! We have three specials tonight: a snickerdoodle martini with vodka and caramel sauce, a White Russian, and a Santa Clausmopolitan. What can I start you off with?”
The room went silent. I glanced at my regulars. They shrugged and went back to the game.
The newcomers whispered among themselves. Finally, someone in the back spoke up. “Do ya have any eggnog?”
“Or hot cocoa?” asked another.
Surprised, I nearly said no. Eggnog wasn’t a popular drink in my bar, but I kept a couple of half-gallons in the fridge, anyway. Somewhere in my office was also a large box of instant cocoa that I’d been moving out of my way for over a year.
“I’ll check,” I said. The chatter resumed.
The cocoa had expired a month ago, but it said ‘best by’, so I decided it would do. Back at the bar, I set the coffee maker to heat water, then began figuring out a mixed drink price that felt fair enough for a holiday party.
“All right,” I said. “The chocolate and eggnog drinks are the same price as the specials. What do you want in your cocoa?”
I expected to hear rum or whisky, but only got calls for marshmallows and whipped cream. For a moment, I wondered if I’d set the price too high.
“I’ll take the eggnog,” said the man with the holly hat.
“You want rum in it?”
“Just eggnog, please.”
Several others nodded in agreement. A tray of glasses went out. A few more coats came off. “It’s hot in here,” said a man in a hat with jingle bells.
“Yeah, we need some air,” his companion agreed.
The door was propped open until I asked them to close it, citing fire regulations. Dirty looks followed, but the door shut. My regulars paid, wished me a merry Christmas, and left. The newcomers slid into their seats.
“What’s taking so long?”
“Yeah, where’s my cocoa?”
The coffee machine was restarted. At the end of the bar, two men wrestled over the TV remote until it landed on the Yule Log channel. I held out my hand.
“We just wanted to put something better on,” one of them whined, surrendering the device.
The noise level climbed. Darts were thrown—at a wreath.
“Please don’t do that,” I said. “The dartboard’s over there.”
“Could I have another eggnog?”
More mugs. More cocoa packets. Jennifer still hadn’t returned. The thought crossed my mind that she might’ve ditched me with these guys for the night.
The phone said 9:35. It felt later.
When she finally returned, she had the missing men with her. Snow clung to their coats as she brushed it from their shoulders, leaving another wet puddle by the door.
“Three more of whatever you’re serving,” she announced.
“Can you give me a hand?” I asked. I showed her where to put her coat and how to work the coffee maker while I went into the back for more eggnog. When I returned, she’d started a trivia game.
“Mind telling me who’s paying for all this?” I asked while she waited for answers.
She produced a credit card. “Holly Hat’s. Everything goes on it.”
I felt relieved when the card cleared. “Thanks,” I said, putting it in a glass by the register. “Who are these guys? Convention?”
“Bachelor party, I think. But the guest of honor hasn’t shown.”
That explained nothing and worried me anyway. “They aren’t expecting anything else, are they?” In my experience, bachelor parties had a way of escalating.
“No. They’ve been mellow all night.” She smiled and went to collect empty mugs.
A man in a blinking hat staggered up. “What happened to the eggnog?”
“You’ve already had too much eggnog,” someone sniggered, shoving him. Blinky punched him. A cry went up.
“Hey! Not in here,” I shouted.
The crowd gathered. Jennifer stood off to the side, eyes wide. Holly Hat stepped in, hauled the fighters apart, and told them to cool off outside. “Drinks are on me.”
Cheers followed. A restroom line formed. Someone exited the ladies’ room as another entered. Warmth filled the bar. All the coats were piled on tables. Oddly enough, none of the hats were.
At ten-oh-five, Jennifer grabbed her coat. I watched her button up. “You’re not leaving.”
But she was already heading for the door. “Sorry! I have to get home to help my husband wrap gifts for the kids. I won’t forget how great you’ve been!”
The door slammed. She was married. I felt foolish—and very alone—even though no one followed her out.
At 10:30, the eggnog ran out and I had to start stretching the cocoa, using one packet for every two glasses. The men didn’t seem to notice. In fact, if I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn they were drunk.
I wondered if they’d brought flasks.
On a hunch, I filled several bowls with pretzels and carried them around the room, watching hands, looking for anyone slipping something into a mug. When I found nothing, I checked both restrooms for signs of drugs or cigarette use.
Nothing.
Two men slept at a table, already out cold. “They’ll be fine,” Holly Hat said with a slur. “’Snot often we get a night to ourselves.”
“What do you do?” I asked.
“Shop work.” He grinned. “Season keeps us busy. Got any more eggnog?”
“I’m afraid we’re out.” I glanced at my phone. 10:45. “It’s almost closing time, anyway. Want a hot cocoa for the road?”
A hush fell over the room, like I’d said something wrong.
“Closing time, you say?” Blinky stepped up to the bar, swinging his empty mug.
“At eleven. It’s Christmas Eve,” I hinted.
Holly Hat and Blinky turned to two others, whispering. “We could lock him in his office,” someone joked. Then Holly Hat called over his shoulder. “Kin you stay open just a wee bit longer? We were expectin’ someone.”
I frowned. “We’ll give you a hand with the cleanup,” Blinky offered. The others looked at me expectantly.
It suddenly occurred to me that there were twenty-five of them and only one of me. If they decided they wanted me locked in my office...
“All right. You can stay until twelve. But then I have to close, even if your friend doesn’t show up.”
The men cheered. It was as if I gave them permission. Somebody pulled out a harmonica and another guy started playing a recorder. A large group pushed the tables to one side and began dancing.
I cringed at the sound of glass breaking and went to the back for the broom and dustpan. When I returned, a couple of guys were doing acrobatic feats that seemed impossible for their size. I also noticed napkins folded into origami stars that were now stuck to the front window.
Leaving the stars, I swept up a broken mug, then began cleaning behind the bar. Every few minutes, I checked the time on the cash register. At 11:50, I shut off the coffee machine. “Ten minutes,” I warned. This time, they’d have to go. I’d thought it through. If they refused to leave at midnight, I’d call the cops for backup.
To my surprise, however, the party stopped when the clock turned twelve. The men put on their coats and filed out the door, wishing me happy holidays as they passed. I was too tired to remind them they’d promised to clean up. Following Holly Hat to the door, I accepted his thanks graciously and expressed my sympathy for his detained friend.
“Ah, ‘twill be fine, we really didn’t expect he’d show. It’s our only night off, so he has to work extra hard. But we know he’s with us in spirit.”
Suddenly, it dawned on me. Short guys. In Christmas clothes. Getting drunk on eggnog and hot cocoa. And not one of them had taken off his cap.
Unfortunately, Holly Hat noticed me peering closely at his ears. “Merry Christmas!” He winked and disappeared into the dark, laughing heartily.
I locked the door and closed my eyes for a moment. Then I shook my head and smiled. Nope. They were just a group of coworkers who’d gotten together for a pub crawl on Christmas Eve.
With a sigh, I mentally prepared myself for at least an hour of cleaning. Only then did I realize that the napkins had disappeared from the front window. With a sharp intake of breath, I wheeled around. The tables and chairs were back in their rightful spots. The dirty mugs and pretzel bowls were gone, and the floors were clean and slightly damp, as if they’d just been mopped.
Checking behind the bar, I found the sink and dishwasher empty and the glasses sparkling on their shelves. Even the garbage was gone. I blinked. Had I imagined it? Were there really twenty-five men partying in my bar only a few minutes ago?
Then I remembered the credit card. I’d forgotten to give it back to Holly Hat! Quickly, I reached for the glass next to the cash register.
But the credit card was gone. In its place were hundred-dollar bills--lots of them--filling the pint glass and overflowing the top. I touched them. They were real. I held one up to the light, checking the security ribbon and color-changing ink.
I shook my head, staring at the pile of cash in awe. This wasn’t my imagination.
But elves on a Christmas Eve pub crawl? Then again, why not?
Thanks for reading. However you mark the season, I hope it treats you well. Here’s to warmth, good company, and the occasional small miracle—preferably served in a mug.
Happy Holidays,