Vernal, Utah
John (Pat’s friend from college) had been living in Vernal, Utah and was soon to ship out to Malaysia for at least 2 years. Pat and I stopped by for outdoor fun and hanging. The last thing you expect to happen when traveling to Utah is a night of debauchery.
After a day and a half of boating, biking, shooting guns, and hot tub poaching, we took a trip to the best local bar. To get there, the seven of us hopped into John’s Coachman RV, aptly dubbed The Roachman. We parked and John popped the hood and unplugged the battery. Apparently The Roachman has some wiring issues. Aside from one other guy and Traci, the bartender, we were the only people in the place.
Incase you’ve never gotten to experience Utah, there are special rules when it comes to alcohol. Beer is weaker, alcohol wise, than in other states. When you order a mixed drink, you get one shot of liquor per drink. A Long Island Iced Tea is not a volatile mix of booze; a margarita tastes more like candy than tequila. A shot of liquor is limited by a specialized bottle top that clicks into a counting and metering device. Once a shot has been poured, the bottle top closes and no more liquor can be extracted. In theory, this would seem to be a helpful measure. In reality, this didn’t stop one of our bar-mates from getting sauced, rowdy, and deciding that Traci needed help behind the bar.
After joining Traci behind the bar, Ryan realized that the bottle tops were thwarting his cocktail fixing tactics. I figured he would click the ridiculous pieces together at least twice per drink, but that wasn’t the case. Using his teeth, Ryan gnawed off the top of a bottle and proceeded to pour glasses full of Jack. Typically I would expect the bartender to put a stop to this, but she didn’t.
As you can imagine, all this went down well into the night or early morning, and we weren’t in any state to be driving the Roachman home. Being of good humor and a caring citizen, Traci offered to drive us home in the RV. First we take over her bar, and then we have her cart us around. Before reaching John’s home we stopped by the Maverick gas station and the boys bought the place out of hot dogs. Sweet Jesus. So there we were, hot dogs and chips in hand. Swaying back and forth in the RV as it cruised the empty streets of Vernal, UT. Ghetto Taxi? If it isn’t a reality TV show, it damn well should be.
After a day and a half of boating, biking, shooting guns, and hot tub poaching, we took a trip to the best local bar. To get there, the seven of us hopped into John’s Coachman RV, aptly dubbed The Roachman. We parked and John popped the hood and unplugged the battery. Apparently The Roachman has some wiring issues. Aside from one other guy and Traci, the bartender, we were the only people in the place. Incase you’ve never gotten to experience Utah, there are special rules when it comes to alcohol. Beer is weaker, alcohol wise, than in other states. When you order a mixed drink, you get one shot of liquor per drink. A Long Island Iced Tea is not a volatile mix of booze; a margarita tastes more like candy than tequila. A shot of liquor is limited by a specialized bottle top that clicks into a counting and metering device. Once a shot has been poured, the bottle top closes and no more liquor can be extracted. In theory, this would seem to be a helpful measure. In reality, this didn’t stop one of our bar-mates from getting sauced, rowdy, and deciding that Traci needed help behind the bar.
After joining Traci behind the bar, Ryan realized that the bottle tops were thwarting his cocktail fixing tactics. I figured he would click the ridiculous pieces together at least twice per drink, but that wasn’t the case. Using his teeth, Ryan gnawed off the top of a bottle and proceeded to pour glasses full of Jack. Typically I would expect the bartender to put a stop to this, but she didn’t.
As you can imagine, all this went down well into the night or early morning, and we weren’t in any state to be driving the Roachman home. Being of good humor and a caring citizen, Traci offered to drive us home in the RV. First we take over her bar, and then we have her cart us around. Before reaching John’s home we stopped by the Maverick gas station and the boys bought the place out of hot dogs. Sweet Jesus. So there we were, hot dogs and chips in hand. Swaying back and forth in the RV as it cruised the empty streets of Vernal, UT. Ghetto Taxi? If it isn’t a reality TV show, it damn well should be.
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