Now for those of you who read this before having a drink filled evening leaving the past a hazy blur, you might be saying what the hell, Saturday was beautiful. You're right it was, and I went hiking first, so shut up. But after doing so, I decided to go sit at St. Marks and "think". As a result I suddenly began feeling lost and alone and decided to begin drinking myself into a stupor. I don't know how I ended up where I did at 2 in the afternoon but I did. Wait. I do remember…my friend is dating the bartender.
So, I'm sitting there drinking a vodka tonic---So I'm sitting there drinking a pint of vodka with ice in it, while eating a Gator Burger. That's right, they serve alligator, all kinds of alligator: Alligator nuggets, and burgers, and I'm not sure what else, but there is a lot of gator on the menu. Point being, I'd talked so much, and so loudly about eating a gator that I decided to share with the 3 other people in the room, including the bartender. It was salty but alright. Its main affect, however, was something all together removed from nourishment. It began a truncated, but emotional, life history of the man who I thought simply a drunk sitting at the bar. Not that he wasn’t a drunk, he was, but hell the man was interesting. Far more interesting than my own boasts of eating the alligator meat with a cold piece of American cheese slapped on top. Raaaa!
It began with me saying, "What is the worst thing that ever happened to you?" Note: don't ask people this. I'd stopped doing it a long time ago, about the same time I'd decided I wanted a girl friend and not a patient, but for some reason half a pint of vodka down brought up some old tendencies. Of course he answered. He explained that Vietnam was a joke compared to being a police officer in New York. He'd been stabbed three times, shot 4, and had been blown up while firing into a luggage area in an airport. I didn't quite catch how, but apparently he'd been flung 40 feet back and had it not been for the Kevlar would have enjoyed looking like a very dead pin cushion. Anyway, after the last time he was shot his wife asked him to quit the force. So after 17 years he did. They moved to Grand Junction and then she died. Now he is drinking. All I said was sorry. What else can you say?
So why am I telling you this? Well, because sometimes I forget that every person has a story they need to tell, and that it's not always a bad idea to listen to the drunk who is sitting in the corner. I've left out a lot of what he said so it doesn't seem that deep or emotional (keep in mind this is a blog about drinking), but seeing the humanity of the men and women around you, even in a back room bar of a hotel on Colfax avenue, is worth mentioning.
With that said, the Rockmada apparently is named due to the fact that the bands that play at the Fillmore and Odgen stay at the Ramada. As a result of staying at the hotel sometimes they stop in for a drink. I don't know, I didn't see any bands, but it was 2 in the afternoon. I do know that at least during the day if you want to slink into somewhere where you don't have to feel alone when it is just you and your beer, this is a bar that certainly doesn't judge. I'll add something to this once I get in there at night. Till then, great place to drink by yourself in the middle of the day if you don't like light, and maybe a place to help you remember that you're in a world filled with very human stories.
Um, apparently they have a huge outdoor patio. I didn't note this, but when I was just looking up the address for the place one of the reviews did. Guess I'll look at that too. Guess that means you can smoke out there. I hope.
Papa Sobriety
Rockmada
1150 E. Colfax ave
Denver, CO 80218