The Friday hiking group tackled Black Rock yesterday. The getting up part isn’t so bad, but the coming down can be a bitch. That was the case with yesterday’s descent. It’s always steep and rocky, but add in patches of slick and slippery, and it can be a real pain in the ass. Literally. We all made it down safe and sound, and the remainder of the trek was mostly pleasant–except for a creek crossing and the portion on the highway. But that’s all part of the adventure, I suppose.
The afternoon adventure was attending the SOB dance competition held this week at La Oficina. I do not visit this bar often; in fact, the last time I was there was several months ago, also for an SOB. I arrived a little before the 5 p.m. opening but was allowed to come in, sit down, and order a beer. It always amazes me when the waitress remembers my name in a place I almost never frequent, but mine did. I secured two seats as Swan would be joining me when the show started at six. I entertained myself by watching the La Oficina dancers practice their routines. Not long after five, another customer came in and asked that the four seats next to mine be reserved for him and his friends. The waitress did so, and he departed.
As time went on, the bar rapidly began filling up with SOB attendees. One guy came to sit in the previously reserved but still empty seats and went ballistic when told he couldn’t do so. He screamed at the bar manager, then yelled at Daddy Dave, who runs the SOB, before storming out. I don’t think he got a refund. Shortly thereafter, the four guys came and filled the seats. By the time the show started, there wasn’t an empty seat in the house.
The SOB format includes free local drinks during show hours between six and eight, which are included in the 700 peso price of admission. I take it as a challenge to consume my money’s worth. When Swan arrived, she ordered her usual glass of red wine. When the waitress brought the wine, she said, “That will be 150 pesos.” Swan told her drinks were supposed to be free, and the waitress responded that wine isn’t considered a “local drink.” Swan told her to take it back then. A bit later, the waitress returned looking glum and said that the glass of wine was being deducted from her salary. Shit. I know that would be at least half of her daily pay, so I had her bring the wine back, and I paid for it. I complained (civilly) to Daddy Dave. He went and spoke with the manager, and then the manager came to me and said the next wine would be free. When Swan was ready for a second glass, she told the waitress what the manager had said. When the waitress returned empty-handed, she told Swan it was still not allowed. Apparently, the so-called manager has no real authority in the bar. I offered to pay the difference between the local drink and wine prices, but that wasn’t acceptable either. I shrugged and told her, okay, so you are losing my future business over fifty pesos. Swan got a Gatorade instead. Fuck you, La Oficina. We won’t be back, even for an SOB.
We stopped in downstairs at Wet Spot for a bit of the SOB Aftermath. My raffle ticket wasn’t drawn in the first round, and I’d had more than enough beers, so we grabbed a trike for home.
I had eaten a few chicken fingers during the SOB and was surprised to later see how many calories that cost me. But the real culprit in my missing my calorie goal yesterday was the twelve San Mig Zeros I downed during the evening.
So, how about some memories from the good ol’ days in Korea:
Damn, I hope I can recapture some of those glory days in my walking life. Maybe I should just be glad I’m still walking at all. I saw today on Facebook that an old dart buddy in South Carolina died yesterday. He was only 53 and succumbed to cancer. RIP Dennis.
Today’s YouTube vlogger tells us about the five things he doesn’t like about life in the Philippines. Yeah, there are some frustrations that come with the territory, but here we are, and here we will remain.
Humor me this:
The big news today is that the Kokomo’s floating bar is now open. So, I’ll be headed out to Baloy Beach with some “welcome back” brownies for the crew. I’ll share some pictures of the event here tomorrow—maybe even a sunset!
Heading out up the highway
I like that that pit is safety-walled off on the side with the car traffic, but the pedestrian side has been left totally un-walled. Just like Korea.
Seven brave souls for the journey this week
I like the colors in this photo.
And then the climb to Black Rock commences
I’d definitely need my trekking pole.
A balloon vendor. That’s something you don’t see every day.
We all float down here.
Ministry of Lectors? Sounds rather cannibalistic to me.
Probably more benign than Hannibal. The French lecteur means “reader.” In the Catholic Church, lector has a more specific meaning.
Apparently, the so-called manager has no real authority in the bar.
What about Daddy Dave? And if I ordered a Coke, would that also not be a “local drink”? Coke comes from outside the PI, after all. (But you were at a different bar, ja?)
I take it as a challenge to consume my money’s worth. … But the real culprit in my missing my calorie goal yesterday was the twelve San Mig Zeros I downed during the evening.
Gee, who could’ve seen that coming?
In the picture of Swan smelling the flowers, is that a spray bottle on her hip ? You had said she keeps one by the bed for when you foul the air. Are you that bad on hikes as well ?
Terry, I can blast anytime, anywhere, without warning. But that spray bottle is alcohol for cleaning her hands.
Kev, you have to be careful as a pedestrian, that’s for sure. Some of the pits are in the middle of a sidewalk with no barriers whatsoever.
Ah, now I understand the context of “lector.” Makes me hungry for more!
Daddy Dave owns Wet Spot and Green Room. He’s been hosting the SOB for over twenty years now (starting in Angeles). Seven bars participate, and the contest rotates weekly. This time it was La Oficina’s turn. Dave has no authority in that venue; he’s just there to run the show. Local drinks are the standard fare at the standard prices. Coke would be included in that. Some bars overcharge for wine; others charge prices similar to local drinks. La Oficina and Queen Victoria are the only SOB venues that wouldn’t allow Swan her wine. The stupid thing is that I offered to pay the difference in the price of a local drink, and they still refused.
I do keep count of what I imbibe these days, but I was in the mood that night. And who knew that a few chicken fingers would cost me 500 calories?