Friday Night Fights!!! Tenderloin Barhopping Adventures

by Rachel M.

My god I love the Tenderloin! I know that makes me sound insane but god damn it, I'll stand by this crappy neighborhood until the day I die—or at least until I move out or get bored of saying that all the time. Either way...

As a testament to my deranged love for the Loin, a few weeks ago I determined to undertake what I wildly referred to as my "EPIC TL BAR HOP" in which I telephoned everyone in my phonebook, exaggerated about the heroic adventures we would have, and swore to everyone that that they'd be famous local characters in whatever grandiose article I ended up writing about it...

In the end, of course, only about 5 people actually bought that argument, because there were 5 people at Whiskey Thieves when I arrived (including the bartender): Randi, a blonde chick with giant tits; "Slasher Katie", my Suicide Girl hair care professional; Bryce, bike messenger extraordinaire; and a local business owner who won't let me use his real name for reasons that become clearer as our story progresses...

The idea was to hit as many local bars as possible with a one drink minimum per location. My lofty list of establishments included not only noteworthy places like Edinburgh Castle but also lesser known pubs like the Geary Club, Hanaro, and the Brown Jug—smack dab in the loiniest part of the neighborhood. My first mistake, of course, was beginning the event at Whiskey Thieves. As you might imagine, convincing everyone to leave a beloved neighborhood bar and follow me to the scummiest places in the city was bound to be challenging.

"Alright, everyone! Listen up!" I hollered. "It's time to finish your drinks!" I began clapping my hands to get everyone's attention.

"Where are we going?" asked Randi. "Let's go to the NiteCap!"

"No, we can't go there. We'll get sidetracked. No," I said, pausing for dramatic effect, "We're going in."

"Wait, where are we going?" Bryce asked boozily.

"To the Brown Jug." Everyone in the entire bar turned to make sure I wasn't kidding.

"I don't know," Randi said suspiciously. "I've never heard of that."

"The Brown Jug? Where's that?" asked Bryce.

"Hyde and something. Blocks past the NiteCap. I'm serious guys. We're really going in. Pound your drinks and let's go!"

Everyone complied except for Katie who was trying to impress some gnarly, ill-tempered Scottish girl at the end of the bar. She said she'd meet us at the NiteCap later on.

"Alright, suit yourself," I said.

Even without her, we were gaining momentum. We'd been joined by Nathan, a.k.a., Deejay OM, and my friends Shelby and Erik of the upcoming band, Dalton—a band taking its inspiration from Patrick Swayze's character in the movie Roadhouse—a character we'd need to channel somehow if we were to make it out alive!

As we approached the Brown Jug, I'd just like to say that I honestly never meant to give anyone the impression that the place we were going to was somehow "happening." Rather, the idea (at least as I conceived it) was to gain a gritty appreciation for our neighborhood by venturing outside of our normal watering holes—to embrace the Tenderloin.

Nonetheless, everyone still managed to be horrified at what we found when we arrived. There were four people in the bar: a ragged homeless woman with long greasy hair, a retired prostitute with a giant afro, the bartender (who was more than a little suspicious of our presence), and an enthusiastic elderly man with open sores all over his hands and arms.

"This isn't cool at all," said Nathan.

I assured him it was not supposed to be.

"Okay, why did you bring us here again?" asked Mike.

"What does it matter as long as we're all here together?" I argued.

Somehow, they did not seem convinced.

Meanwhile Erik and Shelby had discovered a dusty jukebox that appeared to have been neglected since the mid-70's. "Dude, YES!" they exclaimed, and much to my general annoyance, the room was suddenly flooded with Journey, Boston, and a number of other terrible bands.

"This is AWESOME!" Shelby said excitedly.

I wasn't sure the others shared his enthusiasm, so I sat down with Bryce and Randi at a side table where we proceeded to take notes.

"Ok, what do you guys think?" I asked. "How would you rate this place?"

"I give it half a star for the jukebox ONLY," Nathan piped up from the next table. He looked kind of freaked out actually, but apparently, he had a much greater appreciation for 70's stadium rock than I realized.

"I give it one and a half stars for the decorations", said Bryce. He was referring, of course, to the Brown Jug above the doorway and a number of other booze-related paraphernalia around the room.

"Oh, come on!" I said excitedly, moving toward the bar. "Check out these rad vintage posters" "Excuse me, ma'am," I said to the prostitute. "Do you mind if I show my friend this poster... next to..." but she had already given me a dirty look and moved to the other side of the room.

Not to be deterred, I continued on with my speech, noisily reading the text of the posters to the room at large. You might say no one else shared my passion for historical artifacts, however...

"Okay, fine," Randi conceded to shut me up. "I'll give it two stars for the posters."

"Dude," said Nathan. "Mike is talking to that guy over there with the sores on his hands."

"What?" I said, confusedly, swinging around. Mike was gesturing wildly, having some animated conversation, and buying what appeared to be a high-spirited leper a drink over at the bar. While on the one hand, I couldn't help but admire my friend's inclusive spirit, it suddenly seemed like it was time to go.

"Okay, everyone! It's that time again!" I shouted. "Finish your drinks!"

"Are we going to the NiteCap?" asked Randi.

"No," I said sternly. "We are not going to the NiteCap. What we need is contrast," I explained. "We've got to redeem our adventure by going somewhere completely opposite of this place."

"Okay, where's that?" asked Nathan cynically.

"The 222 Hyde Club."

The 222 Club, if you've never been there, is even deeper in the Tenderloin—past the Brown Jug even—and yet still somehow manages to attract scenesters of every possible kind. Not only would it provide us with the contrast we needed, but hopefully, it would help me regain the trust of my skeptical crew, thus salvaging our expedition.

We were barely in the front door, however, when I heard my friend "Mike" shouting obnoxiously at the mousy-looking door girl.

"FIVE DOLLARS?!! We don't want to pay FIVE DOLLARS!" he screamed.

"Mike, calm down," I pleaded.

"WE ONLY WANT TO HAVE ONE DRINK!" he shouted—one drink being obviously more than he needed. "Can't you give us a DEAL? I MEAN, LOOK AT HOW MANY OF US THERE ARE!" he went on and on.

"Okay, look!" I attempted to shout over him. "I don't have enough cash on me, but what if I offer to pay for all of us? Can I use my credit card at the bar?" I reasoned.

Randi, although well-intentioned, had simultaneously begun talking deafeningly loudly as well, which exacerbated the situation somewhat. "CAN'T WE JUST GIVE YOU A COUPLE DOLLARS PER PERSON?" she shouted.

Either way it was too late by then. The Queen Bitch of the Universe—a 19-year-old (yes, that's right: a 19-year-old) club promoter named "Emily Betty" —had gotten wind of the scene we were causing and approached us, addressing me personally. "I'm sorry," she said snottily. "Are you with THEM?"

I paused awkwardly for a moment—her confusing syntax throwing me immediately on guard. "Well, yes..." I said uncertainly.

"Because if you're with THEM then YOU can't come in." She looked at me smugly and smiled. I really could not believe my ears. A filthy rich (19-YEAR-OLD) Jewish girl from Marin who (from what I understand) has managed to buy something like half the hipster kids in the city—had just referred to a number of my good friends as "THEM" —whatever the hell that means. This was TOTALLY outrageous!

"Okay, everyone! BAD REVIEW!" I hollered as I backed everyone outside. "I assure you, we DO NOT want to hang out here. BAD REVIEW!!"

"Can we just please go to the NiteCap now?" Randi pleaded.

"Yes, Randi. I think it's about that time." The NiteCap—one of the best kept secrets in the neighborhood—would be a much needed breath of fresh air at this point.

"Alright, everyone!" I shouted. "It's time! We are going to the NITECAP!"

If you've never been to the NiteCap at O'Farrell and Hyde then unfortunately it's too late. Just a few short weeks ago it was a thriving local hangout, and now due to the departure of Jedi Jenny, its keystone bartender, it's once again sunken sadly back into oblivion—swallowed up by the same loin from which it briefly emerged...

At the time though it was a swingin' Friday night hot spot where you never knew what or who to expect when you opened the door... On Jenny's 30th birthday, for example, there were about 50 bike messengers swilling cheap beer, munching hor d'oeuvres, and gawking lecherously at Jenny who was getting a sleazy lap dance from a couple of strippers from down the block.

When we finally burst in on the night in question, the place was packed with art students, bike messengers, cyber geeks, and all manner of bizarre local personalities. To top things off, the King of Sleaze himself—Mickey Avalon—was blaring "Jane Fonda" on the jukebox.

"HELL YEAH! WHAT'S UP, GIRL?" Katie (a.k.a., "Slasher Katie") screamed as I approached the bar. Not only was she much drunker than when we'd last seen her at Whiskey Thieves, but she nearly knocked me over as she leapt to embrace me. Despite her reputation and nickname, I absolutely adored her.

"You'll never believe what happened at the 222 Club," I began. "Mike was being really obnoxious...and then..." I glanced around for him so I could scold him, but oddly, he was not there.

"Hey!" I asked Bryce. "Where are Mike and Nathan?"

"They said they were going back to the club," he said.

"WHAT???"

"I don't know. All I know is they went back, and they'll meet up with us later."

"But it's one-o-clock!" I yelled at Bryce. "Dude, that is so fucking lame I can't even BELIEVE IT!!"

I got out my cell phone and began angrily keying in a text message: "WHAT THE FUCK?" it said. "DID YOU TELL THEM YOU WEREN'T WITH US? BECAUSE THAT IS SO PATHETIC!" I hit send and ordered my usual Corona—just WAITING for their bastard reply.

"I'm sorry," Bryce said. "They just told me to tell you."

"Sorry, Bryce, I didn't mean to yell at you. I just can't believe they would do that. There's something soooo cowardly in it, I can't even put it into words."

At that moment, much to everyone's surprise, the door suddenly burst open and Katie stormed in in a huff—a freaky-looking, sixtysomething taxi driver rushed in on her heels...

"Somebody call the cops!" he said wildly. "This woman assaulted me!"

Needless to say, nobody moved.

"CALL THE FUCKING POLICE!" he yelled even louder—a trickle of blood running grotesquely down his forehead.

"FUCK YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!" Katie screamed back. "DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM!!!???"

My God, I thought. Who is she?

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BAR!!!" she screamed.

"Okay," said Jenny. "First of all, this is not your bar. Second of all, what the hell is going on?"

"Fuck this bullshit!" screamed Katie, grabbing her bike and flying past the cab driver.

What happened in the next few minutes is difficult to say. I could see through the neon sign in the window that a scuffle ensued, and about ten people rushed outside. Apparently, the driver tried to grab her while she rode off and put her in a chokehold. Someone else grabbed the cabdriver and threw him into the wall.

"Hey," said Nathan, who'd materialized beside me all of the sudden. "Your boy's in the bathroom."

I had no idea where he had come from or what he was talking about. Everything was moving so quickly. Katie had somehow managed to get away while the cabdriver chased her around the block in his car. My cell phone started ringing and it was Katie and she was pissed off.

"Wait a minute," I said to her. "Jenny's trying to tell me something."

"Look," said Jenny, "I don't know what the fuck happened, but Mike's in the bathroom and I need you to take care of it."

"What are you talking about? Are you talking about MY friend, Mike?"

"Just take this," she said, handing me a towel full of ice. "He's in there."

Hanging up the phone, I grabbed the towel and quickly followed Nathan to the bathroom. Mike was inside with a huge gash over his eyebrow—but was nonetheless smiling and talking excitedly.

"So when I got your text message," he said, "I knew you totally had the wrong idea."

"Well, what the hell was I supposed to think?" I said, handing him the ice. "What happened?"

"We were sitting at the bar," he began spiritedly, "and then we got your message, and I was so pissed off because I couldn't believe you thought that because those people were so fucked up!" he looked at me scoldingly. "So THEN we were just sitting there and they weren't even serving us EVEN THOUGH we'd just paid FIVE DOLLARS and there was NO ONE ELSE in the fucking bar! Then when the bartender finally DID come over, man, I was so pissed I just said, "Hey, you know what? You guys should really be cooler to people who live in the neighborhood—otherwise you need to TAKE THIS SHIT BACK TO THE MISSION!!!"

"Oh my God, you did NOT say that!!!"

"Yeah, and then this girl's boyfriend came over and was all in my face or whatever, so I said, "Get out of my face, motherfucker!" and he thought he was all tough, so he decked me or whatever and POW! I fucking punched his hipster ass!!!"

"Dude, you are NUTS!"

"Yeah, I know," he said smiling, blood running down his forehead.

This was seriously unreal. Two of my very good—albeit crazy—friends had somehow managed to go completely off their rockers and punch two different people within the same five minute interval. Everywhere I looked there was someone bleeding or freaking out or screaming about something. They were all calling each other and sending pissed off text messages about "fuck this guy and screw that bitch" and so on and so on.

"Hey, Rachel," said Shelby. "Me and Erik are going to the Mission if you want to go."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"No, that's cool," I said. "I really don't think you can beat the entertainment here!"

"Yeah...right," said Shelby. "Well, we're meeting some people in the Mission, but give me a call later if you change your mind!" And with that, he and Erik left the NiteCap and went off to Zeitgeist.

I was laughing so hard, I was crying. Entertainment indeed!

"Friday Night Fights, Baby!" said Mike as he rejoined us from the bathroom.

"Hell, yeah, baby!" I laughed. "Friday Night Fights!!!"

Back To Top ↑