This being my fist trip to Fort Wayne, I wasn’t sure what to
expect. It reminds me a lot of Spokane—small broke and cold. It was February,
and it is always February in Spokane, so maybe that was it. I used Apple Maps
to figure out where I was going. I fucking hate Apple Maps, but I have an
iPhone, and that’s what you use when you have an iPhone.[1]
I entered Fort Wayne through the back door, which I hear is
a great way to enter any place for the first time. I don’t know if that is true
or not, but that’s what my doctor said when he was giving me my last
colonoscopy.
Much like Spokane, the arterials all seem to run diagonally
through town, and the timered stoplights are all set in time with the
stoplights in some other city. The first joint I tried was called Trouble Brewing. I am not sure if that
is the greatest name ever for a bikini espresso stand, or a semi-shitty name
for a brewery. I never found out because they were closed during the middle of
the day on a Saturday.
I could have gone to Mad Anthony’s but they are a chain. I
have mixed feelings about chain microbrew.
My best option from there seemed to be to drive diagonally
across town in a parallelish direction from which I entered and post up at
Summit City—if they were open.
My journey took me through the heart of downtown—which
actually didn’t look like a horrible place. Maybe if I would have flown into
Fort Wayne I would have gotten a better impression of the place. I think driving into
Fort Wayne is like watching a stripper take a poop. She could be the hottest
stripper ever, but you watched her take a poop, you don’t want her sitting on
your lap.
Summit City sits in an industrial area between the St.
Joseph River and Indiana Tech in an old warehouse. The first thing I thought of
on the way in was the Full Sail in Hood River, Oregon.
This place would love to be Full Sail, but it just isn’t. To
its credit, it sits close enough to a college, and there were a lot of young
bald guys, but engineering students don’t make for a great atmosphere.
The old farts that came in didn’t help much either. I don’t
know why they weren’t at one of the many dives that live on every corner within
walking distance of everywhere in Fort Wayne, but they were not. They were
here, and the place just felt like that was the Saturday norm.
When I came in, I was hoping to watch the Butler-Xavier game
that I knew was coming on. Rather than having cable or satellite, they were
showing Mississippi-Arkansas on their Roku.[2]
I was appreciative of the “Fuck the Man” militant television watching of the
Roku box, but I have one too, so I know that they could have gotten the Butler
game if they tried. It wasn’t like I asked anyway. They were showing sports for
the sake of showing sports, which I guess at least they tried.
As frustrating as this place was, they had a lot going for
it. It was big and dark, there was a pool table and a dart board, and an area
where a band could play. The barmaid was cougar-style hot but she tried too
hard. I sat at the end of the bar and she walked by and lightly bumped me.
“Oh, I am so sorry!” she exclaimed falsely, really
overselling it as she gave me a side hug.
I figured I would take the free one when I could, so I
hugged back wrapping my arm low around her hips. She didn’t complain. The old
farts to my left got jealous and demanded their hug. She played them off and
told them to earn it. Later, she bumped into me again and brushed her hand down
my arm. I don’t remember what she said, but it was inauthentically flirty.
I took it, but I didn’t play into it. She was obviously used
to engineering students that couldn’t seal the deal if they were at a whore
house.
The old farts to my left became jealous. When she left, one
said, “I think she likes you,” like I was going to be the guy or something. I
reassured them that I was the poon-pulling master, and that would save this one
for them. They thanked me half—no—three-quarter heartedly, and I was happy to
help them out. Truth be told, I was on to her game and I was not biting.
Unfortunately, she was on to mine too, and that was my last
interaction with anyone that worked at that tavern until I paid my tab 30
minutes after I finished my beer.
The old farts got drunker and louder, and I watched the
world pass by. I thought about actively flagging someone down, but fuck ‘em
there were other places to drink. I waited patiently for my tab and watched one
of the old guys ask her if he could spank her. She declined, and got visibly
uncomfortable, but poured him another beer anyway.
I paid for my one and left.
[1]
Dear Apple, I just threw you a free plug. Pay me money fuckers or I will tell
these people how much I hate my iPhone.
[2]
Roku, you fuckers can give me money too.
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