There’s Nothing like a Cold Draft

My life’s journey has brought me up and down the eastern part of the United State of America. I also found myself in parts of Canada on a college four day weekend trip, and a tropical Island adventure for my second excursion outside the United States. I finally landed on two feet, just below Ocala fl. In a small town called Beverly Hills. The average age is deceased and there are more ambulances then police cars, combing the neighborhoods.

(That was a funny if you didn’t catch that)

The best part of living in a small town, people are not only friendly but are giving of their selves, neighbors truly love and care about each other. They’ll work on your car for a case of beer. They’ll knock on your door with food to feed the thousands for no reason at all. Life just slows down to a crawl. And everybody smiles as they pass each other on their morning stroll.

Coming from a big City most of my life, you learn the fast pace and to deal with your surroundings in a different way. Your guard is up all the time and you mind your business. It’s not that you don’t care; it’s the way you survive.

Even though I have not touched on the subject I thought I would share a little of my past and a few of my thoughts on how I made it this far in life. The subject, the subject, oh yeah; small time bars south of the Mason Dixon line. Not really, just in Florida. It’s the only place in the world where you can still walk into a smoked filled public place; in the middle of the afternoon patronized by half ripped rednecks; that treat you like they’ve known you all the lives.

My first experience was a welcome wagon that threw me back to the mid-20th century. As I walked into this bar, I had to turn and look back outside to see if I stepped through some kind of time anomaly. I turned and scanned the place, In two corners were old grainy picture TV’s, worn down hardwood floors, ashtrays on all the tables. Their bar had different sizes and shape barstools lined in front of a solid wooden bar top. One wall was lined with flags and shirts of local high schools mixed in with the three major Florida colleges; Miami, Florida, and Florida State. On the other side of the room had the confederate flag that was draped over on one corner as the other side was held up by a broken bottle neck stuck in the wall. I don’t even want to know what happened that night. On the marquee, ok a square piece of glass with no frame, listed, I would assume their special of the day; gator tail sandwich with tots, a draft beer, $5.00.

(Woo doggie, I think I just died and went to heaven.)

I belled up to the bar and felt it was time to experience a whole new way of life. Willie Nelson was singing

“To all the girls I loved before,”

was blaring away on the juke box. A guy two stools down from me was draped over and passed out on the bar top. I looked at my watch and it was just after three. I’m guessing had just finished drinking from the night before. The bartender walked over and began to yell at him.

“Jake if you don’t wake up I’m going to throw your ass out of here. I told you this before now wake up”
He lifted his head and dropped it back down. She came out from behind the bar and began kicking his stool, causing him to jump up stumbling and almost falling on is butt.

“I warned you, now get out,”

He looked around, staggered towards the door, and exited without a fight.

She came back around and walked over towards me. She asked me what I would like to drink, well it was more like

“What can I get yeah sugar?”

She looked a very ruff 24-25 years old and weighed 81 Lbs. soaking wet. She has a faded half shirt of Dolly Parton’s head, making Dolly’s skin look like a lake that had dried up into clay and cracked and separated. Her rib cage and stomach was exposed. The only thing covering them was a thin layer of skin with no meat under it; we’re talking skin and bones, my friend. She smiled and showed off her only three stained teeth that were about to follow the same path as the surrounding stumps that looked up to them. She had one of the worst mouths of failed rotted dental hygiene I’ve ever witnessed in my life. Her cutoff faded shorts were so tight; they looked painted on to her boney butt that extended down to two stork shaped legs. The front of her cutoffs hung so low in front; it took away the imagination of what could be hiding behind them.

(OH, I wanted her so bad I could taste it, Yeah, I just said that.)

So I thought I would try out my newest redneck pickup line on her.

“Nice tooth.”

Come on, that’s funny right there, I don’t care who you are.

I ordered a draft beer; she turned and walked over for to reaches for a plastic cup. The red flags go up, bells and whistles go off. Steam is literally comes out of my ears, I am a mess at this point. Who in their right mind drinks a draft beer out of a plastic cup? I mean come on, I have my limits. So I say

“Could I get that in a frosty mug?”

Now that’s how you drink a draft beer. She turns around and puts the plastic cup back on the stack. Then she reaches down into the freezer case: my lips are starting to moisten, I’m starting to taste that first cold one; life is grand. She pulls her hand out of the freezer case and produces a mason jar yeah that wasn’t a typo, a fricken mason jar.

(Great slang word, because you wouldn’t let me say @$#%&*!)

My mouth dropped, I was waiting for dueling banjos to start playing behind me. I just broke into laughter. I got off my seat and ran outside, then around the back of the building to see if there was a moon shine still with a bunch of hillbillies standing around with overall bib pants and shot guns.

I eat my gator tail sandwich and tater tots, and I drank from a mason jar the rest of the evening.

(They really should sand the edges of the tops sides of those jars, it reminds me of a reverse vortex; it’s on the outside, not the inside, never mind.)

Once again I did not die that day and I made a lot of new friends. I got the bartender’s phone number and her pager number as well; she said she uses that for a side business.

(I wonder what that could be, hmmmm)

And most of all I got to experience a new culture that gives me faith that no matter what you read in the newspapers or watch on the news. This nation under God is a melting pot with a surviving nature. It really doesn’t matter what color, race, or even what gender preference you have. There are a lot of good people out there that I will somehow make fun of and at the same time embrace them for just who they are, and call them my friend.

(I called that number the bartender gave me, it was a gas station


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