I blew into Reedsport a couple days after the Reopening. I would have bet a thousand bucks the Tides Inn wouldn’t have been open. No way this OTA joint would comply with a commie Governor’s Phase 1 edicts.
It was open! I walked in and beheld a full house, everyone social distancing, drinking beers and rum and cokes and losing at video slots. Giddiness reigned. A state of giddiness in OTA country is utter heresy. We like it underwater.
But prison was over, somewhat, and the patrons were in a jovial mood. The talk was of new gun and flatscreen purchases and the various home improvement projects completed. But an OTA man can only home improve for so long! He needs to drink and gamble and bullshit.
I ordered a hippie IPA and sat near the trophy case.
A rodeo played on television. A bull threw a cowboy against the boards. He didn’t get up. Good.
One guy decided he had to leave. He said, “I got to see if I still have a wife.”
The mask-wearing bartender tossed a slab of ham on the griddle. It sizzled and soon the bar was filled up with the smell of ham.
A woman said, “Hey, it wasn’t like we were Anne Frank up in the attic! We had some freedom.”
Another man reported that an 87-year old man had been decapitated a couple days ago while riding his quad in the dunes. No one seemed particularly sad about that.
I overheard some off color jokes and the line, “I’m not a Democrat, I don’t have my head up my ass.”
God I have missed the banter! The stories! I thought I was finished writing about OTA country. It occurred to me in the Tides Inn that I would never stop writing about OTA country. It just got a lot more interesting.