Gruff bartender. A leering pool player who snuck up behind me and told me to put his digits in my phone and call him later. A steady stream of people coming in to buy cold tallboys and pints of liquor packaged in reused Shop n' Save bags. I thought I'd drain my bottle of Bud (poured in a tiny glass, all ladylike) and scram.Save Screamer's (April 24, 2009):
But then the only other woman in the bar hit the jukebox and played Fantasia's "I Believe," followed by a Mariah Carey song about believing in something.
Here we were, strangers in a dark, dusty tavern with a long crack down the middle of the floor, being uplifted by modern R&B. It got to me.
I busied myself with drinking my beer and counting pennies. The top of the bar is covered with them, epoxied long ago. Some have been chipped away. One of the patrons kept asking if anyone had change for a one hundred dollar bill. No one did, but if he had a putty knife, he could have made change from the bar.Social Networking at Jodi T.'s (June 5, 2009):
A man named Grandma often hangs out at Screamer's, I was told. No one know why he's called Grandma. One of the bartenders sometimes brings her tap-dancing daughter to visit. She used to dance on the pennies as a toddler.
Later, I got to watch as the man next to me unwound the gauze from his finger to show it to another patron. He'd disregarded the warning on his lawnmower about where to not place his hands while the motor was running.Want to dive-bomb more dive bars? Visit the complete archive.
As for the patron who wanted to see the remains of the finger, he was on his way home. Two bartenders had refused to sell him more drinks because he was having trouble with enunciation and staying upright. He was still capable of hauling out the bar's trash, though.
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