St. Patrick’s Day Pub Crawl

By Brandon Davis

The Buffalo Ave St. Patrick’s Day bar crawl was scheduled for March 16^th from 12pm to 8pm. I suppose no one told them that St. Patrick’s Day is on the 17^th. There were three locations that were participating, Culbert’s, Foley’s, and Wilbur’s. A $10 passport granting its owner a free drink at each location, as well as a hot dog from Wilbur’s, could be purchased, though my compatriots and I, in our lack of diligence, had neglected to get a few passports for ourselves. It was me, my tall Italian friend, our resident AV guy, and our group’s Sherpa. Our goal was to hit every place and have a Guinness at each place. We started at 7pm so we would have to be quick.

The first joint we made it to was Culbert’s. The interior was clean and brightly lit. On one side was the u-shaped bar with a crowd of people all clamoring for drinks. The other side was made up of tables which had seemed to be abandoned in favor of the bar. A DJ was parked in the corner playing what sounded like a “music for St. Paddy’s Day” playlist he found on YouTube at the highest volume imaginable.  We sent our sherpa to acquire the drinks for us while we found somewhere to sit. Though, as soon as our sherpa left us we were immediately accosted by a strange lady. The volume of the music made her words vanish into the air, but she was holding a piece of paper and very wildly gesticulating at us. She must’ve been a very confused border patrol gangster looking to haul us off to an El Salvadorian gulag. Before things could get ugly our sherpa returned with three plastic cups filled with Guiness. They were cold and poured well enough to have a solid head that was retained all the way until the end of the drink. We finished quickly and made our way outside. We all agreed that the music was far too loud to stick around and socialize. Anyways, we had a mission.

Foley’s was our next destination. It was much more dimly lit. The bar sat against the right-hand wall, and it had a large television hung above displaying a golf tournament or something. We went up to the bar to help our sherpa haul back the drinks. While we waited for the bartender, a bald man who was seated at the bar began singing along to the bar’s music and started gesturing to us to join him. Before we knew it, we all had a bottle of that foul black Irish elixir back in our hands, so we found a corner to retire to. The music was just 2000’s hits but the selection was good, and the volume didn’t obstruct conversation at all. Everyone agreed that the Guiness extra stout served in a bottle was better than the draught Guiness we had at Culbert’s. The crowd seemed to be a good mix of age ranges, the bar itself was quite cozy, and the energy was good. We left Foley’s with our spirits renewed.

Finally, we made our way to the final destination, Wilbur’s. There was a man parked outside of the bar’s door with a grill. As soon as we got inside, our Italian friend disappeared. The effects of the Guiness must have produced within him a hunger that demanded immediate satisfaction. Our sherpa quickly procured three cans of Guiness and when the Italian finally reappeared, he brought with him half a dozen hot dogs. A few individuals also passed by him, with hot dogs in their hands, and promised to buy him a few shots. Needless to say, these promises were never kept. The hot dogs were good and the cans of Guiness were what you would expect. The bar was relatively full, and the music was loud, but the song selection was good, and the volume was unobtrusive. Televisions lined the room, and an anime styled commercial for dementia medication was playing right above our table. We agreed that Wilbur’s seemed like a great place to catch a Sabres game, but our discussion must have triggered the Italian’s sports betting addiction because he began regaling us with a new scheme that was “Really gonna hit it big this time”.

The sun was beginning to set on our way back home. We were split on whether the bottles of extra stout Guinness from Foley’s or the canned Guinness from Wilbur’s were the best. Our sherpa noted that the removal of the murals from Sullivan’s, which was right across the street from Wilbur’s, was a travesty. St. Patrick’s Day is a day where we can all come together, have fun, and reinforce negative stereotypes that people have of the German, Irish, Italian, and Polish populations that dominate our region. We didn’t embarrass ourselves, but we certainly had a fun time during the Buffalo Ave Bar Crawl. A tree’s fallen branches obstructed the sidewalk on our way back. A man in a green shirt swore at his key ring and pulled at his car’s unresponsive driver side door. The night smelled like pine ash and burnt plastic.