Welcome to Fell's Pint... Er... Point

Five years ago, my partner and I were living in Augusta, Georgia while we waited out her last months in the Army. Although we appreciated a lot of the small-town feel of Augusta, we knew we'd probably want to change it up and move someplace else once she was out, so, I didn't want to get a really great job that would tempt us to stick around. Woth that, I started working at a Starbucks. 

I liked it. It was, I don't know, something I could just do without wondering what to do next. There was no question about it: make the coffee, restock supplies, clean out the coffee making things. No one's saying it was easy, working with the public never is, but I didn't ever have to hear a manager ask, "What are you doing right now?" every time I stopped moving. Because I never stopped moving.

Much as I enjoyed living in Augusta, I grew up in Chicago and missed living in a city. I like walking to the store when I need something or knowing he Chinese place will be open till midnight. Having an bigger art museum somewhat close makes it worth the money to become a member. Plus, I just never felt like a real citizen of Augusta, though I did try.

Referee for the Soul City Sirens roller derby team. I went by "Greg Bladey".

A coworker suggested I request a transfer from Starbucks. Brilliant! There were a few options, one being Baltimore. I'd never been there but I'd heard of the place, mostly through an Army friend who had, luckily, moved back there recently, so I'd have some kind of contact. Other, unrelated, pieces fell into place nicely and before long, I was given my Letter of Transfer.

What happened when I actually got here isn't important to this story (though it's something of a story in itself) but none of the Starbucks in Baltimore wanted anything to do with that Letter of Transfer and, by extension, me. My local friend took my partner and I to the Fell's Point neighborhood so I could drink my sorrows away.

"There's a bunch of bars down there," she said, "And it's a historic district. You guys'll like it."

We turned down one of the house-lined alleys towards the harbor and I was amused by how narrow the row homes were, even more so than everywhere else in the city. I wasn't being critical; rather, it was more like when you're amused about people who live in elaborate tree houses: you think it's pretty great that they live there but, obviously, it's not for everyone.

A lot of my co-workers' back in Georgia lived in these giant "McMansions" with three-and-a-half bathrooms, entryway ceilings that went up to the roof, and a bright green lawn that encircled the home like a moat. Whereas the houses I saw in Fell's were almost comically tiny, being about 10 feet wide with second floor windows directly over the first, and, not only sharing walls with adjacent row homes, as is typical of the style, but also sitting right on the alley, like they were in the street itself.

Ha ha ha: Who in their right mind would live in a house this small?
Oh. Right.

Over the next few hours, whether influenced by alcohol or the atmosphere, we decided we'd buy one of the little houses in Fell's Point and have lived there for almost five years now. I've got my walking distance grocery stores, a late-night Chinese restaurant and an Indian place, and the BMA isn't far. Mostly, I frequent a lot of the bars (one of them is actually named BAR), which I'll get into later.

I've been told a lot of things in Fell's Point, most of them while drinking with neighbors, tourists, and even the bartenders. I listen to their stories because they're entertaining but I believe them because it's even better if I think they're true. This blog is intended to be full of a lot of things I've seen, heard, read about, or been a part of; however, it's not intended to be gossip or malicious or anything like that. Some of our names have been changed out of respect for the neighborhood. So, pull up a barstool and put your wallet away.

Hey, I got this one: you can get me next time.