I was in a bar. It was in the Greenpoint section of Brooklyn where you often find a division between young artistic types and life-long Polish locals. We went to this specific bar because we were celebrating our friends birthday. I have been to said bar a few times a couple years back and found it welcoming, often empty and having the perfect dive bar jukebox. When we walked in everything we saw was not what I expected to see.
The first thing that struck me was the bar was packed, jammed from bar to wall and back again. I then noticed everyone was white and most of the men had confederate flags on the back of their clothing.
Warning bells sounded quietly between my ears.
I needed to find the birthday boy and assess the situation. Thankfully the birthday boy is on the taller end of the spectrum so I spotted him in the doorway at the back of the bar that leads to a second room where bands often perform. I cut through the confederate crowd to say hello. What the birthday boy was watching made me stop dead in my tracks. Inside the backroom was even more men, most wearing the flag of the confederacy on their clothing, socializing with each other while an older man well in his 60's played bass in the middle of the room singing a Tom Petty song as another man strummed along on an acoustic guitar in the corner. The horrible Tom Petty rendition did not make my jaw drop but it was the confederate flags draped from wall to wall. I gave the birthday boy a look of wonder. I tried to figure out where we were because it did not feel like we were in Brooklyn in anymore. We shrugged it off and decided that instead of heading for the door we will jump right in and see what happens so we headed for the bar to order ourselves a drink.
Warning bells sounded quietly between my ears.
I needed to find the birthday boy and assess the situation. Thankfully the birthday boy is on the taller end of the spectrum so I spotted him in the doorway at the back of the bar that leads to a second room where bands often perform. I cut through the confederate crowd to say hello. What the birthday boy was watching made me stop dead in my tracks. Inside the backroom was even more men, most wearing the flag of the confederacy on their clothing, socializing with each other while an older man well in his 60's played bass in the middle of the room singing a Tom Petty song as another man strummed along on an acoustic guitar in the corner. The horrible Tom Petty rendition did not make my jaw drop but it was the confederate flags draped from wall to wall. I gave the birthday boy a look of wonder. I tried to figure out where we were because it did not feel like we were in Brooklyn in anymore. We shrugged it off and decided that instead of heading for the door we will jump right in and see what happens so we headed for the bar to order ourselves a drink.
The crowd was boisterous and excited to be together. I wondered if this was a reunion or some anniversary related to the South. I tried to eavesdrop to hear what they were talking about but it was inaudible except for laughter and the occasional curse word. Our small group gathered around the last remaining table and let the swirl of Confederates enjoying their time up North but we all knew this was their home and their support showed literally on the sleeve.
The night carried on and as we consumed more beers and celebrated birthday boy's big day we decided we were not leaving. We were there and if we left it was from them kicking us out of their gathering. We were paying customers and if they did not like us we were going to wait to hear it from them directly. The looks and laughter we got was not enough to shoo us away.
It seemed that the confederate women, all well into their 40's, were celebrating their time together by doing copious amounts of cocaine. We found this out when one of these women, who pushed a friend of mine out of the way while standing at the bar, loudly announced that she had lost her cocaine and proceeded to ask my pal if he had it. He politely said he did not just as she found it buried in her fist full of dollars and let my friend know she had "18 more bags". The cocaine confederate then began to admire my other friends brand new tattoo on his forearm by rubbing her dirty, sweaty, confederate-supporting hands down his fresh ink. Even for him, who takes everything in stride, was disgusted by her actions. Later on the evening a female friend of mine went to the bathroom to find the same tattoo-touching woman and her six friends in the bathroom talking loudly about something I do not know before they turned their conversation towards my friend.
"Where are you from?"
"Brooklyn."
"No. Where are you really from?"
"Brooklyn."
"Where were you born?"
"Brooklyn?"
"Where?"
"Bay Ridge."
(silence.)
"Well, you're a hipster," one said as they erupted in laughter.
As the night progressed they Confederates were starting to show their true colors and we began to find it more entertaining. We continued to sit around our table by the entrance as more friends arrived to take part in the celebration. It was then when we heard shouting coming from the street. We all stood up and saw two men fighting in the middle of the street, rolling around on the ground, ripping each others shirts apart. I looked towards my Asian friend and half-jokingly told him he should hide as he may be next. Before you knew it the fight was broken up and the two men were arm-in-arm, speaking closely in each others ears. I wondered if it was an initiation or if they were part of the same close knit Confederate family so they mustn't fight but love thy brother always.
As the smoked cleared I walked outside to have myself a cigarette and from one of their cars I heard "40" by U2. I had not heard that song in years and even with all the chaos around me it brought a smile to my face.
"Maybe these Confederates are alright," I thought to myself.
"Maybe these Confederates are alright," I thought to myself.
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