The answers to these questions being too painful for consideration, lets get into the journey. My brother Tony and I like to warm up for a new pub visit by having a couple of beers at a “bullpen” bar. We chose Malarkey’s in Southgate. No problem getting a beer or seeing a TV, but no reason to stick around longer than a warmup. Sparse crowd, and those that were there were super low key, like they just received bad news from their doctor. Also, I hate it when the bar is staffed by a bunch of guys from a Gap ad. Creepy!
We moved on to Perfect Pitcher around 11, motoring into the epicenter of Taylor, on Beech Daly north of Northline. The sign lit up an otherwise dead area, and I snuggled my car in amongst the pickup trucks and Stars and Bars bumper stickers.
I recall suggesting that we pull the plug on this dump before getting out of the car, but Tony said we should at least get a beer. His courage and conviction were somehow inspiring. As I walked up to the door, which was not easy to find in the brick fortress, I was second guessing my choice of shirt, an Irish soccer jersey. Tony warned me not to wear anything to arouse the locals, and it hit me that many in this crowd probably consider soccer gay and the Irish trash.
As it turned out, these qualms were unnecessary. I opened the door, was floored by the volume of the band and the well lit nature of the bar. It revealed a handful of locals, and a greeter who looked me over for a few seconds. “Five dollar cover per person,” he said in a challenging manner. I turned on my heels and told my brother that ten bucks for this dump was out of the question. The asshole greeter heard this and started to follow us out the door, suggesting that something less than five a man could be worked out.
Fuck You! This dick saw that we had all our teeth and clean shirts and landed on a fee he thought we had in our deep pockets. When Lindsey Lohan and her girlfriend show up at Perfect Pitcher, the asshole greeter will probably try and hit them up for a $7.50 per person cover.
Not surprisingly, we knew of other bars in the area, and settled on The Glass Mug, also in Taylor on Telegraph Road south of Ecorse Road. Parking is easy in the huge lot, but please notice the Harleys arranged near the door. I seem to recall the term foreshadowing from high school English, and it is applicable here.
It is normally $2 to get in, but the bouncer must have been on a well deserved break, so Tony and I walked in free of charge. He did see us later in the evening, and I swear he looked like he was going to mention the whole break thing and hit us up for the four spot.
The inside features a small dance floor,surrounded on two sides by tables and chairs. Bordering the dance floor and in between the seating is a rail to stand at and watch the action. Tony and I selected a standing spot at Pervert’s Row, so we could keep an eye on the entertainment. No problem getting drinks, the staff is ever present and hard working. Two beers set us back $6. As an aside, isn’t the shot girl one of the most annoying aspects of bar life. It always seems like begging, one “no” is never enough and my brother ended up feeling sorry for the girl doing the schlepping and coughed up $5 for her to do a shot. Fucking heart of gold, that guy!
The music is provided by a standard DJ, straight from the Sears catalog. The crowd was skewed 60-40 toward men. The age of this bunch was a bit older than most clubs. Men and women both look like they could handle themselves in a scrap.
These people were out to have a good time, lots of dancing, hooking up and more interesting, failed hook ups. The biker guys are pretty persistent, and I watched one old duffer working a girl nearby pretty hard. He got nowhere despite multiple attempts. Maybe if he trimmed that whisk broom hanging off his chin, or learned the appropriate distance at which conversation is held, his luck would have been better.
At one point in the proceedings, the dance floor emptied except for one thirty something dude, who started to get his groove on solo. About thirty seconds into his routine, the bouncer strode over with purpose and chased him off the floor. Feeling good about intimidating someone six inches shorter and sixty pounds lighter, he walked back right by our area and muttered some anti gay shit to the crowd. Solo guy never hit the floor solo again. That shit ain’t right. I support people from all walks of life having the right to make an ass of themselves on the dance floor.
Intimidation and hate aside, thanks to The Glass Mug for salvaging what started out as a tough evening ( Remember, there are no bad nights out drinking, only less good ones.) Most importantly, fight sleazy bar behavior and stay away from Perfect Pitcher.
Cheers!
-Jim
Perfect Pitcher: 12900 Beech Daly Rd. Taylor, MI 48180
The Glass Mug: 8214 Telegraph Rd. Taylor MI, 48180
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