End Of A Short Lived Era

An hour and a half at a time...   Photo: © Stan Banos

This photo was taken directly across the saloon I've come to call home now for a year. And when I say home, I'm talking an hour and a half a week on an early Friday evening, enough to down three pints, approx one per half hour- which borderline breaches my personal barrier for waking up the following morning in good humor.  

San Francisco was rife with old neighborhood dives and has still managed to retain a few in these days of $8 pints and wretched sports bars. I would frequently make note of them, promising to return for a drink one spare evening, promises never consummated. This is one which I actually entered one long ago weekend afternoon (probably during yet another unsuccessful photo walk); the vibe was right, the people were friendly, and I was happy to have a beer amongst the crowd, and depart- pity it wasn't in my neighborhood! 

When The Wife and I separated, there I was, but two blocks away- but it was the height of Covid, and boarded up tight... didn't seem it would ever open again. When this picture was taken, the protective paneling had just come down, and I saw a sign being posted on windows made visible once again. The guy invited me to come over and check it out sometime- he needn't have asked. The name of the bar is The Utah Inn. 

Now, Stefano (the sign posting bartender) was totally cool, I actually got by-backs (first time in decades!) on a coupla beers! From the rough and tumble part of a rough and tumble town outside San Francisco, he was nevertheless, always welcoming- but if you said the wrong thing, rubbed him the wrong way, you'd get one very sober look and the frivolity would quickly dissipate. Fortunately, we were fairly copasetic, I understood the general parameters; we weren't best of friends, we were chill is all, and he had a job to do. I was just happy being a cool (uh-huh) old guy at the bar, happy just to hang in a relaxed, judge free zone after a week of work, and have my mood adjusted accordingly for a pleasant if uneventful ninety minutes... And god forbid you should ever motion or call out for a beer- you were done for the evening! I would silently smile to myself witnessing various people wander in off the street and wonder why they were waiting endlessly...  

That was pretty much my 'social life,' not a helluva lot, granted- but how I treasured that hour and a half! Two weeks ago, just after I had left, the new manager (of one whole week) told Stefano that he should clock himself out since things were slow that night. Predictably, he wasn't having it, besides, the (SF Giants) game was soon to let out and the place would be quickly packed- as it soon was... but the damage was done.

Bottomline, he was right, and he was gone- and so it looks am I...