As soon as he "John Wayne" sauntered into 1762, I could see a rather large chip on his shoulder. He looked around at everyone, sneered, and took a seat at the vacant end of the bar, closest to the front door. He ordered a "Heiney-Keen" from Shelley, and raised his voice unnecessarily as he did so. Shelley served him his cerveza, and came back down to the "regular's" end of the bar. A moment or two later he starts La-La-La'ing something that I could not understand. Obviously he wants attention. Maybe his momma took him off the teat too young. Shelley goes down there, assuages whatever it was that put a hair in the caboose of El Vaquero.
A few minutes later, El Vaquero starts to raise his voice again, looks around the bar to make sure he is getting the attention he so craves. We all looked at him with that blank stare that is intended to let you know what we really think of you.
Obviously there was a language barrier here. Ellie happened to be in the bar with Hector that night, so we had no shortage of Spanish speaking translators. Ellie offered to translate for the misplaced cowpoke, and this seemed to calm him for uno momento.
When I look back down his way, he is holding Shelley's hand. Kinda tight. Not letting go. She's playing it cool. Finally, El Vaquero lets go. Again, he starts mouthing off again, this time to Ellie. I see Hector, who is shooting pool, look over and patiently process what is going on, and what may need to be done. Jon goes over, tries to talk to the guy, gives him a smoke, and genuinely tries to disarm a heated situation. Hector goes over to El Vaquero next and lets him know that if he continues to be loud and disrespectful with Ellie, that he will have a problem at 1762.
El Vaquero had all of us a little "raised up", as we could not predict what the intentions of this patron might be. Discreetly, I went to the back door and retrieved a fire extinguisher that was mounted on the wall. Nice weight to it. Not so heavy that it was unwieldy, but heavy enough to knock a rude El Vaquero out.
El Vaquero starts to reach out and grab for Jon, who's back is turned at this point. I raise the extinguisher, thoughts of Arnold Schwarzenegger saying "I extinguished him" running through my mind, and begin to lunge forward at the back of El Vaquero's cranium. In a split second I hear him say to Jon, "Cigaretto". Lock up the Brakes! I snatched back on the fire extinguisher less than a foot from my intended target. He was asking Jon for another cigarette! I whisked around, extinguisher at my side thinking, "Man, that was close".
El Vaquero smoked that cigaretto, had one more Heineken and left, not knowing how close he had come to being "extinguished". But I think he got the message. Haven't seen him back since.
9.27.2007
El Vaquero
9.26.2007
Small Stage, Big Show at the Corner
Shelly was behind the bar and she looked kinda pissed (I didn’t ask why). Daria and Candy were sitting and conversing with Daria’s brother ‘Mort’. Mort has a son in the Marines and he just got back from doing his last tour in Iraq. Mort said that his son hasn’t quite adjusted to life back in the ‘world’ just yet. I suggested to Mort that he do all he can to get his son busy with life and living or he could ‘slide into real darkness’.
The Met Fan sat at the bar, his head in his hands attempting to drown himself in his beer. He looked up at the screen again and saw the score. He ordered another beer. “RJ, you believe this shit…how is it they always find a way to loose”. I just shook my head and asked him about an old flame who would really like to see him. He said he isn’t going to see her any time soon.
Doc was sitting at the end of the Bar. It always good to see him, he’s always on an even keel and has so much information about how hospitals, medicine and the medical system really works. Daria and Mort left Candy sitting at the bar. So I said hello and asked Candy how things were. “Doing alright” she said with her easy soulful smile. How about you? I let her know details of my weekend in the Berkshires that won’t be found in other written material.
I asked her about Kareoke Night on Saturday and Candy’s eyes lit up. She recounted to me the events of the evening. Candy went on to say, “this place was packed wall to wall except a little space on the dance floor. People were gathered out the front and back doors. This bar was electric and the spirit in here was just awesome.” Shelly piped in and said the place was jumpin but “somehow different”.
Candy went on, “All kinds of people, different races, different cultures, different styles of dress, a lot of ‘soul brothers and sisters’ were here singing, laughing….a whole lot of joy.” Candy said Hector and Ellie were there, K-Cee was there as were many regulars and “a lot of people who never set foot in here…or if they have, I’ve never seen them before.” From what I gathered from Candy, Kareoke night was a cross between Woodstock and a Revival meeting.
While Candy and Shelly filled me in on Kareoke Saturday Night, Limpin Pimp eased in. He was cool, no picts, just hanging out and he offered to by beers and shots as usual. As Candy was telling me about how things were arranged the man himself showed up. Cary and his wife Mallory were the D.J.’s and orchestrators of the Kareoke night event. Now I had Candy, Shelly and Cary relating events.Cary shared how first he layed down the law pertaining to how the night would go and that no one was going to humiliate anyone who was getting up to sing. He also got the crowd into supporting each other. In Cary’s words “a sense of love and community came over the place”. “Most of the singing was not only good but from the heart”, Cary said. Candy jumped in, “We came to the place as strangers, we all left knowing each other”.
Cary continued, “It was truly a good evening, everybody was in total harmony, it was real.” It made my heart glad to hear this. That this old dive held an event that was anti-schismatic. It amazed me that something happened here that did not involve a fight, harsh words, ignorance, hatred or strife. Candy said she had never been in here when there wasn’t some kind of “drama”. Candy continued, “There was no drama, everyone treated each other like old friends”.
Here’s some background on Cary. He sang with a few soul groups during the 80’s. He sang in competition at the Apollo Theatre in Harlem three times and finished first twice. Cary is a true music professional who does his thing and makes a good living at it with his wife Mallory. Cary said at first when Mallory saw all the ladies hugging and kissing him in greeting she “got a look on her face”. Cary told her, “Baby it ain’t like that…watch!” Saturday Night was magic.
Shelly related that even though her “Ex” came in the bar to torque her and bring her grief, she felt so good she didn’t really care if he stayed, left or what he said. The Owner was there too. Candy related he was feeling good also and drank enough to feel good for a whole lot of folks. It was also related that the Owner also had some mild concern about how much was in the register given the size of the crowd.
Filsy the Print-Man who does the printing for the Bar showed up with Brad (older brother of the late Moe who used to get drinks for free). Cary was dressed in a super fine dark suit that shimmered softly in any light. Cary excused himself cause he had to get home. Shaking hands with the guys, he then hugged Shelly and Candy as he left.
I was sorry I missed Kareoke Night. I’m not sorry that it blew the breeze of fraternity, community and love through the musty walls of this ancient dive.
Love!
R.J.
9.25.2007
Rednecks, Radicals and Kilts: Ethnocentrism Exposed!
red·neck (rĕd'nĕk') n. Offensive Slang.
Used as a disparaging term for a member of the white rural laboring class, especially in the southern United States.
A white person regarded as having a provincial, conservative, often bigoted attitude.
From ‘Wikipedia’- “Redneck, in modern usage, predominantly refers to a particular stereotype of people who may be found in many regions of the United States or Canada. Originally limited to Appalachia and the American South, and later the Ozarks and Rocky Mountains, this stereotype is now widespread in other states and the Canadian provinces. The word can be used either as a pejorative or as a matter of pride, depending on context.
A Redneck saved my life. Two rednecks may have me living just a little longer than the government would like. But there is a price for everything. Some stereotypes are taken out of their context. Rednecks are not the only class of people that have cars in disrepair on display on their property. They are certainly not the only group of ‘ethinics’ who can make corn liquor. Nor or they the only class of people tagged with a level of extreme ignorance.
My brotha from another mutha is Bear. Bear is a redneck. He grew up a five corners kid, he worked for my father, he worked with persons of many different cultural backgrounds, nationalities and racial make-ups. We still talk all the time, even though he is in the foothills of the Smokey Mountains. Last time I talked to him ‘Star’ fell off the porch (Star is his wife). I don’t know how she’s doing but liquor was involved.
Bear introduced me to N.F. Pluto, a redneck from one of the five towns (the town that could be a colony of Israel). Back in the late 90’s, N.F. jumped my dead battery in my old Chevy. When Bear spent a fortnight (40 days) plus in the hospital, me and N.F. took care of things for his Mom and looked out for his family. I was adopted as a “redneck” because my unique Cosmopolitan yet conservative views are not the shit you see on FOX or CNN.
I started going to N.F.’s wonderland nestled in the hills of upstate New York. I got addicted to the wine tours in the Orange, Dutchess and Ulster County areas. I was viewed with some suspicion when I first made my tours. Now I am accepted for the functional alcoholic I really am. Winter, Spring, Summer and especially the Fall, drinking to relieve pressure, drinking to re-live youth, and drinking, relying on pure guts to handle camp fire and/or gunfire, is the reward we share with each other.
Back to my life getting saved. Back in the late 90’s there was a dive in Valley Stream called the ‘Final Score’. It was frequented by WWII Veterans, Bikers, Lowlifes, Wanna Bees, and Assholes. Some fool was talking shit about how the military failed the United States in Vietnam. The Clown said how poor leadership in the field led to the loss of American pride and a loss of confidence in America around the world. Clown was never in the Armed Forces.
I quickly squared his punk ass away. I questioned whether he was an American or an illegal alien. I then demanded to see his green card. He yelled a racial epithet and said “I’ll kick your ass”. (I then made up my mind I would cake-walk across his face.) He produced a knife. I immediately backed up and got to the back of the bar and got hold of a pool que. It was on.
Clown had a friend. ‘Friend’was on his way. Bear was behind the bar. (Was behind the bar) Before Bear could get there a ‘Charlie Manson’ looking space cadet came out of the head and did this weird sign and started this spazdicated hard rock dance. I thought I was stuck in the Twilight Zone but I had the presence of mind to get to Clowns friend. N.F. (aka Manson) did this magic trick in front of Clown and then something got sprayed in Clowns face.
Before I could touch Clowns friend, Bear strong armed ‘Friend’ and bounced his gourd off the Bar. Bear found ‘Friends’ family jewels with a knee shot and he doubled over like a jail bitch on Soul Train Saturday morning. Clown was holding his face, screaming. N.F. and Bear got them out of the Bar and into the street. I was headed for the street too. Bear pushed me back in the bar and said “Stay there!” They didn’t come back right away.
Bear got back into the bar first. After I sipped a half glass of cold tap beer, N.F. came back in. N.F. dumped cash, hand rolled cigarettes and other pharmaceuticals on the bar. Bear flushed the chemicals. N.F. bought a round for everyone and proceeded to chastise my ass for getting into a conflict with assholes. “Just fuckin leave”, N.F. told me.” Bear piped up, “Its my fault.” “I should have kicked their asses out an hour ago.” I was drivin’ Bear home at close of business.
“R.J., you need to know something about white trash, said N.F.” “They can’t have intelligent conversations and they don’t know what there talkin’ about half the time….their fuckin’ ignorant.” N.F. (a white redneck) said this while re-rolling one of the ‘hand rolled cigarettes’ he ‘acquired’ in the fray. “You ain’t smokin’ that grass in here”, Bear implored.
N.F. rolled his eyes and stuck the joint in his shirt. N.F. then produced 6 rounds and a small revolver. “Clown had this on him”. “If someone starts talkin’ crazy shit in a bar, get the fuck out.” I thanked him and asked how I could pay him back. “Don’t worry about it, buy me a drink.” I told him, I owe him forever. I backed up N.F. with Heineken’s all night. We became fast friends, and friends ever since. He brought me into his real redneck world. I brought him real Carolina ‘Shine’.
These old timers adopted me and treated me like one of their own kids. (46 years old at the time and I was called ‘kid’.) 300 splendid acres of farmland, forests, water falls, ponds, deer, horses, goats, sheep and moose in the high Berkshires, it was awesome. This ‘association’ was made up of all kinds of folks from 15 to 90 years of age. Scottish farm, Scottish games, Scottish dress and huge amounts of food and alcohol.
I made a wager with this old broad I’ll call Hank (short for Henrietta) she is a 40 year veteran of the U.S.M.C (my alma mater). I made this wager back in 2005. I lost. The payout wasn’t cash. It was my ethnocentric mindset. A mindset I thought I had forfeit long ago. I had to appear at the next ‘association’ meeting in a kilt. Full Scottish kilt! I explained that I wasn’t a member of a clan. “Yes you are” snapped Hank. “You are a Marine, aren’t you!” Yes Maam! I growled.
Hank ordered, “Appear before me in the Marine Corps Tartan”. (Hank is a Colonel, U.S.M.C. RETIRED. I didn’t show in 2006 due to a car accident) I showed up this year in full Marine Corp Tartan. Yeah, I was in full kilt. Don’t ask if there are photos. There aren’t any. And if anyone attempts to produce any I will find ways to make them pay. I also had to wear the kilt in the best tradition of the Scotts and the United States Marine Corps. (Nothing under the kilt except my manhood).
N.F. watched as Hank and her Scotts Lady friends did their inspection of my kilt. He said, “Remember that Friday at the Final Score”…“We’re even for everything".. (Part 1) Love.
9.22.2007
The Night Tom Died
On a spring night, that was not all that memorable for any other reason, one of the patrons at 1762 left the bar to walk 150 feet to his front door. He never made it.
I didn't know Tom and never had the occasion to talk with him. We would say hello, but the conversation never ventured beyond that point. Don't know what he did for a living, don't know anything about his family, the car he drove, not anything more than his first name, and that he drank tap beer. Bud, I believe, but even of that I am unsure.
Tom was quieter than the average 1762er. He was a tall man in his 50's, wore thin black framed glasses, and had a shock of very gray hair that appeared to have a mind of its own. I imagine that his selection of pubs had a lot to do with the geographic location, which as I mentioned earlier was a scant 150 feet from his front door.
As a drinker, think of the implications of that. You never have to drive drunk. Never risk a DWI, never god-forbid kill innocents, or yourself for that matter, as a result of an impaired state behind the wheel. This set up for Tom was nearly foolproof. Nearly I say, because on this night Tom was not to be spared, not to be saved by the "perk" of having a watering hole across the street from his home.
On the night he died, Tom drank alone, and I am sorry for that. Croc was tending, and Shelley and I were drinking. Croc, Shelly and I huddled in a group at the end of the bar closest to the front door. We were playing bar dice for much of the night, while Tom stayed at the other end of the bar. It never occurred to me to ask Tom to play along with us. I am sorry for that as well. I can imagine now how he may have felt, alone. Upon reflection he appeared as almost a ghostly figure as his gray hair shimmered in the dim light of the bar. He had less than an hour to live at this point.
As the time of his death drew closer, Tom drank a couple of pints of tap beer. He looked lost in his own thoughts, even a little confused at some point. I learned later that this date of his death, was in fact also the date of his birth. Maybe that was the reason for his puzzled countenance as he watched us from from his end of the bar. This was Tom's birthday. And he was drinking alone. No one to talk to, no one to share his day with. Just the three of us, and we acted like he wasn't even there. Of course, he never would be again.
When it was time for him to go, he walked down to "our" end of the bar and said to Shelley in a melancholy, and very child-like way, "It's my birthday. Can I have a birthday kiss." Shelley gave him a hug and a kiss and we all wished him a happy birthday, though we knew it had been anything but for Tom. Just how unhappy, we wouldn't find out about until the next morning.
Shelley called me the next day, and said, "Tom's dead." It did take a second to process this information, my brain struggling to escape a wicked hangover. Then it was like a kick in the gut. Tom left us, safely made it across the street and walked up the driveway to his front steps. Popular opinion is that when he reached the stairs to the front door he fell backwards and hit his head. The blow killed him.
We don't know if he lived for awhile after falling, but the visualization of this man lying on the floor, his life force bleeding from him with every beat of his heart disturbs me. While we sat and laughed and joked and rolled the dice, there was a man who needed help just a few feet away.
For what it's worth, if I could go back, Tom would have been rolling dice with us and laughing and joking. People like to say that when it's your time to go, it's your time to go. If this was in fact Tom's time to go, I wish we would have made him feel more like one of us, less like an outsider, celebrated his life with him if only for those couple of hours that he sat alone. His last hours, so alone.
9.21.2007
Darkness, My Old Friend
That’s when I think of her, when I need someone to talk to and no one is there. Alone in my empty home with no one to vent to, no one to listen, no one to push me on, no one that cares. I think of her when the sun sits perfectly in the sky on a thoroughly serene day or when the wind whips the rain. When life throws me punches I don’t quickly bounce back from, I think of her.
My throbbing head renders me totally useless as I eye the bottle of ‘Maker's Mark’. I’ve half eaten and realize I still have a shot at hydrating myself before I start dry heaving in a few hours. A mason jar full of ice, half filled with water, a twist of lime and shot of whiskey. Sitting in the dark, sipping my zesty libation, I think of her. I burst out laughing when the visions came into my head, memories…boy I could see her plain as day.
It was August 1982, I was in the post deployment phase of a Marine strategic mobile exercise at 29 Palms (2nd largest live fire base in U.S). We had just got back from a little trip to another place in time. It has been three days since we landed at the EAF (Expeditionary Air Field) just about half mile away from Camp. I was NCOIC (Non Commissioned Officer in Charge) acting OIC of the Military Police Detachment. The Colonel, Detachment Commander had confidence in me.
It was a Camp setup with large triangular tents arranged in diverse areas separated by dusty roads over an area of about 300 acres. Green olive drab tents separated by barbed wire and razor wire marked with red signs with yellow letters informing of unit designation (i.e. Weapons Co, 1/7) or restricted areas. Large 2 ½ ton Trucks, Jeeps, M880 Pickups, Trailers, M47 Tanks and other combat vehicles all camouflaged to match the desert floor. Dust was everywhere.
It was my Camp, my M.P.’s were great, trained well, all exceptionally competent. No vehicle was allowed in the Camp Area without prior authorization. A checkpoint manned by my M.P.’s were on duty and accounted for everything that went in or out under the C.O.’s orders. I was happy with the level of discipline that we were able to instill and keep among the force by enforcement of the Uniform Code and Camp Regulations I helped write and establish.
My then girlfriend and later wife, ‘June’ called me to let me know I needed to come to LA and fix a finance problem with my car or they would take it. ( I traded in my big Chevy for a sporty Datsun Z car that barely fit four) I tried to get the dealership to let my lawyer sign some papers for me but they wouldn’t do it, my lawyer said I had to be there.
My C.O. gave me a 72 hour pass, (Stratmobex -combined arms mobile exercise, wouldn’t start for another 5 days). June drove out to 29 Palms with Lucinda (hot Mexicana) to get me. It was a 2 ½ hour trip on a good day to get from LA to 29 Palms. I packed a light bag, left instructions for my Corporals and posted orders for the interior guard. Two large G.P. tents doubled as M.P. headquarters and living area. The radio crackled with a voice full of urgency.
“A sports car is on the base road traveling at an extremely high rate of speed heading for the
EAF and Camp Area…has to be doing about 80 MPH, its kicking up a dust storm.” I ordered the M.P. at the checkpoint to be ready and stop the vehicle by any means necessary. I was still in uniform (all of us were in camouflage utility uniforms) with gunbelt, armband and baton. I drew a rifle and headed for the checkpoint.
The radio crackled in my Jeep, “Force commander wants to know status of the rogue vehicle in the exercise area.” I sent the message “stand by”. I walked to the car and knocked on the window. As the window rolled down, June giggled guiltily, the smell of liquor and weed coming from Lucinda’, who was holding an open container of OE 800, it didn’t help my mood.
I had her pull the car over and told her “just sit there” I told Lucinda to put the can in the bag, wrap it and leave it on the floor of the car. I informed my M.P.’s it was my girlfriend and the situation was Code 4. I told my Corporal to take charge of the C.P. and radioed to Command I would report the status of this vehicle personally.
As I entered the S-1 area on the way through to the C.O.s tent I could see the staff looking at me as if something serious was going on. I reported to the X.O. (executive officer) first. I told the Captain exactly what happened and that I would take care of this matter. He looked at me and could see the consternation in my face. He had a lot of fun breaking down this “breech”.
The Colonel walked in on the conversation I saluted him and he had me carry on. They laughed, and ribbed me unmercifully as I stood sweating to death at the position of attention. The Colonel ended my torture by saying, “Take your girlfriend, her hoochie buddy and that foreign made piece of crap out of my exercise area. To make sure you get your shit squared away I’m rescinding your 72 hour pass and giving you a 96 hour pass,…get away from me Sergeant.”
As I walked out of SysOps the laughter carried throughout the Command area. (You can hear through tents). I left the base with her now in the passenger seat and Lucinda kickin it in the back. I looked at her, with her eyes on fire with her guilty smile, her cleavage nicely displayed in her black silk blouse and her legs gleaming in her tight grey skirt, I said, “you got me in trouble with the Colonel”. “You still got three days right?” She asked.
‘No, thanks to you I got four days’ my foot very lightly on the accelerator as I approached the main gate to exit the Combat Center. I remember how her eyes and smile sparkled. As I drove off the base she slowly spread her legs and said, “I’ll make this up to you”. “When I get you home you’ll forget all about your Marine Corps.”
She passed away over eight years ago. She could keep me giggling inside for days on end. Now I only have darkness and these memories, I fail at starting any new romance. It was hard to let her go. I can’t forget her. I have my damaged aching body, the darkness, my empty wounded soul and a half bottle of booze. Soon it will be an empty bottle. Soon the sun will rise. As En Vogue sang, “Back to life, Back to reality,….back to the present time, …...” RJ
9.19.2007
The Bird's Nest
We did find this one spot, called the Bird's Nest right next to the Ronkonkoma train station. Now that I look back at it with my 40 yr old mindset, the location was perfect. The average 9-5er could get off the train at the Ronkonkoma Station, walk across the street, have a few pops and get a look at some bare-breasted "lovelies". Oh, did I forget to mention that it was a topless joint?
As far as the dancers go, the bulk of them were white trash with bad teeth and worse asses. The bouncer was ridiculously large. Not fat. Tall, with rippling muscles that were accentuated through the filthy sleeveless t-shirt and leather vest that he wore.
This is going back a ways. Circa 1983 or so. So you could still smoke in the bars. As a matter of fact, it was encouraged. I didn't smoke at the time, neither did any of my compadres. The overwhelming smells in this railroad shanty were those of smoke predominantly, but a strong mix of sweat and perfume was a close second. These smells were capped off with that sweet-sour smell of stale beer.
On this particular Friday night, (a hot, humid and steamy night I might add which really served to enhance the conflagration of bad aromas), the bar was packed. Lots of 9-5ers, but a good number of local bad-asses. It took forever to get up to the ramshackle bar to order a beer. As bad luck would have it, as we were ordering our drinks a group that had been seated at the bar, got up to leave. We scooted into the vacant barstools like it was a game of musical chairs.
As the night progresses we are drinking and tipping the dancers, who are shaking their golf ball dimpled asses on a ledge (read: extremely narrow stage) behind the bar. We're tipping not because they were semi-clad goddesses, but because the bouncer would have forced us to give up our seats to tipping customers.
You could see a little spark of life come into the old crone barmaids previously dead eyes. This she liked. This she relished. This asshole was representative of every guy who didn't tip her when she danced, who tried to slide a digit where it did not belong, of every guy who ever wronged her in her entire miserable existence. She summoned KONG.
Of course, his name wasn't Kong, though it could have been. Kong moved in quickly, belying his 6ft 5 frame. This was going to be better than any show the dancing gargoyles could provide.
Barmaid says with a hiss to Kong, "This guy blah blah blah."
Kong grunts, picks up a glass from the bar and bites into it. Really. Bites into it, chews a few times and spits the shards of glass at the drunk 9-5 guy. This didn't seem to faze the brass-balled commuter in the least, much to the amazement of Kong and the Sea Hag. In fact he starts in again. Now Kong is seething and decides to unleash some Hellfire in this guy's direction, er, my direction as well. Kong picks up a can of Aquanet hairspray that belonged to one of the dancers. The hairspray back then was in an aerosol can, providing a nice stream of shellac for those big-hair-do's of the era. Kong then retrieves his flip top Zippo from his leather vest pocket and deftly strikes it as he dispenses the VERY flammable hairspray. A fireball erupts from behind the bar. Quickly I ducked to my right. I could feel the heat of the fireball as it continued on into the direction of 9-5er. That was enough for him, for me, and for the Bird's Nest. He forked over whatever it was that he owed the girl, me and my friends gave up our barstools and bolted for the exit. Ah, the good old days.
Help Wanted. Again.
Gin has retired (ALREADY??) from her Tuesday day shift but will be keeping her Friday nights.
Local bar, day shift. Must be tough way to spend 8 hours. Pretty much dead from open at 11AM until happy hour "crowd" dribbles in 'round 5ish.
What can be done to make dayshifts more appealing to potential 1762 employees? Have an idea? I would love to read some suggestions.
9.18.2007
Winky
Went by 1762 to watch the Met game tonight. When I walked in Mets were up 7-2 on Washington in the 5th. Bottom of the fifth Washington goes up 8-7 and never looks back. Mets lost 9-8. Why do they always find a way to choke down the stretch?
The dart team had an early season bye tonight and were hanging around practicing. This is a serious group. They all have fancy darts that they carry in fancier cases. I think the darts do everything but throw themselves. I think that Gin's set even plays MP3's. Oh, check out her shoes next time you see her. You'll see why.
Lily was hanging around for a bit but bailed out kinda early. Apparently she had an appointment for a foot massage at home. No wonder why she has been in such a good mood. It's all that pampering she is getting at home.
Filsy popped in. Haven't seen him in a while. He brought in a purple Yankee banner suitable for framing for The Owner, who as most of you know is somewhat of a fanatic about his baseball team. I don't think he noticed that it was purple.
Let's get back to where I came in. I took one look at Shelley, who for the rest of this post will be known as Winky, and immediately noticed that her left eye was two sizes too small. It was a lot puffy and a little red. I thought that maybe she got popped by an angry 1762'er.
Winky claims that the damaged optical apparatus was the result of a traumatic cosmetic accident. Using a freshly sharpened eyeliner pencil, Winky attempted to draw those "beauty rings" around her eyes.
The pencil was too sharp, a little sharper than Winky, and she managed to snap the point of it off in her eye. The point floated around in her eye socket for some time before she was finally able to remove it. I think she washed it out with some topshelf booze. Don't tell The Owner. She is not wearing any eye makeup at the time of this post. While attempting to beautify herself she instead disfigures herself. Ah, the irony!
I found out about some upcoming parties and will be sure to post details as I get them. Halloween, Thanksgiving, etc. Yep. It's that time of year again.
Good crowd tonight. Always liked Tuesday nights here.
9.17.2007
Update!!!
Just got a text from Pregnant Lily...
She is working tomorrow from 3PM til 7PM.
The question is, "Where is GIN?"
And as far as updates go, I will try to keep a section in the right hand column with current events or activities at 1762 Broadway.
Easy Sunday Afternoon (A Good Sight for Bad Eyes)
Another late Sunday afternoon and all the games are on. YaegaLee is behind the bar and some of the regulars are in the house. Zu’ was there, the Met Fan showed up later, other familiar faces came and went, Biker Bob made his usual stop at the watering hole. Along with Zu’ was K-Cee and her ‘significant other’ Ka’tee. K-Cee (member menhaters) and I go back aways.
I was with K-Cee on New Years Eve back in 2000, with her family, including her daughter. I was invited, I like to think because she liked me. It was a lot of fun and I thought I might have had a shot at being someone she could be with. K-Cee is a tough woman with a love for living life. One day in 2001 at another drinking establishment she told me she was ‘switching teams’ she was going to be with women exclusively.
I was devastated by the announcement. We had gone to see a B.B. King concert and had a great time. I had wondered what the hell I did to make her wanna do what she did. But K-Cee elaborated, she did tell me why she went that way. She was married to a man that took an oath, a man that wore a badge. A man that died in the line of duty. She had his daughter and doesn’t want any man in her life that can be viewed as taking his place by her daughter.
After halfway through the second bottle of Jack in a pity party weekend, I started to wrap my head around why K-Cee did what she did. She had been in the bar before but I didn’t get to talk to her. Today I did talk to her, she kicked my butt in pool. (She could always shoot pretty good) She stayed for a couple of hours and left early. She keeps tight reins on her daughter.
Yaega Lee and I partnered up to shoot against K-Cee and Ka’tee (well built European woman with European features and no love for men). We lost. I don’t stand very well given the pain so it does effect my shooting (Yeah, I’m making excuses). But K-Cee is one I consider a dear friend, her bright skin and fleeing freckles go with her wicked smile.
Zu’ stuck around. She danced around me, or danced me around – holding me tight. She swore no one could recognize her without her hat. I recognized her right way. She always takes my mind off of me. I get to asking her about what she’s doing because I know she has gone through some rough times too. She gets me thinking about that line from “Tears of A Clown” (Smokey Robinson) “if there’s a smile on my face, its only there trying to fool the public…”.
SD came in later and we talked about some weird behavior from a former bartender at this old and illustrious establishment. Chucky and his four legged buddy also stopped by. But for now I’m thankful for an easy Sunday afternoon. I knew it was getting late when Shelly came on duty and Sunday Night Football began to get fuzzy. Hey, spend some time e-mailing someone you haven’t spoke to in a while. Love.
OATH
On Friday, I found myself again giving honors to a man who lived this life selflessly for others. Another in whose shadow I stand. Young boys and girls have taken up the oath, “I …..do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice (and/or State Constitution.) So help me God”
Beyond the lies told us by those who have bastardized powers given by the people, beyond the speeches given by politicians who never had to fire a weapon in service of this nation, beyond the parades and the displays of patriotism, is the real American, the patriot. The patriot can be spotted if you look hard enough. But we don’t.
We take for granted we can talk shit about anyone, sleep with anyone, worship anywhere and go everywhere we want when we want.We can buy anything our hearts desire and wear it, drive it, use it or give it away anytime we choose. We forget that this nation got this way because some 17 year old kid, 18 year old high school graduate, 19 year old hard ass believes that he or she can stand up with anyone and take his or her place on line and dish it out just as good as those who went before them. When they return to the “world” after their tour of duty, they work to live their lives and hide their scars.
Some scars are physical, those maimed or missing limbs are obvious, some scars are hidden by clothing, an upbeat personality and a smile. Some scars are on the hearts, souls and minds. These are too easily hidden by an average life, easy going personality and fun loving spirit. Friday Night, 14 September 2007, my heart ached from the pain. My soul ached from the scars, my body ached from the scar tissue. I always need prayer, but I also wanted a drink.
I walked in and Shelly was behind the bar, a few regulars in attendance doing what they usually do, Hector and Ellie were there trying to get to the jukebox, the Met Fan looking at the screen and shaking his head in disbelief. But what got my attention was Candy. Candy was talking to Limpin' Pimp. Limpin' was in a deep discussion with Candy. I should say he was listening to a deep discussion by Candy.
I saw her demeanor was visibly different from her usual self. It wasn’t just another patron wearing their drinking mask and pretending to be social. The body language was intimidating, the eye contact like a lazer on a target. I really didn’t care what this conversation was about, I just knew it wasn’t another barroom chat about the Jets. I saw a monster being humanized, I saw trepidation, I saw humility, yes…I even saw regret in Limpin' Pimp.
It was then I remembered something Candy told me once. It was obvious, it wasn’t that hard to see. When she got finished with the Pimp (I actually saw him wipe sweat off his face) she returned to her drink and greeted me. I had several conversations that evening, but I don’t remember much. No, its not the alcohol causing blackout recall, I recall the mood in this dive afterward.
Before the night crowd of late 20’s early 30’s coke seeking, rockaholics got to the jukebox, Candy was trying to shaking off the exhaustion from a hard week and a tough conversation.
She hides it well, but I could tell she never betrayed the oath.
Ellie got to the jukebox. Ellie and Candy put on a dance display that would have made Dick Clark envious. I remember the way they moved (no hoochie-cooism about it) sensuously, well endowed female frames flowing with raw excitement. Not a sound, every man and woman in the dive had their eyes glued to Ellie and Candy. Inflamed thoughts gave way to the thrill in their dance. The place kinda sparkled, it became alive. Nothing nasty but nice, nothing perverse but positive.
Wow. Then “La Isla Bonita” played (Madonna) and Candy tried to get me to dance, I let her know I could barely walk let alone dance. So she danced in front of me. Everything became electric. Forget the regular excitement a man gets from having a super fine woman dance in front of him, I was thrilled, flush with the heat that comes from where enchantment meets fascination. Conscious control of my body deserted me, It was like a mouse before a cobra.
There is a line in that song that goes, “beautiful faces, no cares in this world, where a girl loves a boy, and a boy loves a girl.” I could hear laughter breaking out in the front of the bar, I could hear the music from the jukebox, I could only see Candy. Candy’ with her eyes, reached into me in a way I think, reminiscent of a priestess of Vedan. For a moment I couldn’t breath, until after a light touch to my hands and a light kiss on my cheek. The sting of death was no longer with me.
Lawd Have Mercy! I was relieved, my body hurt a little less and I could see everything now. What an amazing gift. That brings me back to a patriot. I received something that can’t be quantified or bought. That’s what freedom is. Its not what satisfies your body, but inflames and spreads the passion to give. Some fool kid is going to obey a ‘lawful order’, some fool kid may die following that order, and for what? Even if this current conflict started on a lie, the end of the matter is, You!
Ellie and Candy got off the dance floor. The crowd began to change and the music did too. I left before the mood changed. I started to think about my existence and what we choose to live for. I say live for, because that is essentially what we die for. If you haven’t figured it out, I’ll tell you, Love (not lust) renders death insignificant. You can’t take an oath without love.
From 1917 till now a teenager takes an oath. In these years the highest influx of volunteers joined the Armed Services. You might see them in Parades or at Memorials. They wear the uniforms or awards they won as a reminder for us who easily dismiss this life we live as granted. What you don’t see is that they are with you every day showing you in some ethereal or existential way, how to live.
Duty is the highest love, love confirmed by an oath. This love is not lust. Its doing what is right or necessary, not because of what you feel – but doing the most right despite what you feel. Candy took an oath once, just like I did. I wonder, did she stay for her entertainment or was she performing a duty of selflessness”? This time a Soldier helped out a Marine. Love!
Winds of Change
(photo by Steve Stone)
That nip in the air. Football on Sundays. Baseball fever as the remaining games all have playoff implications. Yes, summer is done and the crisp days of autumn are once again upon us.
With the change of seasons there is almost an equally tangible change at 1762. There seems to be a return to the laid back, low stress atmosphere here that first made a regular of me.
I saw a change in Pregnant Lily last night. She has really embraced her impending motherhood and looks forward to her new role as Mommy. I think that becoming a parent for the first time, especially becoming a mother, gives a sense of completeness and purpose. Of course there are fears of the unknown and worries about our own capabilities and adequacies, but ultimately we are left with a feeling of "Oh yeah. Now everything makes sense". Well wishes to you Lily. Parenthood ain't easy but I think you will be up to the task.
On the whole, I have to say that the summer here had a high-strung feel to it. At times the tension here was unbearable.
Sadly, much of the edginess was the product of what I suspected for some time. I have seen countless lives wasted, personalities altered, and opportunities squandered as the weak willed seek that increasingly elusive mother-of-all highs. Coke. Heroin. Must be some really potent shit. It turns honest men into liars who are eventually ensnared in their own webs of deceit and dishonesty.
They start to trip up by telling too many people too many different tales until we are left to wonder if they themselves even know what the truth is. Timmy says it best. "Be true to thine ownself". When you look in the mirror and you don't trust the guy looking back at you, a wake up call is in order. When you must weave grandiose tales of your mock accomplishments to somehow validate yourself and your existence, a reality check is in order. When you must condemn the acts of others to remove attention and suspicion from yourself you have a problem. A big one.
So, while I usually hate to see the summer go, I am looking forward to the crispness and freshness of fall as we shift gears.
May you all find inner peace.
9.16.2007
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned...
Once I went inside I saw Gin, who was covering for Shelly, and only two other patrons. One was Pregnant Lily, who as you may remember, both bartended and managed 1762 in the not-so-distant past. And her friend Peppermint Patti who I had met only once before, on her 30th birthday, which she chose to at least partially celebrate at 1762.
Apparently, Peppermint is Jewish and had celebrated the New Year the night before with her family. A touch of religious conversation started up about the absolution of sins to get into heaven. She tells us how she only has to apologize for her sins once a year and it is done by reciting a catch-all religious writing. The writing includes sins that have been committed "willingly and unwillingly". Well that's enough. You pretty much have all bases covered with that.
The Catholic version involves weekly visits to church to tell a priest your sins for the week. He gives you a penance. Could be 4 Our Fathers, 12 Hail Mary's, etc. Not so bad until you consider that the Catholic way involves verbalizing to the priest the actual sins committed. So they can go something like the following:
Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been (length of time) since my last confession. I blah blah blah'd my best friends girl. I blah blah blah'd an 8-ball while waiting outside my kids school.
I think that it would be interesting to explore here what a couple of popular culture figure's confessions might be.
- "Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been 5 years since my last confession. I know that is a long time but I've been kinda busy. I have sacrificed the lives of American soldiers in the name of a War on Terrorism. I played upon the vulnerable state of the American public's psyche following the 9/11 attacks. I have entrenched my country in a war that should have ended long ago, if ever entered at all. America's interests are purely Imperialistic, as we seek to spread our influence to the farthest reaches of the globe, in a quest to expand our own economic profits at the cost of the lives of those that are weaker, poorer, and not as important as me and my constituents. I have allowed the death of men, women, and children to occur so that the elitists of the United States can further secure their seats of power." - President Bush
- "I have disgraced the sport that has made me a handsome living. I have cheated and diminished the integrity of the sport of professional football. I have unwittingly told every child that puts on pads in a Pop Warner league that your parents and coaches have been lying to you. Winning, is in fact, everything. It is not about sportsmanship. It is about cheating your way to the top to secure your legacy in the NFL." - Bill Belichick , head coach of the New England Patriots
As the night moved on Gin found that she had a nice little crowd brewing. Some new faces. Dino and his brother hung around for awhile. Played some much appreciated classic rock. Beats that screamo shit I endured here last week.
Chucky dropped in after work. We had a good chat on kids and growing as men as we go through the process that is fatherhood. He sounds like a great Dad, involved and tuned in to his child. I recommend that any new fathers at 1762 spend some time with Chucky and get some real insight into what it means to be a Father.
The Owner came by. He was in an upbeat state of mind. New bartender is working out. Staffing issues under control. Full bar at 2AM. Nice.
Finally, as a point of interest, Gin picked up Friday nights. Nice kid, get down and see her.
9.14.2007
Stopping A Runaway Mind
Last night I went to see my Aunt in the hospital. She’s getting better but not fast enough for me. I also found out that she has essentially disowned me (tell ya about it later). I also saw one of my five specialists who explained to me why living in extreme pain over long periods of time is extremely unhealthy. (He told me that is why I am not getting better) Like I needed to pay him to tell me that.
I was in the area so like an idiot I went to the corner. I was gonna pass it by but decided to go in because I saw the vehicle of someone I knew. Shelly was breaking in a new Bartender I’ll call BeyBey (a Heinz 57 mix in her middle age – a soul/r&b lovechild) who was nervous as all hell behind the counter. She didn’t want to screw up, but she did. I gave her a $20 bill for some drinks and she gave me $25 dollars change. I let her know about it.
As the character Travis Dane said in the movie ‘Under Siege 2’, “Assumption is the mother of all fuck ups”. I won’t assume that this man the Limpin' Pimp was speaking to was biting on his insidious proposition (the one made to me), I won’t assume that the ‘taboo’ outrage that some have at seeing young women exploited in this way didn’t register with this man, or that somehow he found the proposition ‘intriguing’. Maybe the discussion was something else entirely.
Maybe Limpin' was using that same phone he displayed his green card girls to me to show off photos of his extremely cute young kids to that older man. Maybe. Moving on, Googs and his wife Ilsa (Cowboy E’s sister) were at the bar conversing with Zu’, the soul who I thought was here to begin with. Zu’ was in a real heavy conversation with Ilsa and Googs.
Googs and Zu’ pursued their conversation, I talked to Ilsa to find out she went to school with my little brother (little brother has 100 LBS on me). I find out from Googs he went to school with my little sister. He wanted to know who the hell I was. He had no idea I ever existed. When he and my little sister were learning grammar, I was making the world safe for democracy.
Cowboy E came in to greet his in-laws and I found myself on the dance floor with Zu’ (I let her know I couldn’t move real well so she danced around me). Chucky came in about then and saw us. He was giggling uncontrollably. Zu’ and I sat down and we had a conversation. Being true to herself she was very direct. At first, sweet…and then I caught a shiver from the delivery of her very informative message.
Zu’ intimated that she and the menhaters sisterhood (she used the word lesbian at least 7 times in the communication) were not the kind of people I should be hanging around or looking for ‘anything’ from. She went on to tell me (I will paraphrase) that I would never find a single hetero female in ‘this bar’. She said I deserve a nice decent woman who could make me happy and that I could make happy. “You’ll never find that here”, “go someplace else”.
I could take that one of three ways (knowing Zu’ none of the ways were negative). I do consider us friends. I’ve known her for a few years now. I know that a close female friend of mine wanted to have sex with Zu’ desperately (I don’t know if it ever happened). Zu’ can find a way to make you smile when your down. I know what she is and what she does. She’s point blank, like a .40 cal. going of in your chest. I don’t know what prompted the communication.
Unless,….no, I just couldn’t think that. If “Assumption is the mother of all fuck ups” would it be fucked up to assume that by being just the kinda presence that I am in the lives of those I know so well,….that there is some kind of disturbance going on in the menhaters sisterhood? Are they thinking that one of them could ‘break a rule’? Maybe I should take anything said at face value for what it is.
I will take the advise given. My friends would not hurt me. Although everyone may be out for themselves, I know my friends are selfless. I don’t choose my friends because of what they are but because of what they mean to me and what of themselves they shared with me in this life. Am I naive, a fool to be used or am I something other?
BeyBey came back in the bar and in the words of Shelly “she wreaked” (took a ganja break but ganja no break with her). It was late and I decided that I stayed too long. I didn’t want to be around if a local cop came in and got high on BeyBey. The jackass owner could then use the liquor license hanging on the wall to wipe his ass with.
I’m a dinosaur, raised in an old fashioned southern home located here in five corners land. I know the kind of trauma drama that brings the pain that changes people. So I leave you as I left Zu’…with that which overcomes the bull….Love!!!
9.13.2007
No Shooting Tonight
I consider it an act of duty, the privilege of honoring a fellow American Legionnaire. Wednesday night was tough for me emotionally. When you come from a wake and see people moved by the flags, the symbols, the colors, the songs and finally taps…. I take away the pride that goes with what we do for our country and am humbled that I can stand in the shadow of warriors who were before me.
When I arrived my ‘Captain’ YL (Yaega Lee) was in attendance. She let me know her phone was broken and that she would not attempt to go there alone. (YL said she wasn’t quite sure how to get there). So what did we do? I conspired with Timmy on some tunes, then YL danced around me a little while. (Not a bad way to come down from being choked up). The gamers were on the ‘Buck Hunt’ machine, SD was in the house and Croc showed up too.
Croc had good and bad news, I being the way I am asked for the bad news first. He will be leaving for Buffalo at the end of the week. Then he gave me the good news, he will be running a restaurant for a friend of his in Buffalo, a nice three star establishment that is going to accord him lodging and a nice income. He can do this while pursuing the job of his dreams. (If you don’t know, I won’t tell you). He will be back and forth, definitely finding times around the holidays.
More regulars started appearing as the night wore on. Timmy was the toast of the dance floor, Gin wrapped herself around him like the stripes on a barber poll. Ellie was on the video game console up front, SD and Croc recounted the weekends events. Music was putting everyone in a really easy mood, YL left and headed for home. Leaving me with the Met Fan to watch the ball games and listen to his take on the Jets being cheated.
As the evening headed for the midnight hour more of the crowd floated in, Xaun, (big West Indian who I think rips power trains out of cars), ERL, and Father L came in. ERL and Xaun shoot pool for a bar down the street. Timmy’s nephew, Woody, who works for the School District, showed up also. Finally Hector caught up with Ellie and headed for the door.
I got my mind off of the grief for a few and decompressed my mind. I left SD with Shelly and Croc. I will see what I can do to have dinner with Croc before he steps on the plane. See y’all later. Do indeed….Love!
RJ
9.12.2007
Civics, Civility and Lust
Sunday afternoon wasn’t bad for hanging out at the corner. The usual suspects showed up and everyone was having some kind of fun. Video games, T.V. talk or self made entertainment, it was a decent afternoon. Perfect afternoon would have involved air conditioning. Most realized that once the “fun” had left, staying was a chore, then left with fun – out the back door.
Brought in my que’s but never shot a game of pool. YaegaLee, ERL, Son R and even the Bikers were shooting, I got preoccupied. Conversation and observation are old habits I can’t shake. I was glad to see Timmy having fun with Zu’ (member-menhaters). They were dancing and laughing, that was really nice to see.
The Met Fan and Chucky were there, sports and politics are good subjects on the lips of knowledgeable folks such as they are. Hector and Ellie were seen in and out (it was hot as hell in there) and everybody was just staying cool. Daria, Zu’ and Candy all came to support the Jets on opening day, they were disappointed.
I knew the Jets would have problems (sign stealing victim is just the beginning). But my attention was quietly drawn to some of the ladies (O.K. “women”) in attendance. Candy and Zu’ were looking quite fine to me. I let them know in polite (not provocative) ways that I appreciated their apparent allure.
If a bar were its own government and the patrons were citizens thereof, each as equal and as different as their backgrounds, I got a civics lesson. The so-called ‘menhaters’ weren’t hating at all. The old crew wasn’t as tight as usual. Everybody was in long enough to drink and out long enough to take a few drags off their cancer sticks. We even shared a meal together (that Chinese food really wasn’t a meal and it made me sick later) thanks to YaegaLee.
I stayed later than I should have. I’m an old son, eligible for AARP in 2009. I was pondering what was whispered in my ear by an ‘alluring’ woman that made me blush (believe me, crows can) and feel foolish at the same time. I won’t bore you with the content of the communication. I will consider it as data for future reference.
Tuesday night I had to stop by Mom’s, afterward I stopped at the corner. Shelly was on duty, Chuckie was in and out, Croc showed up, SD did to. Croc has some time before he goes to Buffalo, he has some job offers with other bars in the area and will take up elsewhere. Croc said in so many words that the owner here “thinks since he owns the stage, that he owns the show”.
To all the bartenders, borrowing a line from the Outlaws, “we’re just the players; you are the show”
I might shoot pool for the bar. I won’t get into why I might not.
Take care all,
Love!!!
RJ
9.09.2007
Not a Godfather after all
In this post I spoke of becoming a godfather for my cousin's kid. Sadly, there was a problem, and there will be no baby.
"Voting with my feet"
AC still broke. Over 2 weeks now. The part to fix it is still sitting behind the bar. Fuck that. I exited via front door without saying hello to anyone.
My house is cool and I have some premium beer on ice. So fuck it. I'm drinking at home.
Short Stay
I ended up stopping in last night after all. Shelly was working, breaking in a new bartender. Nice kid. Familiar with1762 and its characters since she plays for the dart team.
Despite the broken AC, the temp inside the bar was comfortable. Both doors were open, fans a-blowin'. Lots of blow[in] going on from the looks of the runny noses and white residue in the dried mucus. Whatever. Not my problem.
Here's a challenge! Beat me ANT! 15 perfect sites. Perfect streak to match...Hehehe I am such a kid.
In other gaming action, the golf game has been replaced by a bowling game. Shelly had something like 19 of the top 20 scores, and was second only to "ERL". I'll let you figure out who that is. Anyway, four of us played against each other. Me, The Met Fan, Shelly, and our other resident biker, Jon. I had played this game once before. Not wild about the controls, or lack of it. Jon and Met had never played before. And obviously, Shelly has some experience. When all was said and done, Jon took the high score on his maiden voyage, which apparently pissed Shelly off. Definitely a good 1762 moment. And it was appreciated as they have been far and few between.
The Limpin' Pimp made an appearance. He did his usual, let me buy the bar a drink thing. I declined because this guy is probably the littlest weasel and biggest scumbag I have met at 1762. Eff him. And his fucking money. And his fucking heroin. And his fucking arsenal of guns. And his fucking limp on his gangrene infested hoof. Wikipedia sleaze and there he is. Ready to hook your sister/daughter on junk for his own perversions. The story of Herrin, one of his heroin slaves from the Far East, I will save for another day.
Whilst at the bar I conversed with Croc via text message. Apparently he has been fired.
So, with the appearance of Gin, the new bartender, we can reduce the total number of hours per week for Shelly. The hour total stood at a whopping 95 hours. Gin is taking Tuesday day shift. So now Shelly is left with a paltry 87 hours per week, and still no days off.
9.08.2007
A Quick Drive By
Another day of 80+ temps here in suburbia. I literally drove by 1762 en route to my domicile a little while ago. Front door was open which can only mean that the DAYS WITHOUT AC count continues.
I had planned on stopping in for a few tonight, but I think I will spend my cash in a bar that actually cares about their patrons comfort.
Cold Chicks, Warm Beer (Botulism on Tap)
Hello good people, RJ here, I had to return a little earlier than expected. I had to address a medical issue at the VA. I came in on Thursday night and couple of the old regulars were in attendance, I won’t rat them out by name, but the old guy who employs hot chicks at an upscale country club on the beach, and the former high school jock who drinks peppermint liquor with his cheap beer (warm cheap beer at that).
We were watching baseball when a semi-regular who I’ll call the Limpin' Pimp staggered in. The Pimp was higher than storm clouds and alcohol didn’t help his buzz either. Candy and her bartender friend from another establishment (one that serves cold tap beer) were mortified at his conversation, his suggestion and his inability to walk let alone drive.
Limpin' is desperately trying to find men who will marry young women who are in need of green card renewal. He sells this proposition by showing his cell phone photos of these young thangs physical attributes and relaying explicit detail of what sexual talents they will readily bestow upon you. I overheard him explaining this to Candy and why he is not with his main squeeze, one of these “green card girls”.
Apparently, the Limpin' Pimp got his girl hooked on a narcotic that begins with the letter "H", just like he is. He has her drying out in a hotel in RVC. Limpin' says girl is gonna leave him and tells me what he told Candy, (Candy is mad as hell and wants someone to drive him home) who is on her way out the door with her bartender friend. Croc does a good job of holding his key’s while I negotiate with him about driving his ass home. He makes mild threats and gets his keys. Yeah, he drove away.
I hope to God he didn’t cause harm or grief to anyone.
On a more lighthearted observation, Croc, started telling me of what he considered a phenomenon that happened the night before which he felt was absolutely funny given the history of this bar. (Bar has changed owners 3 times in last 9 years) As people came in and went out, the patrons in attendance were three african-american urbanites and one woman who was dressed nicely, her attributes displayed prominently yet properly, she was white.
Given Croc’s experience in the Confederate South, he found this absolutely amazing and totally hilarious. This is something New Yorkers don’t even give a second thought, but given the state of the country and current American History, I can see why Croc found this kinda funny.
I came in Friday night and the new bartender who I’ll call Ruby (sometimes used as a name for the bird “erithacus rubecula”). Ruby was attending to the sports fans watching the Mets game when ‘Daria’ (an aggressive female Jets fan who is charter member of the menhaters club) wanted to “change the channel”. Dino attempted to calm her down (pour gasoline on fire) this didn’t help but we did get some music playing.
Hector and Ellie were there just having a good time and the night was filled with other regulars who were just chilling out. Candy was exhausted from a long week and is preparing for a baby shower for a former manager of this owner forsaken establishment. As we all approached the midnight hour you could just watch as Ruby faded, fighting to keep up with everything going on.
A young Hispanic male who could barely speak English was in attendance and I could see he felt out of place. No one would communicate with him (I guess that silent message is ‘get the fuck out please’) so I with my extremely limited espanol attempted communication. I’ll call this young man the ‘Cisco Kid’.
Good news is I almost got Daria to take the Kid him home with her. Bad news is Dino made him feel like a jackass when he wanted help learning to shoot pool. Kid left a full Corona on the Bar. Ruby could have used that drink with some food and support for the logistics that go with running a bar. If it were not for a good crowd, (Dino excluded) and a fun vibe from folks just talking, this place just as well could have been boarded up.
Warm tap beer, discolored beer from the tap that looks nothing like beer from a bottle, a frazzled bartender on her 14th hour and hole in the wall dive with no air conditioning. The jackass owner really loves this bar. He screws his customers and his employees equally. Soon I will go to the place where big breasted women with irish accents serve cold beer with a warm smile – not the other way around.
I leave you with what kept us all in this hole in the wall,….Love.
RJ
Staffing issues!
I had no intentions of hanging out at 1762 last night. I went to a car show in Bellmore with family and friends. We had heroes and a huge cooler of cold ones. It was a good time with lots of great cars if you are into that sort of thing.
I stopped by 1762 for a quick minute on way home. I didn't even have a drink. The day tour bartender was closing up. She was there all day and night and was very tired. Apparently her relief never showed up. The place was like an oven. STILL NO FREAKING AC. As a matter of fact it was so hot in there, that even if the bar wasn't closing near midnight, I wouldn't have stayed.
Apparently there are some serious staffing issues over there. While some recent losses are not the fault of management, if you treat employees poorly long enough and subject them to bar temps of 90+ they will not want to work for you anymore.
Recent Bartender Losses:
Kat - Hope all is well in your real job!
Jessie
Pregnant Lily
and, yes, soon to be Croc...his last day is Wednesday.
OK, let's do the math here...
There are 14 shifts per week to cover, 2 each day.
Fri, Sat, and Sun day tours are covered.
The bartenders covering those shifts all have other jobs, so they cannot cover any other shifts.That leaves 11 shifts per week that need to be covered by the remaining bartenders...But wait...there is only one bartender remaining once Croc rides off into the sunset on his Kangaroo.
So...
Shelly's new schedule is as follows:
Monday 11AM-4AM
Tuesday 11AM-4AM
Wednesday 11AM-4AM
Thursday 11AM-4AM
Friday 7PM-4AM
Saturday 7PM-4AM
Sunday 7PM-4AM
That is a WHOPPING 95 hour work week!!!
But wait, with shift pay she will make $440.
That's $4.63 per hour at a job with no days off, no benefits, and no future.
Just thought of another stat to consider...of the 95 hours worked per week, how many of those hours are low or even non-tipping hours? The implications are making my head ache.
I offer some advice here:
Shelley - get a freaking raise or move on!
Owner - give her a raise and free booze and be nice to her!
9.04.2007
Reuben James
I'm R.J., a current west coaster who comes in semi regularly. I will add what little goes on in my terribly boring times at 1762. I at one time lived around here, a five corners kid. Now, I just kinda do what I want to. Both retired and working.
I comment on Candy's brothers funeral services. (Candy is a terribly charismatic nubian princess that pulls more girls than guys.....O.K., so what!) All the members of her menhaters club may be ready to go to church (repenting is a different matter). They were quite moved by what I gathered from both their personal observations and one of the bartenders.
I haven't been around in a long while, I won't be around for a longer while. I'm currently convalescing on a horse farm near old Bullville in upstate N.Y. off of Route 302. I go on the wine tours around here at Brotherhood and Brimstone Wineries. (Drugs and Alcohol do go together when done in moderation).
I have also been a part of a drunken stupor weekend at the UFO capital of the east coast, a place called Pine Bush. I saw Soviet aircraft on line to Stewart AFB. I also saw objects of various colors dancing in the night sky as I was drinking around a camp fire. I would not make a good witness for CNN, FOX, ABC or the BBC. Don't ask me anything else about it. (I saw a craft land that carried several half naked females that were orange, green and light violet, we partied in the woods).
So much for this stuff. Look, I will drop you a line every now and then. Love!
9.03.2007
Happy Labor Day
Thank God...As far as 1762 is concerned anyway. AC has been broken more often than not it seems. Shelly keeps showing me the part behind the bar for the AC unit. Hasn't moved in days.
Some quick catch-up:
Croc, the Aussie legend, may be shuffling off to Buffalo. It seems that he misses the big ass lasses from up north! Eff the BILLS!
Shelly got an unexpected visitor on Sunday night...I'll let her tell you about it!
And, OK, I have to come clean here...I stopped in Friday night...Dino was there...UGH...I hate to do this...
I talked to him.
I don't know why. I still find the assault on Croc deplorable. Ugh.
The posts have been fewer and will continue as such since the new semester has started. I have a pretty full workload ahead. Taking 16 credits. I will probably need to utilize the brain cells I have left. College textbooks are hard enough to get through without a hangover. So things being what they are, my visits will probably be reduced to 1 or 2 per week, which is a drastic reduction from 7 or more per week.
