The dudebros are out tonight, Portland’s first genuinely pleasant Friday of 2018. At a stoplight I looked over to see a dude at a table in a bathrobe, hanging out with his bros. There is…no excuse for this. But then I remember something critically important: I don’t have to fuck this guy. So his poor life choices aren’t my problem.
I was originally going to My Father’s Place but the rail was overcrowded so I slid next door to Slow Bar and I have to say, this is a better deal. I get to hear Leper Messiah and it looks like there’s a better selection of drinks! There is, of course, a dudebro at the bar ordering so I take a seat and turn to him:
“May I ask what you’re drinking?”
“Uh…a lot!” He smiles and I return it.
“But at the moment,” I follow up.
“Jamesons and PBR.”
“Ah. I have a blog where I ask people what they’re having and then drink that.”
“Oh? Well I don’t have to have that. I can getcha something crazy!”
“No, that’s OK. This is a good thing.”
The dudebro heads outside with his friend and I’m left to on the rail to myself.
Jamesons straight and PBR. Now I’m playing with fire. I knew there would be days like this.
Jamesons is sweet, which is a surprise to me. It only really burns once swallowed, around the edges of my tongue, back of my throat, then going down, and then in my belly.
I’m glad I don’t drink like this: it’s the province of people who are after a very different experience.
The PBR goes a long way to subduing the burn of the Jamesons. Plus, I’m cutting it all with a lot of water. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to a glass of tastier beer.
A new person sidles up to the bar. He is also a dudebro with his dapper hat and a flower on his lapel.
“You seen Avengers: Infinity War?” He asks me. I don’t know why he’s asking but:
“Yes, I have!”
“Fucking amazing, right! All my friends haven’t seen it so I’m DYING because I can’t talk about it.”
So we talk about Hulk’s psychology while he waits for his tab.
Maybe I’m being too hard on the dudebros. Maybe I just need to remember to accept them like I would anyone else: as individuals.
But fuck wearing a bathrobe as club wear.
Today’s second pint goes to International Medical Corps, who are still doing work in Puerto Rico (amongst other places).