Dearest Punter’s Pub:
I hate that I love you. I hate that I want people to vote for you.
You make me cringe to think that I have ever stepped foot into your squishy-toilet-seated women’s room with western-style swinging doors. You made me uncomfortable, nauseous, and worried I would need to go to the Health Center for a tetanus shot in the morning.
(Not the actual infamous Punter’s Squishy Seat)
Your architectural elements made me question if I really wanted to design bars and restaurants in my professional life. Though the angles of your building are acute, there’s really nothing attractive about them. How were you able to optimize an awkward triangle-shaped design? You, with your refined aesthetic, placed a dartboard at one of the points! You are clever like a fox, Punter’s. A sassy fox.
Your eye for interior design is unlike any other. Your artistic choice to board up two windows and tint the other three with red and green “stained glass” uniquely captures a feeling of perpetual midnight. Your design bravely hypothesizes that all spaces must have continuity – floors, walls, benches, and even some walls can all be made from the same material, further united by generations of shellac.
And you, Punter’s, did not let fame and money go to your head. You are worth over $1 million dollars, yet managed to stay down to earth by keeping Steve the owner at your side. He is on a first name basis with generations of patrons. Making you not just any bar, but rather a true neighborhood dive bar. You let us play cards and change the music via jukebox without any fuss.
Punter’s, you never thought about yourself, you thought about me. You cut a hole in your wall to turn yourself into a literal hole-in-the-wall. Connecting yourself to UHOP provided me with nourishment of greasy pizza or potato skins to sop up the gallons of beer consumed by my friends and I via the Big-Bertha-Pitcher.
I love you Punter’s because you’re a genuine dive. You’re not like that fake tramp Mary Ann’s, with her Hoop Fever, striving to be a Dave and Buster’s but looking like an adult rundown Chuck E. Cheese.
Punter’s Pub, it almost makes me sick to think of how many nights I have spent with you. They always started with promises of fun, we would have a few drinks, things would get a little out of hand, and I would regret it thoroughly the next morning. Yet I keep crawling back to you. Because you’ve been a hangout for me and my friends (as well as some of my professors), because you were there for me with a drink to take my stress away after final exams as I crammed into a high-backed, wobbly, wooden booth, I’m not afraid to say it – I loved you then, and I think I will always have feelings for you.
P.S. Shamelessly cast your vote for Punter’s here… you know you hate to love him.