Sunday, April 02, 2006
Dive bar - Snug Harbor
(Sorry readers, I must have deleted the lead in paragraph last night when I posted this) Let me preface what follows with this: I collect odd things, signs being one of them. I happened to be in the parking lot of the Del Amo Center waiting while my sons were fitted for tuxedos. The wait was considerable. I grew board, restless, and then started to look for something to photograph. I had been sitting in my truck for almost half an hour when boredom overcame common sense. What follows is typical for me, I collected a story as well as a few photographs.
I grew bored after a round or two of Tetris so I ventured outside with my camera. I happened to see the sign for Snug Harbor affixed to a dirty stretch of faux stone, and started shooting. I am normally oblivious to the happening of the world when taking pictures. I like to concentrate, it take a certain amount of focus to make a good photograph. The sign for the bar was so 1960s retro, I had to capture it for my odd signage collection. Normally, my activities would attract little attention, but apparently, Noon on a Sunday is prime time for this little dive bar. A few patrons noticed my activities. I was watched closely by two old men who were visibly staggering. I shot a few more pictures, and then went back to my truck. I waited….
Time passes slowly, I was waiting after all, and time seems to pass very slowly when one is waiting. I noticed one old rummy come out of the Snug Harbor and jot down my plate number on a slip of paper. He made a great show of it, he actually tried to be covert (very hard for a drunk). The bar patrons must of thought that I was some kind of not-so-subtle private investigator – After all, I was standing in the middle of the parking lot at Noon with a very large camera.
More time passes, I’ve been in the parking lot for an hour now. I am very bored. I notice a sheriff’s black and white pull up behind me, and then another off to my side. The rummy old barfly had called the cops! The police officer was nice enough – I told him what I was doing, he determined I was no threat. He asked what I had been shooting, when I told him it was old signs he looked at me funny, but was professional enough not let the obvious “what the hell for” past his mildly sarcastic smile. Yep – he thought I was nuts (I know the look). The funny thing is, I had had the exact same conversation with a young bar punk in the parking lot of the White Rooster Pub in Cypress just the day before. He thought I was nuts too, only he did not posses the sheriff’s self-control.
btw - the White Rooster Pub is behind Grandma's Chicken House. Grandma's is run down but boasts some damn good broasted chicken! The attached pub has a white trash skinhead kind of feel to it. I did not go in. I was happy enough with chicken and a few pictures.
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