“Well,” he says, “I just had whiskey so I’m drinking crap beer with it,” justifying his PBR. “But it’s still better than my buddy,” he points to the can of PBR that is waiting for his owner to come back from the bathroom. I’m…not exactly sure that is how it works.
Either way, a PBR is what’s on the menu today at the Vern.
The Vern is a holdout, a dive bar in a neighborhood that won’t let them in anymore. I want to say it’s changed since I visited last, and I suppose it has. There is a giant poster for the movie Uppercut on the wall. I suppose that’s really it, which is fitting for a good dive bar.
On the other hand, like most locals, it has the charm of the clients but I’m really not interested in them right now. Just outside, in the truck parked right in front, a mutt is leading out the window with that doggy smile, hoping that whomever come out next will be its owner, or at least invite it into the bar. It isn’t barking or misbehaving: It just clearly wants to not be alone in the car.
That’s a pretty well trained dog, which I can’t help but feel bad for (and a kinship with) as the pooch retreats to the driver’s seat and waits. After a little while, the dog moves back to the open window at the passenger’s side and looks into the bar; ‘is this the person who will invite me in?’
I’ve been there, looking for a way into something cool and having no way to get invited to the party. Waiting and hope for the best. Never very good at making a thing happen, I try to be a good sidekick, at least. I honestly think I’d rather be outside drinking with the dog right now. Why not?
Times like this, I think I should establish a local of my own. The nomad life has its charms, but a pub I can walk to where they know me is nice to have, too. Bonuses if they have a dog.
Today’s second pint goes to the Oregon Humane Society.