Dive

Brian took a swig of his flat beer and leaned back in his seat to survey the bar. The red vinyl banquettes were gummy and smelled of sweat and old beans. If you ran your hand along the crack where the seat met the back, you would find peanut shells, straw wrappers, wadded up gum and, if you were lucky, the occasional dime or quarter. The music was old but not nostalgic, a steady beat one note above elevator. The bar only stocked draft beer and a few dusty bottles of low quality spirits. The bartender, Stan, a grizzled ex biker, though efficient was surly at best. There was one lone server, Barb, a bottle blonde with mottled tattoos who showcased her deflated breasts and varicose veins in low cut tops and mini skirts and had a voice like tires on gravel that was usually laced with a nasty cough that Bob was pretty sure, thank god, was not contagious. But, Brian loved this place. It was a place of low expectations. It was a place where having all your teeth, hair and limbs made you a king.
Brian knew a lot of people didn’t get the attraction. They thought it was just desperation, a desire to get laid. His best friends, Chuck and Ian, were always trying to set him up with their wives’ friends. “Oh, she’s a gem,” they would say. Or “You have to taste her tuna casserole. One bite and it’s love.” But these women were always so full of hope and expectations and Brian wasn’t willing to work hard enough to sustain any of it. Here, at Kings, all it took was a toothy grin, a hand raked through his hair, a quick stroll around the bar, and the ladies swooned. Not that he hadn’t had a few bad experiences, the broad who had stolen his wallet, the time he found a needle in his bed, the redhead who had stalked him until the pensioner in the scooter had swept her off her feet. But over all, he loved being king, love waking up next to someone to whom nothing was owed and who he would likely never see again. This was his kingdom.
The back door swung open and Brian craned his head to see who it was, an old-timer with whom he could chat, a new face he could convince to leave with him. But it was a whole group of kids, kids who looked too young to drink, dressed in skinny jeans, toques and neckerchiefs. They were chatting with subdued enthusiasm. He caught a sentence from a skinny blond girl in oversized black rimmed glasses who was affecting an awkward walk. “Oh my god this place is so perfect. Check out the old Pilsner sign. I bet it’s an original. No way these guys are digging irony.” A skinny pale guy hampered by jeans so tight and low slung he could hardly walk and a messenger bag weighed down by turntables nodded in agreement.
“I know right. I found this place and knew it was the place. You couldn’t make this shit up. Look under dive bar in the dictionary and I swear there’s a picture of this place.”
Brian looked around to see if anyone else was as confused as he was. A few of the old-timers at the bar were turning around looking perplexed but mostly the crowd was content to stare into their beers. Barb walked by. Brian grabbed her arm. “What’s going on?” he whispered.
“What do you mean?” Barb answered with a shrug.
Brian gestured at the group of kids who were now standing in the middle of the place observing the regulars with a mix of awe and disdain. “Those guys. What are they doing here?”
“Same thing you are Bri I imagine. Looking for fun.”
“Here?”
“What’s wrong with here? You seem to like it enough.”
“Right but…it’s not…they’re young…what do they expect to find here?”
Barb laughed a deep cackling laugh that turned into a phlegmy cough. When the fit subsided she answered. “Actually, they’re starting a new night here. Some kind of dance thing. Some kid Trevor, Travis, something like that, asked Stan for permission and he thought it was a good idea. Drum up a bit more business. Fresh blood, fresh money, all that.”
Brian shook his head and drained the last of his beer. He tipped his glass toward Barb indicating that he wanted another. She grabbed the empty pint. “Just to let you know, that’s going to be five bucks.”
Brian almost spat out his mouthful of beer. “What? Since when? I just had one and it was three fifty same as always.”
“Sorry. Comes with the new night. After nine. Stan figures the new crowd can afford the new price.”
“And the old crowd?”
Barb shrugged. “Sorry hun.”
Brian scowled and raised his shoulders in defeat, turning his attention back to the kids. The skinny boy with the messenger bag was setting up turn tables on a table a few feet away from the bar. He plugged a few things in, touched a few buttons; a few lights glowed on the equipment and suddenly the monotonous elevator music was shattered by the beats of have base and twangy synth. The kids clapped their hands and began to twitch in spastic windmill motions.
Brian searched the room for familiar faces, someone who could share in his incredulity, but everyone was focused on the kids and several of the regulars were now even bopping their heads. He spotted Barb walking towards him with his beer but before she could get to him, a skinny arm tipped with a biker glove grabbed her wrist and dragged her on the dance floor. A skinny boy who could have been a clone for the dj, save for his red hair and purple bandana, bumped hips with Barb and she erupted in a fit of coughing laughter. She stayed in the flailing mass for a few minutes and then, sweaty and smiling, made her way to Brian’s table, beer still intact.
“Whoo that was fun,” she panted as she set the glass down on his table. Brian pulled out his wallet forcing himself not to grimace as he handed over a five dollar bill. “You should give it a try,” Barb urged gesturing towards the impromptu dance floor.
Brian looked over. A few regulars, spurred no doubt by Barb’s inclusion, had tentatively shuffled towards the mob. The kids were welcoming them into the circle, wordlessly indicating their acceptance with exaggerated clapping and an increased frenzy to their movements. Harry, an old timer with a walker, made his way to the middle of the circle and started shaking like he was having a fit. The kids went wild.
Brian tried to look away but his eyes kept going back to the pretty girls in their tight jeans. They were so young but he couldn’t help but imagine what their hair would smell like, the way they might giggle when he kissed their necks, the firmness of their legs. Certainly they would have no expectations from an old man like him.
He took a few swigs of his beer. More people were joining the flailing mass. What was stopping him? He put his beer down and strutted over slowly, trying hard to look neither eager nor tentative. The kids parted and ushered him in. He smiled and bopped timidly. They smiled and clapped. Someone whistled. The music was loud. The floor vibrated under the bass. Brian let his limbs go loose. He let himself enjoy the moment. He turned his head and locked eyes with a stocky kid with a piercing through the bridge of his nose and big stretched out ear lobes. He caught a brief glimpse of his reflection in the kid’s glasses. An old man swaying cluelessly to music he didn’t know. What a joke. Might as well have no arms, no legs, no teeth and no hair. There was a new pecking order.