Seattle Subsonic

AC/DC at The Baranof

July 13th, 2008

Hang on. Give it a second.

I didn’t say live.

But last week, I had a most amazing and transcendental experience over beers and nicotine while basking…. er, drinking? in the atmosphere at the divey-est of divey sh*tholes: the Baranof. Up on Greenwood, north of 85th.

You know how you feel when you get a free pass with a Snow Day in winter and instead of going to work you head to the pub? I got such a freebie on Tuesday last week. Got up for work, pedaled in at oh-dark-thirty, and discovered I wasn’t on the schedule. At 5:45am. Sweet. What to do now?

I’ll skip to the good(er) part: at 2pm, I was swinging open the door of the infamous ‘Nof with a twenty-spot and a pack of smokes each burning a hole in my pocket. My partner in crime and I ordered a coupla PBRs and settled in/stuck to a vinyl booth. Before us was an array of characters tenuously propped up at the bar. Schnockered. At two in the afternoon. Yeah, this was just like a snow day. Except it was 80 degrees out and we were inside a dimly-lit bar packed with vice, fishermen and veterans on Greenwood on Taco Tuesday. It was like that bar in Pulp Fiction, the one where Vince Vega and Butch meet for the first time.

After a few beers and plenty of lively conversation with the locals, (Deadliest Catch? How about Deadliest Breath? Sheesh. We’re back on land here, people. Time for some Certs.) my friend and I decided to have a smoke out back. Standing on the deck in the glorious and blinding sunshine, we exchanged knowing smiles and quiet comments about our new drinking buddies. One of them, a guy who’d been getting a wet willie from a Grimace-shaped woman when we arrived, leaned towards me as I casually ashed off of the stairs and muttered this: “Dowen ash offa da shtays. Aye leev undah theh.”

Me: “Did you say you live under the stairs? Sorry man, I’ll ash in the can.”
My partner, giddy for adventure: “I wanna see! Can I see!?!!?!?”
Crazy Larry: “Yeeeeah.”
I slowly shook my head back and forth, had another pull, exhaled, and walked down the steps to survey his living quarters with her. Sure enough. There were some long pieces of crumbly grey insulation material laid out under the last flight, and a half-full carton of milk, getting rancid in the summer air. Wow.
As if smoking cigarettes hadn’t ruined my appetite enough, this closed the deal. I grabbed my date’s hand, shared a muted and awkward chuckle, thanked Larry and hustled back inside.
Someone was finally feeding the long-silent jukebox as we took our seats for a final pint.
“Have A Drink On Me“. No kidding. All was right with this weird little world at the Baranof. I pledged to bring Linds back there again soon. The place opens at 6am, so if I get called off of work again, I am getting my ass over there sooner. Join me, first round’s on my tab.