I had a pretty good time at the Brockaway Public House. Although, it was a bit surreal. There were some high points, and some low points, but overall I had a good time. But wait, maybe I should 'splain...
If you check out my review for the Stacked Pickle, you'll see that I was there with a drinking buddy who was looking to score. Well, he ditched me at Stacked Pickle for a ladyfriend, and so I wandered down to Brockaway Public House for a pint. It wasn't early when I got there, but it wasn't way late, either.
Upon entering the establishment, there was a large group of folks in the 40-60 age range sitting at a big table and they had obviously been partying for a while. One of them, a rather portly guy, was wearing a small crown on his head. No one else at the table had any sort of costume or regalia on, and no one was shouting "Happy Birthday!" or "Long Live the King!" - he just had a cheap, plastic crown on his head.
I noted this, but having lived for six years in Athens, GA, this was nothing. I made my way to the bar, and sat about one seat away from another guy, and more or less in front of the taps. There were two or three bartenders (mostly female if I recall) and I got the impression that one or both of the bartenders were a bit hammered. One young lady spied me, asked what I wanted to drink, and I ordered a Guinness. She rang it up, but then she disappeared - I mean, was gone for a while. I watched the other bartender make the Guinness, and then my beer sat there. For a while. Finally the guy who made it said, "who's Guinness is this?" and I said "I reckon that's mine, but the young lady who took my order is gone." He nodded and slid it to me.
I drank three pints of Guinness while surveying my surroundings. Drunken older crowd up front with crown; table of six women and two men in back, all hammered, and guys obviously looking like they macked on a "girls' night out" crew. The guy that was one seat away from me also seemed to know a guy who was one seat away from him, at the end of the bar. Suddenly, one of the women from the "girls' night" table stalks up to the guy near me, and starts whispering fiercely in his ear. I get this vague sense that they are a couple, and it is clear from their fevered whispering that they are more than friends -- there is some jealousy on the wind, it seems.
Angry girls' night out girl wanders off, and I kind of glance at the guy next to me, because I've just heard a healthy dose of his business. He smiles and shrugs, and introduces himself, and we chat for a second. He finds out I'm a college instructor, and he reveals he's a Ph.D. in Microbiology (or something very scientific) and I guess he works for one of the large pharmaceutical firms and he confirms he does but won't name which one, etc. We talk geeky academic stuff for a few minutes, and then my phone rings.
Remember the drinking buddy who left me at Stacked Pickle with a ladyfriend? Yeah, he's calling. Ladyfriend is psycho - is hot for him, but won't go to her place (her ex is watching the house, she claims) and won't go to a hotel room (she knows all the front desk people and they'll tell her co-workers, or maybe her mom...), and so after making out in the car with her, he tells her this is ridiculous, and kicks her to the curb. So now he's calling me to see if I'm still out and drinking.
So, he joins me at the bar. Before he joins me, there is this other guy about three seats down to my right, and he is clearly friends with the bar staff and good buddies with one of the female bartenders. I quietly drink more Guinness while waiting on my friend.
He arrives. We switch to liquor. Microscientist dude has started talking in earnest with the guy at the end of the bar, and I more or less figure out that girls' night out crew got crashed by some or all of their boyfriends, and these dudes at the table sort of moved in on the drama trying to pick up some angry chicks, and the guys at the bar were trying to act like they didn't care. Yeah, I thought I was in a grown-up bar, too, but apparently it was "act like you're in high school night."
Did I mention that these people had to be in their 30s?
Did I mention the plastic crown?
Yeah, okay, just checking.
Anyhow, me and my buddy are drinking liquor and he's telling me about crazy, paranoid ladyfriend. We are officially drunk at this point.
The guy who is three stools down and knows the bar staff kind of chimes in on our conversation, and begins to chat with us. All I can recall at this point is that this guy cannot be for real. If I remember correctly, and I'm not sure I do, he was ex-military special forces, a medical doctor, had been blown up or shot on his tour of duty, and maybe saved a bus load of orphans from a meteor strike, one-handed.
At this point, my drinking buddy and I look at each other, bust out laughing, pay our tab and just leave.
The Brockaway Public House? Like a trip down the rabbit hole, my friend, and my name ain't even Alice. read more