Road Trip
Copyright© 2017 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 9
“Dare ya!”
The dare up for grabs was a four ounce cup of alum pickle juice. We had started out with the pickle. Not bad ... pretty sour ... more so than your typical bar dill. Pucker your lips. Another beer to wash away the sourness and we were ready for a bit ... or bite ... of very sharp cheddar cheese to “cleanse the palate.” Someone bought another pickle ... we were unsure who ... and the guilty party didn’t step forward. My money was on the Texas cowboy. He had a late season Elk license and a guide. Both of them were sitting out the latest snow-storm in the bar at Arrowhead Lodge.
The bartender had a roaring fire going in the fireplace and both propane heaters full blast. Ceiling fans keep the warmth circulating.
Coming out of the snow and wind ... the heat was welcome.
Hmmm ... tasty ... seriously. Not half bad ... and it seemed to ring my chimes. The second slice of the pickle ... the sourness ... better than sweet-tarts. Another draft. More cheese.
Understand ... we were buying our own drinks ... no expectations. None of us were sponging drinks. Teenagers drinking legal ... we had driven up 14 in the Dodge. BEFORE the storm. Stuck up here until the Troopers opened the road. Shit happens.
Anyway, after the second pickle and the fourth beer, a male voice said, “Barkeep! Gimmie a shot of pickle juice. Stir the jar first.”
Don’t you just know ... we all had to try it ... twice. An ounce of juice, chased with a draft.
You should keep count ... because none of us were.
Six? Really? Six beers? No ... wait ... seven. Yeah ... seven ... or was it eight?
“Anna? How many trips to the pisser?”
“Two.”
Eight beers ... each.
Sure it’s 3.2 but ... eight, and the stool is feeling comfy.
“Gimmie your keys,” said the bartender.
I didn’t even think about it ... I passed ‘em over. He hung ‘em on a board behind the bar.
He got on the phone to the desk. “Yeah ... four of them ... college girls, looks like.” He hung up.
“You’re bunking here tonight,” he said.
Unnerstan ... we were in snowsuits and long-handles and snopacs and Hilda ... bless her heart ... Hilda got hot and shrugged out of her sleeves.
I believe I’ve mentioned Hilda’s rack before ... Hilda has “Breasticles.” Hooters! Big’uns to go with her 6’2” frame. Hilda OWNS the tittie store.
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