Bar seating is highly choreographed. Locals – and there is a strict definition of “local” – sit, or more often stand, at the end of the bar near the dining room. Penny’s husband Doug has first dibs on the corner spot. Next come the “locals”, who are allocated their own personal space near the corner at appointed times during the afternoon. At the opposite end, below the salt so to speak, near the juke box and the tee shirt display, you will find the visiting tourists who stopped in for a hamburger or a sandwich and a beer. The weekenders – flatlanders from south of Albany who might actually be regulars but will never, ever be “locals” – sit somewhere in the middle of the bar. If there are no locals present, we may slide down near Doug, but we know our place and surrender the seats if the rightful owners should make an appearance. It is as it should be. We are just happy to be here.
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