Share
MidReal Story
The Boys of Heatherdale
Scenario:A bar where every TV show and cartoon are able to get a beer.
Create my version of this story
Evan Puckett
He is the owner of a bar where he allows TV characters to come to life and order drinks. He is sarcastic, responsible, and accommodating. Evan struggles with his estranged father's return and grapples with his feelings about him. He maintains a sense of humor while dealing with the challenges of running a unique bar and navigating his personal life.
Bartender
They are bartenders working at "Puck's Place" alongside Puck and Evan. They are friendly, hardworking, and adaptable. The bartenders assist in handling the diverse array of TV characters that visit the bar, from superheroes to cartoon characters, and manage their varied drink orders with ease and humor.
Familiar Strangers
He is a regular patron at "Puck's Place" and a friend of Evan's. He is confident, charismatic, and mysterious. Familiar Strangers has a reputation for being able to identify TV characters quickly and often helps Evan's bar by recognizing who's coming in, making it easier for the staff to serve them. His relationship with his fiancée adds an element of excitement and anticipation to his visits to the bar.
I allow myself a small smile as I watch the door to my bar swing shut.
It’s always entertaining to watch the reactions of people when they see the sign that reads "Puck’s Place," especially since the "Puck" in question is my trusty sidekick and bartender, and he isn’t related to any of the mischievous fairies from English literature.
At least, I don’t think he is.
He never talks about his family, but then again, neither do I.
Not that it’s any of their business.
"Another one bites the dust," Puck says with a snicker as he slides a beer down the bar to one of the regulars.
"Yeah, and I’m not sure which is funnier, their reaction to the sign or their reaction when they see all the TVs playing different shows."
I take a pull from my own beer and glance around my bar.
Every TV is playing a different show, and every time someone new walks in, it’s like they’re seeing it for the first time.
Well, almost every time.
There are a few guys I’ve come to think of as "Familiar Strangers."
They know what’s going on and they’re regulars, but they still get excited when they see who’s on TV.
I scan the bar, taking in the usual assortment of familiar faces.
There are a few new people in tonight, but most of the patrons are regulars.
The cast of Brooklyn Nine-Nine is gathered around the pool table, arguing over who’s turn it is to shoot and whether or not they’re using the proper stance.
Homer Simpson is at the counter nursing his fourth Duff of the night, and the guys from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia are huddled in a corner, scheming their next move.
A commotion from the corner booth catches my attention, and I see that the kids from Stranger Things are trying to sweet-talk Puck into serving them alcohol with their fake IDs.
I start to head over to help him out when he grabs my sleeve and points to the entrance.
The door swings open, and I can’t help but smile as I see Ted Lasso walk through it.
He’s wearing his signature tracksuit and mustache, and he looks just as lost and confused as he does every time he comes here.
He scratches his head and looks around, his eyes finally landing on one of the screens where a Premier League match is playing.
"Hey, Ted," I call out, waving him over.
He ambles up to the bar, grinning sheepishly.
"You know, every time I see that match on TV, it reminds me of something my dad used to say—'Life's like football; sometimes you score, and sometimes you just run around in circles.'"
I’m wiping down the counter when he says this, and I pause to look at him.
"Uh, yeah," I say.
"I think that’s a little different than what your dad actually said."
Ted shrugs.
"Maybe. But you know what they say—'A good coach always knows how to adapt.'"
I raise an eyebrow.
"Uh, no, I don’t think anyone has ever said that."
Ted chuckles.
"Well, they should. And speaking of adapting, I’ve been thinking about my coaching philosophy lately. You know how I like to use biscuits as metaphors?"
I nod.
"Yes, Ted. You’ve told me before."
"Well, I’ve been thinking about it some more, and I’ve come up with a new one. You see, life is like a biscuit. Sometimes it’s soft and fluffy, but other times it’s hard and crumbly. But no matter what kind of biscuit you are, you can always be made better with a little bit of butter and jam."
I stare at him for a moment, not sure what to say.
He’s not wrong; biscuits do make everything better.
But I’m not sure how that applies to life.
Before I can respond, the front door swings open again, letting in a gust of cold air.
Several heads turn to see who’s coming in, including mine.
The sound of clicking heels echoes through the bar as someone walks toward the counter.
Through the smoky haze of cigarette smoke and beer fumes, I can just make out a familiar blonde figure. "Well, well," Puck says with a smirk.
"Look what we have here."
I glance over at him and see that he’s already moving around the bar to intercept our newest customer.
As he passes me, he grabs a spare bar apron from under the counter and holds it out to her with a professional smile on his face.
"Sorry, ma’am," he says smoothly.
"But proper attire is required in this establishment."
The blonde woman looks down at herself and then back up at Puck with a confused expression on her face.
"What do you mean? I’m wearing clothes," she says defensively.
Puck gestures discreetly toward our "Proper Attire Required" sign that hangs above the bar.
It reads: "No shirt? No shoes? No service!"
The woman looks up at the sign and then back down at herself again before finally realizing what Puck is talking about.
"Oh," she says sheepishly.
I notice that the blonde woman is none other than Miss Piggy from The Muppets, and she’s still wearing the glamorous evening gown she had on in the scene playing on one of the TVs.
Before I can explain our dress code policy to her, a small green figure pops up beside her.
He’s wearing a collar and a bow tie, and he looks like he just stepped out of a children’s television show.
"Hey, what’s going on here?"
Kermit the Frog asks gruffly.
Ted Lasso, who had been in the middle of his biscuit metaphor, stops mid-sentence and stares at Kermit in confusion.
Puck, however, seems unfazed by the sudden interruption.
He simply holds out the apron again and says, "I’m afraid you’ll need to put this on before we can serve you."
Kermit narrows his eyes at Puck.
"You don’t cover her up," he says firmly.
"She’s perfect just the way she is."
The other patrons of my bar have all turned to watch the scene unfold, including Homer Simpson, who sets down his Duff beer long enough to see what all the commotion is about. I take a step forward to mediate the situation, but before I can say anything, Miss Piggy shoves the apron back across the counter at Puck.
Her rings click against the wood as she does it.
"I don’t need your apron," she says haughtily.
With a dramatic flair, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and declares, "I make my own rules."
