The first time I visited this east coast Florida bar, I thought it ideal at first. It had an outdoor deck that faced the ocean on the second floor and I had a couple of beers and some onion rings to pass the time before dinner.
But just before 6:00PM, the waitress told me in no uncertain terms that I must leave NOW. When I asked why, she nervously looked down to the parking lot where a three-wheel motorcycle had just pulled in bearing a heavy-set rider wearing a Nazi World War II helmet. Assuming it was the local chapter of Hell’s Angels, I decided to follow her instructions.
But after paying my bill and leaving by the front door while more bikers entered by the rear, I noticed that, after removing their helmets, they were all females. And to be precise, they looked rather rough and, since they were now arriving in pairs and freely exchanging hugs and … … long, squishy kisses, I had to make a quick choice between risky invisibility and total absence.
I chose the latter.
The next day at work I mentioned where I had been and what I’d seen, and the locals were horrified.
“You went there?”
“Oh, no, they should have told you!”
“That’s a dyke bar and they really don’t like men!”
But I was delighted — I had a new and wonderful story, unlikely to be paralleled by any of my fellow traveling trainers.
Returning to the same area recently, I just had to go back.
But while the bar still has that second floor balcony with ice cold beer, and the clientele continues to be more than a touch on the strange side — the picture above is a live MC’d trivia game of “Sex Organ Bingo” — alas, at 6:00PM there was no thunder of three-wheel motorcycles nor any helmet-clad Nazi Dykes.
Kind’a boring really.