Dawg’s two favorite games right now are Keep Away and Grossest Thing. Keep Away is self explanatory. Grossest Thing, actually, is pretty self explanatory too, if you’ve ever met a dog. Sometimes he combines the two, just to keep me nimble. Grossest Thing is pretty tame if you’re in the “grossest-thing-I-dropped-while-cooking” round. The bar is raised if he makes it to “grossest-thing-in-the-laundry” or “grossest-thing-in-the-yard” level of play. Expert round is “grossest-thing-on-Edenton-Street-at-dawn.”
Nobody wins Grossest Thing.
We’ve played Grossest Thing a couple of times at Sadlack’s. Wow. Slow clap for Dawg, who has gone pro. The other day Audrey and I were celebrating funemployment on the patio, and Fletch spotted some gum down on the concrete by the picnic table. He’s sooooo fast. I looked up and said “wouldn’t it be gross if” and before I could finish, it was gone.
“It’s been nice knowing you,” I told him. Gum. From Sadlack’s. He didn’t seem fazed though. I guess maybe he did win, after all.
It was on my 2013 We Shall Ace This Year list to take Dawg to a show at Sadlack’s, so tonight, we went. It was The Swang Brothers, and we thought it was great. He loves crowds, but I wasn’t sure how he’d do with all the noise of a band. We came up the back stairs and he immediately made friends with a drifter, who proceeded to pour most of a can of beer on him every time he leaned over to pet him. We enjoyed some rockabilly music and, after some initial shenanigans with the other dogs, he flopped down and became downright chill. A few songs after that I saw him acting suspicious and I pried a cigarette butt out of his mouth. “And that’s curfew,” I told him.
Sadlack’s is on my Favorite Places list. There’s the nostalgia factor, since I went to the College of Design practically across the street. There’s the music factor, because it’s a nice place to see a show, and the food factor, because of the California Club and great burgers. There’s the staff factor, because the guy behind the counter is fun and everyone who works in the kitchen comes out and loves all over my dog when they get the chance. Then there’s the people watching.
You’ll see all kinds at Sadlack’s. The other day it was pretty empty when we walked in for afternoon beers, and then I turned around and there was a goth couple having a heated domestic dispute at the table behind us, someone obviously in the Witness Relocation Program on the other side of them, and a guy at the far table whom I suspect was a zombie. A shifty-looking, fast-talking guy came up and just sat right down at our table, looked me in the eye, and said, “How old are you?” and I said, “I am not answering that question,” because dude, I am not going to lie about it, but seriously, who asks that of a stranger? And the domestic dispute behind us got louder and more colorful, and I suspected someone was going to throw a punch, because damned if the guy at our table didn’t say to me again, “No really. How old ARE you?” and he was too many beers in to realize how close he was to a bar fight.
I may add “start a bar fight at Sadlack’s” to my Life List. You’d never think to do that at, say, Cameron Village, or a restaurant in North Hills, or at a theme bar downtown. But at Sadlack’s, friends?
Anything can happen.