Tuesday, July 27, 2021

Tips on how to get along with East-Coast Elites

Word got out in the neighborhood that we are planning a trip to the East Coast.

Various neighbors have been swinging by to "coach me up" on the finer points of deportment. They don't want me to embarrass Mrs ERJ or give rubes a bad name. My neighbors are under no illusions regarding my social skills.

For example, Dan swung by and tried to teach me about the finer points of drinking in  big-city bars. He told me about one bar he visited in a city named Georgetown.

He had just arrived after 11 hours of driving and was looking forward to a cold PBR to cut the dust of the trip.

He was halfway across the room before he noticed that all conversations had stopped. Everybody was looking at him as he strode across the room.

His eyes were on the ends of swivel-stalks, he noticed that all the men were beautiful and all the women looked like they could chew railroad spikes and spit carpet tacks.

He would have turned around but he was thirsty and there was no guarantee that any of the other bars were more like the ones back home.

The bartender wore nail polish and his hair was prettier than Sharon's had been when he took her to Senior Prom.

The bartender was looking him over with elevator eyes: sweat-stained baseball cap, faded denim shirt with the sleeve rolled up. Belt with a Row-Dee-Oh! buckle. Baggy jeans with neatly sewn patches on the knees. Military-surplus, 8" tall boots in coyote brown.

"You are not from around here, are you?" the barkeep asked with a supercilious, simpering lisp, upper lip curled into a slight sneer.

"Nope. Reckon not" Dan responded. "I wanna order a beer. Whatchya got on tap?"

The bartender clearly did not want to serve Dan, so he deflected.

"What do you do for a living?" the barkeep asked.

Dan decided to be obliging. "Well, I have been a hoof-trimmer, a renderer, a journal-greaser and a diesel-fitter. Today I am driving a bob-tail."

The room erupted into a low buzz as the patrons attempted to get traction with Dan's list of professions. Then it faded.

The barkeep's eyebrows contracted in consternation. Clearly, none of those words meant much to him.

"Do you have any hobbies?" he queried.

"Yup. I do taxidermy" Dan patiently replied. He sure wanted that cold beer.

Turning it over in his mind, the barkeep decided to dig a little deeper. "And just what, exactly, do taxidermists do?"

Dan answered "I mount dead animals."

Suddenly the ice was broken. The barkeep burst into a huge smile and said "I think you are going to fit in just fine. Your first beer is on the house."

Dan said he didn't have to buy a beer after that.


  1. Sure hope Dan didn't drop his keys.

  2. That happened to me and a buddy one time in a far away city. My buddy said 'we gotta go. I said 'hold on, I ordered'. Then I saw a guy winking at me and I'm no taxidermist. We slammed them beers and scooted.

  3. You had me going till the end. I remember walking into a mexican bar in California in the early 70's, talk about hostility... I wanted to leave immediately but my buddy insisted that we had to have a beer first. The bartender told us, drink fast then get out. I'd tell you about trying to take a water buffalo into a bar in the Philippines in 1969 but I was too drunk to remember any humorous details except seeing my buddy flying through the air. he had tried to twist the critters head since the horns wouldnt fit through the door.

  4. Sounds like the Georgetown I know and detest.

  5. Oh for the OLD DAYS... I remember when a co-wprker of mine took his bride on a honeymoon in Florida. Miami I think. They had gone to a bar and had a drink then went back to their hotel. They turned on the TV just in time to see that the bar they had been at was raided by the police. It was a gay bar and they hadn't known or noticed. Oh for the days when sodomy was still illegal...