A McGinty's Regular

McGinty's is always a popular place, but usually the crowd thins out between seven and eight when the good workingmen of the neighborhood restore themselves with good, but plain cooking at home. It's during this slack period that one of McGinty's most regular customers always appears for her daily glass.

McGinty greeted her, wiping a damp towel across the bar where she sat on her regular stool.

"Mizz Foster, you've been coming in here since I opened the joint, and never once in ten years have you had a real drink. Let me treat you today to a nice shot of single malt that I would sell for five dollars a glass, if any o' the bums what comes in here had any money or taste."

"No, McGinty," she replied, "just my usual little glass of Scotch and water."

McGinty sighed and measured out the tablespoon of Scotch and splashed an ounce of water in a glass.

She picked up the glass and took a sip. "When I was a child my parents owned one of those pioneer farms that was ruined by the Dust Bowl. My family first came to the Great Plains in 1882, and our blood and sweat fertilized our little bit of ground. We rose before the sunrise and often worked far beyond its setting. Mama was driven mad by the hardness and loneliness of the farm, so it was just Pap, Daddy, me and the three young un's."

"The end of each day was its reward. Daddy and Pap would sit out on the porch and discuss the little things that make each day different from the last. The Depression gave my men folk lots to talk about. They would let me sit on the porch step; that made me feel very grown-up. They would come home from the field, eat the meal I'd prepared, take the bottle of bourbon down from its shelf and carefully measure out a finger into their glasses. They would each draw a bit of water from the pump, and retreat to their favorite rockers. Sometimes, they drew me into their conversations. I knew how much they depended upon me to manage the house."

"One evening I asked if I wasn't entitled to a taste of the 'water o'life'. Daddy and Pap just looked at one another at the realization that their whisky was something more to me than a little luxury for a hard working man."

"Well, Sis," Pap said, "you're just a little girl and you shouldn't drink alcohol until you're older."

She took another sip and wiped her napkin across her mouth. "I was ready for that argument. I pointed out that I was almost twelve, that I was already taking care of the whole family and as good as any bride."

"Bourbon is a drink for grown men," Daddy said, "and not suitable for ladies."

She paused and looked up at McGinty. "I cried myself to sleep that night from the unfairness of life's fortune."

"A few days later Daddy and Pap told me that they had talked it over, and they thought Scotch was a lady's drink, if well watered. It was a week before they got into town for the necessaries, and when they returned they had a small bottle of Cutty Sark for me. Thereafter, each evening, Daddy and Pap would have their Bourbon and Branch and I would sit talking with them as I sipped my little glass of watered Scotch."

Mizz Foster stood away from her stool, sat her empty glass upon the bar, and looked up into McGinty's eyes.

"That's why I treasure my daily glass above your pricey single malts."

McGinty just nodded and dipped her glass into his sudsy water.

"Sees ya tomarra, Mizz Foster."

"Indeed, Mr. McGinty."