by Autumn Jackson, 14 May 2005
Once upon a time, in a club far far away –
Actually, it was more of a bar…
Okay, okay, so it was a dive and served oly the seediest of sorts, which resided above a restaurant that specialized in wholesome family dining, fact which is only slightly important to the story, so let’s not dwell on this shall we?
Anyhoo, once upon a time in this pit of testosterone, sweat, and booze (did we mention that this was mor of a, shall we say, “gentleman’s club” than anything else?), there lived a maraschino cherry.
What, you may be wondering, is a maraschino cherry doing in such an establishment? There IS an answer.
And it is a good one.
Unfortunately, we the author are disinclined to give it to you at his point in time. We are taking creative license and running with it and, quite franky, there is nothing you can do about it.
What’s that? They’ll LEAVE?? But they’ll miss the
BEST part!
FINE then.
Ahem. It has been brought to our attention that if we continue in this manner, you the audience are wll within your rights to walk out. We have no idea WHY you would wish to do such as thing, but since it is an option we have decided that it is officially “later” and we can now share with you the reason why there is a maraschino cherry at this fine establishment.
There are actually jars upon jars of maraschino cherries at our bar. The cherries, you see, are put in the drinks. ALL of the drinks. And the reason for this is that is adds an after drink snack for free and because some of the gentlemen like to use these cherries to make suggestive faces at the entertainers on stage.
What? We DID tell you that our fine establishment was a gentleman’s club.
Right, back to our maraschino cherry.
Our maraschino cherry, would be given a name at this point except for the fact that it is quite fond of its anonymity and doesn’t want to be bothered, lived in the First Jar on the Second Shelf to the Left where it spent its nights dodging the Dreaded Tong of Fate and Despair. In fact, to make sure t wasn’t thrust into a waiting glass of alcohol, our cherry had been known to push its cherry brethren into the mouth of the groping tongs.
Please, do not think badly of our cherry. All maraschino cherries HATE alcohol. You see, it reacts badly with the potassium sorbate and the FD&C Red #40 dyes in the syrup, causing maraschino cherries to lose all inhibitions and to frequently encourage tongue stem tying in those imbibing in the beverage. This is a source of great shame to the cherries who, by nature, are of a more vanilla, ice cream sundae, stroll in the park mentality. Because of this, any maraschino would sacrifice any other cherry in the jar to stay out of the booze. Our cherry should be commended on its cleverness at lasting as long as it has.
One night, or, to be more precise, and we are always precise, one early morning, which marked the middle of a three day bender for all of the bar patrons, our cherry fell.
Maybe it was the loud music.
Maybe it was the sheer volume of drinks that were ordered.
Maybe it was that our cherry was the last one in the jar.
Opinions vary, but for whatever reason, our cherry has let its guard down, and in that moment, the thongs struck.
Personally, we think our cherry was slightly suicidal, but, as the author we well refrain from saying that since we are well aware that tales of suicidal cherries are just the type of sensationalism that this story does not need.
Our cherry was scooped from the protective cover of corn syrup and preservatives and plunked most unceremoniously in a short glass of Johnnie Walker.
What? We TOLD you that they put cherries in all the drinks. Why would Scotch Whiskey be any different? We never claimed the proprietors had any taste.
The drink was served to a stocky man of questionable hygiene who sat ogling the stage instead of drinking his drink.
And so our cherry languished in its Scottish prison, slowly becoming more and more tipsy while it had to endure the nude ventriloquist and the Wonderful Whomba, who juggled chainsaws. It seemed as if all hope was lost until the last act came on stage.
The stocky man watched, mesmerized, as the X-rated yo-yo players came on stage, and as they demonstrated their vast yo-yo skills in the grand finale that included versions of “Rock the Baby”, “Inside Loops”, “Double or Nothing” and “Buddha’s Revenge” that due to censorship laws we cannot describe for you here (but if you slip us a SASE and $50,000.00 at the end of our tale we will send you the video), he threw his hands up on a cheer. Quite forgetting that he clutched his Johnnie Walker and cherry in one slightly sweaty hand.
Seizing its chance, our cherry leapt from the drink into the front pocket of an off-duty cocktail waitress who was making her break for the door. The man then finished his drink, oblivious to the fact it was missing its cherry.
The proprietors saw this and slowly began to remove cherries from all the drinks. To their surprise and glee (as it would cut down on expenses) they found none of the men seemed to notice or care that their drinks were without cherries. The women and children on the other hand were a different story.
Now what? We did mention the restaurant that specialized in wholesome family dining upstairs
The women and children noticed, and so the cherries had to be added to those drinks which generally consisted mostly of sodas and fruit juices. This kept the children quiet, which kept the women happy, which meant that they ignored the goings on downstairs in the bar.
And that is why, unlike their alcoholic brethre, virgin drinks still have their cherry.
As for our particular cherry, it is rumored that is is either on a garbage scow heading for Hawaii or that is joined a traveling circus and became Cher-O the Death Defying Fire Leaper. All that is certain is that it was never heard from again.
The End
