Living in the Scoot Utopia

This past Friday afternoon Seth joined me for another walking barhopping trip, this one through the Greater Downtown Area.

Apart from being able to say that we walked 6.5 miles and had 16 drinks at 14 bars (plus one extra drink/bar for me at the very end of the night), the details about this particular trip will remain under wraps for now because they are part of a larger project that I am not yet ready to discuss.

However, there was one particular stop on this journey that was just too much fun to not divulge the dirt on now. It was Stop #6 on our tour.

It was closing in on 4:30 as we headed east on 12th Street towards our next quarry. A block before we got there, we came across the grisly scene of a horrific bicycle accident.

After spending a few minutes here we proceeded east to McGee to find our bar.

Arriving at 12th & McGee, we looked in both directions trying to find our bar. "I don't know the address," I said, "but it's supposed to be around here somewhere."

We walked north to 11th and didn't find anything. We walked south almost to 13th and still didn't find anything. "It must have gone out of business," I said. We decided to give up and head off to the next place on our list. As I gave a nearby building one last quick glance over my shoulder, I suddenly spotted a tiny, unlit sign in a window. "Found it!" I shouted.

STOP 6 - 4:40pm - Zoo Bar, 1220 McGee. This tiny sliver at the end of a building was the highlight of the day. We stepped in the door and immediately realized we were strangers walking into a place populated entirely by locals, but one woman moved her purse and made room so that the two of us could sit down.

"What do you have on tap?", Seth asked the barkeep.

"Absolutely nothing," she replied. From that moment we knew this would be our favorite stop.

As we drank our cans of Miller Lite and looked around, we noticed the various taxidermical displays, the shelves of liquor that seemed to be leaning forward, and decades of writing covering the walls scrawled on by patrons. From the writing on the wall, it seems a regular named Larry has bought a round once every couple of years or so since at least 1993. Before long Larry arrived. (Though he did not buy us a round.)

We all discussed the tragedy that had taken place a block a away. A few of the drinkers were actually stranded because their cars were parked inside the crime scene area. Several very funny jokes were made, most of them ought not be repeated. We all paused for a moment as the TV aired a live update about the accident. Then a gentleman at the end of the bar wondered aloud if the victim was "one of them 'Bees'" (the Downtown Community Improvement District workers in the yellow and black uniforms).

"I hope not," said a woman two bar stools away. "They help keep out the riff-raff. ... You know that old bus stop on 13th that's not used anymore? I looked out the office window and I saw two people out there. And I looked at them and I turned to my coworker and I said 'Call the DCID, those people are fucking!'"

"Excuse me, " Seth asked, "Did you say they were fucking?"

"Yeah, fucking, right there in broad daylight."

"As in 'fucking' fucking?" Seth quizzed.

"Yep, she was straddled on his lap, and they were all grinding up and down."

A few minutes later the weather report came up on TV, and whenever you start talking about the weather in a bar in Kansas City, inevitably the topic of Katie Horner is going to come up.

"I'm afraid to turn on the TV on a sunny day," began Larry the super-regular. "She's liable to ruin the whole fuckin' day. She'll say someone having too much fun might have a heart attack and die."

"Everyone stay indoors and take cover!" quipped another regular, waiving his arms in the air.

"Damn right," Larry said. "This bitch is ate up with the dumb shits."

After a round of laughter, another patron added, "You all know those dog collars they use to train puppies, so that you can give a yank and they tighten up to let the puppy know it's doing something bad? Katie Horner's bosses ought to put one on her."

We did not want to have to leave this place, but the clock was ticking and we had more places to visit. But just before we left, Seth noticed that the older guy to his right, with a white flowing beard, was drinking Goldschlager.

"So what's the deal with that, is that really flakes of gold?" Seth asked him.

"That's right, it's good for you. Minerals. A couple shots of Goldschlager and then some shots of Patron, you'll be shitting gold Mexican coins the next day. (pause) But they ain't worth shit."

Ahhh... the Zoo Bar. Where every day is Wrong Thursday. I can't wait to go back.