You know the bar. Every town has one. Harleys out front, no windows, a place that smacks of unsavory characters and drug deals gone bad. On Saturday night, after a dinner of Thanksgiving leftovers, my parents, my sister, and I went to that bar.

I’d been once before, during my time waitressing at a local diner. It was the night when a fellow server offered me an Oxy before the shift, partied her way through the dinner hours, then suggested the Uptown Pub as a place to continue her revels. Although I’d politely declined her offer of opiates, I agreed to go to the pub and end the evening with a bang. Inside it was dark, dingy, and filled with bikers… but not as seedy as I might have expected.

My parents, however, may have had other thoughts. My mom was terribly nervous to walk inside, but my dad put on a brave face. Ordering drinks barside, some drunk asshole told him he looked like Bernie Madoff (like, seriously, what kind of thing is that to say to someone?) (and PS he looks NOTHING like Bernie Madoff) and my dad just laughed it off like the champ he is. My sister got an extra-strong pour on her Stoli and soda, so she and I spent our time playing darts with this half-wit in a red sweatshirt while I chugged down 3 Coronas in 30 minutes. My mother sipped a SoCo and ginger while chatting with her fellow patrons, most of whom she knew from her time working as a teller at Bank of America. My mom is the most popular lady around, for real.

After an hour or so, my awesome popular family and I left the bar no worse for wear. I felt so great when I was in there, I can hardly wait to go back… maybe it was the beers, maybe it was the darts, or maybe it was just the exhilaration of doing something completely out of character with the people I love most in the world. I don’t know, you tell me.