Down the coast at the Old Catalyst, Kristie walked into the bar and ordered a beer. “Can I see your ID?” the bartender asked. She pulled out her passport and offered it to him as proof that she was in fact twenty-two.
“I need to see a California Drivers’ License,” the bartender insisted.
“I’ve been traveling all over the world. It’s a recognized international form of identification,” Kristie suggested.
“Sorry, Boss’s orders.”
“Fuck,” she whispered under her breath as she went out to the main room which featured huge wall-like windows with a fountain in the middle.
It was the Bohemian gathering place. Hippies, students, old timers, and business people sat in groups of twos or threes drinking coffee, eating lunch, reading, studying, playing chess, and chatting in friendly camaraderie as people will.
Kristie sat down with several students she was friendly with. They had just ordered a pitcher of beer. “Hey, you wanna glass?” one of the guys offered.
“I don’t know. They just refused me in the bar.”
“What? Really? Why?” They were all curious.
“They don’t accept passports as proof of identification.”
The friend poured her a glass in defiance. “Here, take this,” he said.
Kristie looked around hesitantly, “Well, OK…”
As soon as she raised the glass to her lips, a big bear of a man – security- came over and bellowed, “You’re 86’d! Come back when you have the proper ID!”
“You don’t understand. I don’t drive. How will I ever be allowed in here?”
“Well, you are 86’d for today. But if you come back tomorrow, you can’t drink without a California Drivers’ License.”
It was two years until Kristie was finally able to drink there. She conquered her fear of driving and got her license in an old sputtering VW Bug. The car stalled out at the beginning of the test, but then made it through enough for her to pass. The guy assessing her driving ability just had her drive around two blocks and back to the DMV.
“Thank goodness! No parallel parking and no freeway merging!” Those were the two skills she never quite managed to acquire.
She was proud to show off her new license to the bouncer at The Old Catalyst, but she vowed she would never purchase anything to drink there with her own money. Of course, she would accept the kindness of strangers whenever they offered.
There was a great jazz singer she really wanted to see who was performing there. She scraped enough change and one dollar bills together to make the cover. She sat in the back off to one side dressed in her black platform heels and tight sleeveless black pant suit.
When the waiter came to take her order she quietly explained that she had spent all her money on the cover and asked for a glass of water. At the end of the set, the singer came over to flirt, introduced himself, and bought her a vodka and tonic.
When she began performing there with a popular Dixieland group, guys looking for a chance bought her drinks. At times she would have three or four drinks lined up on the table which she would either give away to friends or leave to get flat by the end of the night.
It was at the Old Catalyst where she met the love of her life, Jack… and yes, he bought her a drink – four drinks actually.
(First published 3/27/13)
