The Sal Densen Is Not Allowed Club is the shittiest name for a club and I’m not just saying that because my name is Sal Densen. The name has no catch. It lacks flair. Nothing about it makes me want to go inside.
The word club means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. To many, the word club means an establishment that you show up to to have drinks and dance and socialize.
To me, the word club means a gathering of people who have come together for a common cause. And when people would come to Sal’s, (the original Sal’s, the only true Sal’s, the one owned by me) they were coming, well, to be with me– Sal!
Me and the townspeople have had a few minor disagreements about the way things run at Sal’s over the years, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s always been great!
Some of the complaints were that I’m too buddy buddy, that I spill too many drinks, that I photobomb too much, that I talk too loud, that I only play music that I want to hear, that I’m overwhelming, etc. Small stuff, no big deal.
But then one night, this one guy, this one real big hot shot stood up and yelled at me,
“THAT’S THE 6TH FUCKING BOTTLE OF CHAMPAGNE THAT YOU’VE POPPED. EVERYONE’S SOAKING WET BECAUSE OF YOU YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!”
It hurt. Still does.
I can never forget that.
I hear constant echoes of it looping in my head — it never stops.
I run a club for years, never once ask a cover charge, never once close for holiday, never once cut a customer off for drinking too much. And then one night, after popping 6 bottles of champagne, 6 bottles of champagne that came out of my pocket for everyone’s enjoyment, you’re gonna then yell at me and call me an asshole in front of all my friends?
That was when everything started going down hill.
With my position in local politics once upon a time, I was in charge of everything. Everything went through me. All the permits went through me. If you wanted a liquor license you had to go through me…
And with that — I was on top of the world.
But then the people revolted.
I tried to change the town name to Saltown, and they said that that was the final straw. They dissed me. I said “What? You don’t like Sal?” They screamed and cursed at me more and then 96% of them went out and voted against me.
It started with that one guy.
And with me out, there was no longer only one bar allowed in town.
It used to be that if you wanted to go out and party, you had to party at Sal’s. Things were so much better in those days. I had so many friends back in those days.
But I guess people just don’t like having fun anymore.
They got this new club now. A club that is based in discrimination and hate and cruelty towards a fellow man. It’s sick how they’ve all turned against their caring, loving, and generous neighbor Sal.
And they never even gave a chance to look at the blueprints I had made for projects in Saltown.
Since then, I have turned the music down a few notches. I started putting out bowls of peanuts, sometimes even pretzels. But rarely does anyone ever show up.
Travelers pass through and stop for a drink. They ask me where everyone is. I tell them, “You missed them. Everyone is dead. This town here used to be booming, but sadly, now it’s a ghost town.”
Sal’s Club is now just a relic of a simpler, better time.
Everyone calls this new place Sal’s for short, and I know they’re just doing it to hurt me, and honestly, it’s working. The Sal Densen Is Not Allowed Club will only last so long though, I’m confident in that.
It lacks the one thing all club’s need — a Sal.