Speaking of Neighborhood Dive Bars
Back in the mid-70's when Marg was in nursing school at USF, she lived a few blocks from the Marina on Pierce Street. Just down the hill, and around the corner there was neighborhood bar that I had my eye on. One night while Marg was at school I decided to check it out.
It wasn't a big establishment as bars go--a long bar greeted you when you entered the front door with perhaps 15 stools complimented by a few rickety tables littered around the walls. On this night there were maybe a dozen or so patrons gathered about the bar chawing the fat about the local sports team and complaining about their bosses. I found a stool and ordered a Cutty and soda.
I was halfway through my first drink, when the guy sitting next to me taps me on shoulder and asks me where I'm from.
"I live down the Peninsula in San Carlos," I told him.
"Then why don't you get the hell back to San Carlos," he growled, "this ain't no tourist bar."
Normally I would have slid down a few stools and ignored the SOB but not in San Francisco. I hold a few trump cards here.
"Really," I said, "let's check your facts."
I stood up and pounded my glass on the bar a couple of times with authority and shouted, "excuse me folks, could I get your attention for a moment." The bar went silent.
"I'd like to see a raise of hands for all the people present who were born and raised in the City." I raised my hand.
An old guy at the end of the bar nursing a beer raised his hand, and a lady at one of the tables held hers up.
"Just as I thought," I said looking at the original troublemaker. His hand hadn't gone up.
The bar was quiet for a few seconds when someone shouted, "buy that man a drink." And the drinks started arriving at my elbow.
Well, I'm not a heavy drinker so I pawned them off on Mr. Troublemaker who acted like an old sourdough who'd just found King Solomon's mine. In fact, he drank himself so sloppy that the bartender asked him to leave.
Some other time, I'll tell you what to do when your patriotism is challenged in a bar. I've had that happen too.
As you can see I'm feeling a little chatty this morning.
San Francisco, CA
Speaking of Neighborhood Dive Bars
Back in the mid-70's when Marg was in nursing school at USF, she lived a few blocks from the Marina on Pierce Street. Just down the hill, and around the corner there was neighborhood bar that I had my eye on. One night while Marg was at school I decided to check it out.
It wasn't a big establishment as bars go--a long bar greeted you when you entered the front door with perhaps 15 stools complimented by a few rickety tables littered around the walls. On this night there were maybe a dozen or so patrons gathered about the bar chawing the fat about the local sports team and complaining about their bosses. I found a stool and ordered a Cutty and soda.
I was halfway through my first drink, when the guy sitting next to me taps me on shoulder and asks me where I'm from.
"I live down the Peninsula in San Carlos," I told him.
"Then why don't you get the hell back to San Carlos," he growled, "this ain't no tourist bar."
Normally I would have slid down a few stools and ignored the SOB but not in San Francisco. I hold a few trump cards here.
"Really," I said, "let's check your facts."
I stood up and pounded my glass on the bar a couple of times with authority and shouted, "excuse me folks, could I get your attention for a moment." The bar went silent.
"I'd like to see a raise of hands for all the people present who were born and raised in the City." I raised my hand.
An old guy at the end of the bar nursing a beer raised his hand, and a lady at one of the tables held hers up.
"Just as I thought," I said looking at the original troublemaker. His hand hadn't gone up.
The bar was quiet for a few seconds when someone shouted, "buy that man a drink." And the drinks started arriving at my elbow.
Well, I'm not a heavy drinker so I pawned them off on Mr. Troublemaker who acted like an old sourdough who'd just found King Solomon's mine. In fact, he drank himself so sloppy that the bartender asked him to leave.
Some other time, I'll tell you what to do when your patriotism is challenged in a bar. I've had that happen too.
As you can see I'm feeling a little chatty this morning.
San Francisco, CA