The Wonderful World of Dumbness

For any of my loyal readers that don't know, my family used to own a legendary bar in my hometown with the best corned beef sandwiches around.  Ask almost anyone in the East side suburbs, Grosse Pointe up to Mt. Clemens, and they would have heard of my bar.  I grew up there.  I was babysat there every Saturday morning from 7:30am-12pm and I helped with all the chores and, of course, snuck pickles out of the huge fridge.  

In 2006, my family decided to sell it.  My Aunt Carol, who ran it for years since my uncle Ed passed away, was getting too old and the rest of my family all had other jobs and obligations that they couldn't get out of.  So we sold it to the man my family now non-affectionately calls Scott the Jackass.  

A very long, very complicated, very angering story short, Scott didn't pay the taxes for about 2 years and the state seized it.  Everything inside was auctioned off to help cover the taxes -- all our memories, everything that my grandpa, grandma, aunts, uncles, dad and cousins worked so hard for 60+ years to achieve, sold away like they meant nothing.  My dad was almost in tears.  

We got the building and the land back, but not the liquor license.  We have to sell this empty shell of a building for enough money to cover all the taxes that lunatic didn't pay.  I hate that we are the only ones that have to pay for his awful business management.  He ran that legendary establishment into just an obsolete building.  I could cry.

The only plus side is that any beer that was past the sell-by date is ours.  So we are stocked.  Small comfort.