On My Neighborhood Bars

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Hollywood’s most glamorous night I dragged my husband out of the house and said to him, “We are going to watch the Oscars and check out our neighborhood bars.” I have not had Television since 2002, (by choice), I hardly ever make it a point to go to go see a movie and I do not read celebrity gossip on the Internet. Needless to say my statement was responded to with a look of confusion. But it had been a strange week, one that by Sunday evening had left me internally drained and I really needed to do something different. Inspired by the so-called Oscar buzz and the thought that if dreams were being handed out in the form of gold statues, then my very simple dream of finding a neighborhood bar where yes, everybody knows my name could possibly come true to. Alas, as a woman in her thirties I learned that there is a “dreams fulfilled quota” on Oscar night and by the time I went out in search of mine, it had been filled by the pretty and well dressed elite of Hollywood.

But why the sudden need to find my neighborhood bar? Well, in the afternoon I happened upon three of my friends sitting in what I would consider my favorite patio in the city. They had just finished their performance and I had arrived at that very moment for the very mundane task of picking up a paycheck. Surprised and glad to see them, I joined their table underneath centenarian trees that provided a lovely shade. It is very unlikely to run into friends randomly in fast-paced-long-distances-too-many-people-on-the-road L.A. We shared an afternoon of margaritas, imported cheese and jams. Our farewell brunch we later realized since our show was being put on hiatus and this meant the three of us were suddenly out of a job.

That evening, in need of something different, S and I ventured out to a bar that was located up the street from our house. Since we drive everywhere I can say up the street but really I mean in the neighboring town 3-4 miles away. The Blue Room had so much potential. It has been around since the 1940’s and it is true to its name in that all of the vintage booths are a metallic teal/blue. It felt like old Hollywood and they were playing the Oscars on the only modern device in the entire place, a big screen TV which hung on the wall and made it feel like we were at the movies. The drawback: this place is still operating under 40’s laws and smoking has not been banned yet. We were there a total of 3 breaths and S proclaimed we could not make this our neighborhood bar.

Next door (literally this time) was a place called the Corner Bar. We walked over to what appeared to be the front door. We were baffled by the fact that yes, there was a door, but no, it did not have a handle, rather it had some plastic string that looked like an old gift bow, stretched and tied to a bolt where the door handle should be. We pulled on the string but the door was locked. The sound of blaring music leaked through the cracks of the door. We followed the sound around to the back entrance located in an alley that also served as the parking lot. There were no floating tufts of cigarette smoke so we entered and sat at the bar where we discovered that Sunday night is $3 beer night. “Always the sign to a good night to come,” I said to myself but I spoke too soon.

The Corner Bar looks like a bar one would find way off the Vegas strip complete with electronic gambling machines, darts, that sleazy 70’s lounge look and locals. Why do locals get a bad reputation? Here is why. Locals look like mean bikers, with tattoos, long pony tails, they play darts while drinking Budweiser out of a bottle, they give everyone else dirty looks for invading “their” territory and they do whatever it takes to drive “outsiders” out.

The bar was having an Oscar viewing party and raffle so there were a couple of tables really there to watch the show. S and I were quietly drinking our $3 beers, watching the screen, enjoying the commentary, when a local asked the bartender to turn down the TV. There was already loud rock music playing in the background. S suggested to the bartender that perhaps she could turn on the subtitles since now the music was too loud for us to hear the show. She fumbled with the remote but the subtitles never did appear. The music got louder, the TV became just flashing pictures and the locals spread out in the corner of the bar that S and I were sitting in. We drank our beers and left as soon as we could because it was apparent that we were being asked to leave.

After two failed attempts at finding our neighborhood bar, S and I got back in the car and ended up literally on the other side of the train tracks at Golden Road Brewery. This bar is the type of place I would frequent with my friends, but it is not meant to be a neighborhood bar. It attracts people from all over the city; they host brewery tours and sell memorabilia. I was hoping to find that hidden jewel, my life’s version of Cheers, a place where I could go to after losing a job and have a drink with a friend or a neighbor.