I was pretty sure that I was on the Oregon Coast. It was cold, there was big water, the whales were spouting--I think. I drove past the big casino and saw the sun trying to peak through the rain clouds. The March wind was biting cold. It felt like I was crossing the Rogue River from the south on my way into Newport.
Then I saw it.
The Statue of Liberty tells you that you are in New York, the Space Needle tells you that you are in Seattle. Shit, the (What-You-Talkin'-About) Willis Tower tells you that you are in Chicago. In Michigan City, you have the Nuclear Cooling Tower telling you that you are still in the USSR.
The Shorline Brewery is not on the shoreline, but it is adjacent to the outlet mall. I guess location is everything. I stopped in for a bite and a brew and found that neither one of those would come easily. The restaurant was in the front, but I did not want to wait to be seated by myself. It was packed anyway. The back end was the bar, and there was also a line there.
I skipped the crowed and pulled up to the open spot at the bar. The bartender said that I couldn't sit there, I had to wait to be seated.
Are you motherfucking kidding me? I have to wait to be seated at the bar! Fuck you, it's the bar. I looked down at the color of my skin and compared it to everyone else in there. That wasn't the issue.
"Let me get a beer and I will go outside," I said.
Reluctantly he ran my card and poured me a beer.
I carried my beer outside to the patio area that overlooked the gravel parking lot and a heroin junkie. It was cold but I nursed my beer like a titty. A sign said that due to state law, only servers could transport beverages outside, and customers were not aloud to tote their own. I guess that meant I worked there now.
I watched as patrons entered the bar, looked at me like I was crazy, then came out disgruntled a few moments later.
One such patron was a sweet old black lady that looked like she just got out of church. She asked me why I was sitting in the cold.
I said, "They don't take too kindly to outsiders I think."
"Then I won't have a chance," she said. But she went inside and came out shortly thereafter.
"I was supposed to meet my son here, but I am not eating at this place," she told me.
"I am about over it too," I said.
"Well I am going down to the shops, if my son comes, would you be so kind to tell him where I went?" she politely asked.
At first I did not know what to say. I almost asked her how she expected me to know who her son was--but then I thought about it logically and agreed to do so.
She left, I finished my beer, and was walking up to my car as Pontiac with a busted back window pulled up beside me. A young black man got out.
I said, "Hey, your mom said to tell you that she was over there shopping." I pointed to the outlet mall.
He looked at me like I was retarded.
"This place is a shit-hole," I said. "She wasn't having it."
Then I got in my car and left. He did the same. I can only assume that he met her over at the outlet mall.
