The Bar

The hotel I stayed in was serviceable, likely good enough to quell the nagging of a typical mother-in-law or country club dad. But outside the front sliding doors sat a well-used boot scraper. The parking lot was filled with dirt-covered pickup trucks. The morning breakfast buffet was packed nuts to butts. It wasn't the typical crowd.

Money comes and goes in Midland, but at this particular juncture and at this particular hotel, it looked like the roughnecks crashing there for the week or month or god-knows-how-long currently had it comin'. That's the thing about Midland. It ain't Monte Carlo, that's for sure. But there's plenty of fellas that look like chimney sweepers who got some decent cheddar in their pockets while the going's good.

And since 1979, one of the premier watering holes in town for oil patch grunts and bosses alike has been The Bar. Four decades is enough time for about a dozen booms and busts in these parts, but somehow The Bar just kept trucking along. Over that time, it also managed to collect plenty of historical artifacts, which you can find all over the walls.

There are old Texas road signs, athlete portraits, a taxidermied bear, and, of course, dozens of oil company signs. Neon lights are wedged between mounted deer heads and football jerseys. There's even a cut-out section of jail cell bars from the Midland County courthouse. Did they come from an Ebay auction or a jailbreak? Who knows. The place is like a museum for drunks.

People generally praise the menu here, though it can be hard to enjoy when you're sucking down more cigarette smoke than a Vegas cocktail waitress. I wouldn't be surprised to run into a whale with a 10-gallon hat and a private jet parked at Midland Airpark lighting up a fat cigar either. Seems like the kind of bar where anything goes as long as you tip well.

A good bar attracts people from all walks of life. It's what makes it interesting and a little exciting. Whether you just finished your shift or closed on a land deal, The Bar’s got a seat for you.