Today's paper brings news that (gasp) businesses don't like competetion!
Concerned that interlopers will undercut sales, some downtown business owners say the city of Springfield shouldn't grant temporary licenses to allow food or beverage vendors to set up downtown for St. Patrick's Day celebrations.
"We don't want any competition down there unless it's someone who's going to be in the community and stay there and be around all the time," said Chris Hanken, who owns Sebastian's Hideout on Fifth Street and Catch 22 on the Old Capitol Plaza.
The city has granted at least three temporary permits for downtown liquor sales on Saturday, according to city spokesman Ernie Slottag
There must be some damned good cush around town, or else these guys have never been to Springfield's St. Patrick's day parade before. Downtown is PACKED for the parade. People are lined up to get beer and food. There's more damned business than can be handled.
"We're all a little worried," said Barry Friedman, who owns the Alamo and Two Brothers. "It's slow downtown. This is kind of the kick-start for our year."
Clemons said a bar can realize as much as 30 percent of its profit for the year when the St. Patrick's Day parade rolls through downtown.
"For a bar, it's our biggest day, bar none," Hanken said
Greed knows no bounds. There's more than enough business to go around, and as a customer I want more competetion; I hate standing in line. And besides, the prices are nearly extortion; three bucks for a beer? When the normal price is two fifty?
This headline was hilarious until they fixed the typo. It originally read "Woman accused of selling merchandise". Again, never EVER truss yore spill chucker!
Speaking of typoos, Typo sends parking violators to wrong Web site
A typographical error on parking tickets being issued by the city of Springfield directs people to a Web site where, among other things, they can contact a Missouri attorney to have their traffic tickets "fixed."
The problem is a missing "e." People wishing to pay their parking tickets online are directed to go to "Illinoispay.com" when it should be "Illinoisepay.com"
The tickets apparently have been in use for two years, according to the city's public works director, Mike Norris. That is the office that orders the tickets for the city. Norris said this week that he was unaware of the problem, but his staff has known about it and parking meter enforcement officers have been blacking out the incorrect Web address.
Felber's was busy the other day, and I got the last bar stool, right by the door. Rhonda was two stools down, with her boyfriend between us. He was wearing a red baseball cap backwards, and a black t-shirt with some band's logo on it. Tom, who got laid off from Honeywell when they moved the plant to Mexicao last year, was walking back and forth screaming into his cell phone.
"Hi," the fellow in the red had said. "I'm Ron."
"Hi", I said, "I'm Steve. She's Rhon, too!"
"GODDAMNED SON OF A BITCH!" Tom screamed into his phone as he walked out the door.
"He sounds pissed," Ron said. Tom came back in, still yelling into the phone. "Fuck you! Fuck you, motherfucker! Just fucking fuck you!" before he walked far enough to be drowned out by the other drunks and the jukebox. Debbie, the owner's wife, was feeding it dollars and picking songs.
"She's playing some good shit!" Ron said. "Yeah," I answered, "She plays that thing like Chet Atkins plays a guitar!" I walked over and said "hi" to Debbie, and asked her if they ever got the wifi working. "No," she said, "the guy was supposed to come in yesterday but he never showed up." I sat back down at the bar after saying "hi" to Oakie. Oakie's the drummer for a band called 808, which is police code for "disturbing the peace".
A woman came in with girl scout cookies. I'd ordered a box, and paid for them and took my cookies. Ron and Rhon got a whole case. "Have you seen Tami?" the woman asked me. "She ordered a box."
"No," I said, "I haven't heard from her in a couple of days." She left the case with Ron and Rhon and went down the bar delivering cookies. Tom walked back, still on the phone. "FUCK YOU! You son of a bitch!" and went outside.
Ron laughed. "Wow. Just... wow."
Tom came back in, still yelling into the phone. "Yeah, well come on down here motherfucker, I'm right at the end of the bar by the door. I'm wearing a black t-shirt and a red had on backwards!"
Ron didn't stay long after that.