To my dearest Hungry Chuck’s,

Though capitalism — the very thing that brought us together — will soon tear us apart, I will always remember you. Will you remember me? Without my name on the wall, or any sense of sentient memory, I am not so sure. But you have taught me that it is OK. Every love doesn’t have to be a forever love. Love is still valuable for what it gave to you and what it taught you. On our first — and last — Valentine’s Day together I am reminded of the beautiful love we have shared.

You’ve made my hours the happiest happy hours I have ever spent too much money at. From 9 p.m. to 11 p.m., excluding game days, your half-price pitchers and mixed drinks have inspired me in ways that few other things in my life have. I can’t think of anything else in the world that would have motivated me to make an ‘odds are’ bet to pee on the promenade. I love you not for who you are, but for who I am when I am with you.

I remember the first time I met you. It was a warm evening in August. While freshmen frantically tried to memorize the zip code on their 1992 IDs and lined up down the block to get into DJ’s On The Hill, I proudly strutted past them to stand in a line down a different block – the line for Hungry Chuck’s. That’s what making it feels like. That is what 21 feels like — exactly like what 18-20 year olds feel like at a party school, but more expensive. That night I danced on chairs and sang and screamed to Taylor Swift. I don’t even like Taylor Swift. But it felt like a perfect night to stand on elevated surfaces and make regrettable decisions. Mhmm, mhmm.

You loved me for who I am. Your bouncers never required traditional bar attire. I didn’t have to wear stilettos, ripped crop tops and micro mini skirts. I could get away with a flannel or even at times a sweatshirt.

You got me through the good and the bad. Every Tuesday I would come over and those two pitchers you served me would give me the strength and motivation to get through the rest of my week. And Cindy only mildly judged me for the fact that they became my regular order. Tuesday nights and mornings were our special time, since the only people there were my slacker friends and the occasional 21st birthday. Those are the nights I will think of with the most fondness — and the most memory.

And the corn dogs.

I know you meant a lot of things to a lot of people. That’s the beauty of who you are. You bring people together. You make connections — some merely while in the Sisyphean line for the bathroom, some for the night and some for long after the tassels have turned. The spirit of you will live on, in the drunken hearts of many idiot 21-year-olds as they mature and get real jobs and have the hide their idiocy more and more. I know I personally cannot wait to run into people I never wanted to see again and talk about the good ol’ days and the good ol’ nights, most of which ended at Hungry Chuck’s. Thank you. I love you.

All my love and all my money,
Patty

Patty Terhune is a senior policy studies and television, radio and film dual major. She kindly requests one Tuesday where the entire senior class does not show up to Hungry Chuck’s so she can say her goodbyes in peace. Follow her on Twitter @pattyterhune or reach her at paterhun@syr.edu.

Published on February 13, 2017 at 11:32 pm