Monday, December 04, 2006

at least i didn't ask to see a wine list...

Friday night, I went to meet the famous Eve for drinks. She suggested three places, the last of which she described as a “dive bar where Chronicle and Good Vibrations employees drink shoulder to shoulder (and smoke indoors) with crack whores and professional alcoholics.”
Needless to say, I picked that one.
I arrived at the Tempest early, finding cheap parking a block away. As I walked down the most deserted alley in all of San Francisco, I wondered what the fuck I’d gotten myself into. I pushed open the heavy black doors and looked inside.
Oh god.
There I stood, in a pencil skirt and pearls in the middle of the front door as every eye turned to me. It was like a scene in a movie, where the music stops and bikers slowly place their beers on the bar wondering who let the stranger in. A smattering a bike messengers and alcoholic crack whores/pimps sat around the bar, drinking Pabst and not talking to each other.
I slowly approached the bar and selected the cleanest bar stool. The middle-aged bartender walked over to me and smiled. While slightly scary, I decided that these people could smell fear. If I acted as if I was in my element, no one would give me a second glace.
I sat back on my stool and ordered.
“I’ll have a Kettle one, straight up with two onions.”
“We don’t have onions.”
“Oh. Okay. Can I get a twist.”
“Well, we got some lemons in the back.”
“Oh, don’t do to all that trouble. I’ll just have a Kettle One, straight up.”
He then grabbed a small glass, a warm bottle of K1 and poured me a big shot.
Oh shit.
“Um, actually, can I get some ice?”
This prompted a laugh from the bartender and a deep regret within me for not ordering a fucking beer. He scooped me some ice and wandered away. I slowly took in my surroundings as I slowly took in my drink.
The crack couple next to me was eating something loudly. I looked over to discover that it was…fried chicken. Fried chicken? Oh yes. It’s provided free, on a table in the corner. So, just a little heads up to any hobos reading my blog: save up $2 and you can get yourself a PBR and all the fried chicken you can handle.
Eve soon appeared, a flurry of funny stories and glorious gossip. And guess who joined us? Oh, just the official arbiter of who’s who in our fair city: Catherine Bigelow.
CBig hangs out at the Tempest. Go fig.
I made my case for an appearance in Swells, subtly begging for inclusion in the column that defines my Sunday, as CBig politely listened to my desperate ramblings. I finally departed, nearly three hours later, filled with warm vodka, a new found respect for the divest of dive bars and the slightest hankering for free fried chicken…


Sasha said...

Did you tell Catherine to at least attempt to make her column interesting? The past few have really sucked.

greg said...

interesting. I met up with Eve there once and stuck to PBRs myself. No free fried chicken though...darnit!

Eve said...

Aw, Greg,now Beth won't think that I chose the Tempest especially for her!