I have a pseudo bud, AKA Meat Man Mike, a brilliant artist in my opinion who took me there for the first time. I met up with him and a few of his foody friends for beer and grub one Saturday afternoon. I took the El to Huntingdon Station ( I LOVE the Philly El, I took it to school everyday from age 11-14) Walked over to Mike's place, checked out his newest art, agreed with him that I hate my Mac as well, and left the building to meet a different friend of his down on the street.
We wander through the streets of Kensington on a beautiful spring afternoon, and I love the beauty in the decrepit condition of the buildings, trees and weeds growing in the empty lots where houses once stood. As we walk, I stop and start picking Mulberries from a tree. Mulberries grow wild all over Philadelphia, and I can remember as a child watching my beloved German Shepherd strip low hanging branches of berries, and walking home with her purple tongue lolling out.
"EWWWW! Don't eat that!" screams the chubby queen who met us on the street. "Why not? It's a mulberry, I have been eating them since I was a kid, here have one." I reply. "You can't eat anything that grows in Kensington" he replies. I silently strip ten or twelve more berries from the tree and walk down the street making yummy yummy sounds next to him. I LOVE making new friends!
We get to the bar, it is a traditional Philly tap room in a corner rowhouse. Classic. I am in love. We get seats at the bar just as the bar soccer team comes in the door. Beer, food and athletic eye candy. Woo HOOO I am home baby, I am home. The rest of the foodies show up, and we start to have fun. The bartender is a big lumbering dude that hangs out at the neighborhood bar where I was working a few days a week and is cool as shit. I am going through the different beers like they are gonna run out, and since these are all craft beers, they just might.
More people have joined us, including one of the owners of the bar who is a loyal follower of my Sunday brunch bartending shift, and devotee of my Bloody Mary's. Here is the crew, me, the cranky loud mouthed redhead who has an opinion about everything, Mike the dry, kind of quiet, sarcastic giant, the bitchy chubby queen who is not much fun and seems prissy, some attorney, who asserts his heterosexuality, but has asked me if I could send him a link to a gay porn site involving docking. How does a straight man even know what docking is? ( And NO, I am not going to tell you, google it yourself) Some broad that is only talking to the attorney, and a few sundry others who mean nothing to me.
The bar itself has about 30-40 people in it, and a great vibe. The mixing of the Dominican, American, Brazilian and Mexican guys from the soccer team with the urban hipsters, a few local Kenso hoods, the foodies, a few Center City Folks slumming it, and some of the people helping to gentrify the neighborhood make it just feel right. The door opens and I look to see who is coming in, it is a local neighborhood kid with some form of autism. As a Philly kid, I know exactly how a neighborhood bar reacts to this, and it is always handled well. It is part of the working class mindset of the city itself that usually allows for the neighborhood oddball to be OK for a little while. He walks in and looks around, and goes up to a waitress, who hands him five bucks. I think, How COOL. I love this place.
Behind me is the door to the bathroom, it is just a bumpout into the bar, and is right before you go up a step into the dining room. I watch the kid pocket the money and go into the bathroom. I pay no attention to anything going on except for my food, the 8th question from the attorney about rimming, and talking to Mike about art, beer and the crazy man on manhunt who posted a picture of himself with a traffic cone shoved up his ass. (Yes, REALLY, I even saved a picture of it since no one ever believes me)
Suddenly I hear a man say "Whoops! Sorry Dude!!" behind me as the screaming begins. The ululating wail emanating from the bathroom is pretty loud, and doesn't seem to want to stop. We all turn to look as the poor man that opened the unlocked bathroom door is confronted by a naked man with mild autism keening in the middle of a bar bathroom. The look on his face is priceless, a frozen rictus smile on his face, a growing fear in his eyes, and you know he doesn't know if he should slam the door and scream himself, or just slowly back away.
The gentleman wailing in the bathroom took care of that dilemma for him, by grabbing the doorknob and slamming the door shut. Continuing to scream the whole time, the bartender simply turned the music up, and we all just talked louder.
What does one do when confronted with a naked screaming autistic man in a bar bathroom at 6:30 in the evening? Well in Philly we just kept on drinking and carrying on, figuring he had to come out eventually. While the waitress banged on the door and attempted to get the man to put his clothes back on and come out (he only locked the door AFTER the poor bastard walked in on him). The bartender tells us this kid does this all the time. This is why he gets five bucks when he walks in, so that he doesn't use the bathroom. He guesses he wants more money, since he tried to get a second five out the day waitress earlier in the day.
He eventually comes out, doesn't get any more money, and is told to go home. As I am leaving my taxi passes a bunch of cop cars down the street. Turns out he went home, but was so pissed off he threw his TV out the plate glass window into the street.
Laughing I think about all the Philly flavor I have experienced over the years. I don't know if it is like this everywhere, but I wouldn't trade it for the world!
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