The Applejack's Post

So even though this took place over a week ago, I'm only able to write about my experience at Applejacks now (possibly because it took that long to digest just how bizarre an experience it was). Back when I was in the Bay Area, I stayed for a night at my friend Jeff's place in La Honda (which is pretty much in the middle of nowhere). For some context, the house that hosted much of the shenanigans from the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test was pretty much right down the road. Anyway, Jeff and his roommate have a great place, surrounded by redwoods and all manner of livestock. The town of La Honda, however, is rather small: a restaurant that is open two days a week and the local
bar, Applejacks. Before entering, Jeff described Applejacks, and its regulars, perfectly, but to be honest I'm not sure there's anything he could have said that would have adequately prepared me. The bar itself is old, wooden, and charming, but it's the personalities who frequent it that really make it special. First on the list is Squeek, who occasionally brings his oxygen tank to the bar if he thinks it's going to be a particularly long
night. We met Jason, a fortysomething who, during the hour we saw him, put away probably 6 beers and as
many shots. He simply couldn't understand, what, in the name of God, Jeff and I were doing in that place: "you're from WHERE? And you're here because WHY?" Finally the bartender had to shout at him, "Goddamnit Jason for the 20th time this one is from Brooklyn, and he's visiting this one, who lives up the road."
"Yeah, no, I know that but... WHY ARE THEY HERE?" Finally he fell off his stool, stumbled out, and got into his car to drive home to Redwood City, 20 miles away.

Observing all of this was Mark, another "regular." I put "regular" in quotes because, although Mark is at Applejacks every night like clock work, he only drinks water: glass upon glass of water. The reason he does this is because about 30 years ago he was a superstar high school quarterback who had a bad acid trip. A really, really, bad acid trip: so bad, in fact, he now spends every night drinking water at Applejacks, standing alone in the middle of the bar, swaying slightly and mumbling to himself. Sometimes, when it gets hot out, they have to kick him out of Applejacks because he's wearing his "shorts" which stratigically reveal one ball.  Don't do drugs, kids.

We left after an hour or so, sober enough, and nearly knocked over two La Honda cops on the way out. We decided to walk home.

And that was the Applejacks post.