Aah, a weekend getaway at the beach with some friends, what could be more relaxing? No kids. No place to be, no schedule, this is really setting the scene.
Sam purchased a livingsocial deal for a two-night stay at a beach along the Oregon Coast, Garibaldi. I had never been there and knew nothing about it. It included a wine tasting. Okay. I made the reservation and invited my good friend Rachel and my sister Yolanda.
Rachel and I left for our trip after work on Friday after work. We made pretty good time, even though Rachel drives like an elderly person (this is not a complaint necessarily, she gets us there, but there is a distinct difference between her driving and my driving: I drive like I have someplace to be, she drives like she's checking out the sights). When we were close we made one stop in Tillamook at the Fred Meyer (p-u!! the smell of cow poo was pervasive!! Strangely though, there were no cows by the Tillamook Cheese Creamery...odd???) so I could by flip-flops because I wanted to walk on the beach once we got to Garibaldi.
When we found where we were staying, we mosey'd on in there was no one at the front desk and I was tempted to ring the bell, but I vacillated because I remembered working doing mammograms and having a bell when I worked weekends and how much I hated when people rang it, or rang it repeatedly (you only need to ring it once, I heard you, there is nothing wrong with my hearing.) Fortunately, I didn't have to contemplate what to do for long, because a slack-jawed yocal came out carrying a half-consumed Coke at 5:00pm, wearing some jeans and red sweatshirt hoodie, with a haircut that looked like a flow-bee could have done the job, yet he probably paid somebody 8.99 for that hair 'style' which was 7.99 more than it was worth. This slack-jawed yocal didn't acknowledge me. Rachel was too busy looking at all the brochures they put out about things you can do in Garibaldi and the surrounding area to even notice this character, "oh, we could go kayaking, or ziplining, or ..." Slack-jaw turned when he saw me and moments later a young lady came out and did her job, adequately. Once checked in, Rachel and I went to the room and texted Yolanda to find out how far away she was and if she wanted us to wait for her before we went to dinner. (of course we did). We drank a bottle of wine while we waited.
When Yolanda finally arrived (and really, it wasn't that long, but long enough for Rachel and I to polish off a bottle of wine, which that's only two and half - three glasses per person). So we had the discussion again about where we were going for dinner and should we drive, or walk or what. We opted to walk, which limits our options and as we walked out the front door, Rachel said, "i'm intrigued by that place." That place being, The Ghosthole. Sounds horrible, because it is (present tense, because I'm sure it remains horrible).
We walk in, it's filled with locals and a couple of out-of-towners such as us (it's like an invisible line was drawn locals here out-of-towners over there) and we sit at a table by the window. There's a pool table near our table and karaoke set up in the corner. A menu is taped to the window and we wait for service. And we wait some more. Eventually someone comes over, but not with menus (because why would a server/waitress come with menus to newly seated customers who don't have them, right?) She asked what we wanted to drink. Water and wine, please. And then she said there was a menu taped to the window, but she could bring another. Yes, that'd be great, thanks, three please. Mind you after the menu arrived, I noticed the options for me were slim. I don't eat meat and I don't eat gluten. So, a garden burger no bun and tater tots, please. I don't think that gets ordered a lot, but it was that or go hungry and I was already hungry.
After "dinner?" Rachel ordered me a shot of what tasted like Malibu rum. People continued to shoot pool and lean their booty over our table. The first time I was like, WTF? I was tempted to drop a tot down someone's pants, but I didn't really want to get that close. But, then it kept happening. No matter how many times I'd say something, and not under my breath, these people were so into this pool game that they had no regard for another. We eventually became friendly with the couple at the table behind us who happened to be from out of town, Rosalinda and Joshua. They were staying at the same place as us and felt this local place was a oddity as well, but was willing to have fun anyway. Besides, after a few drinks, who cares. These people don't know me and karaoke is fun. I give the karaoke master a song that I want to sing with Rachel (the Eurythmics, Sweet Dreams) and we continue drinking and butts continue hanging our direction. One individual hung his booty over and turned after hearing me complain. I told him, his butt had been in our faces so often he should buy us a round of drinks. He said he'd buy Rachel a drink (the White girl). Uh, no. Then he proceeds with, "I like Black people but I don't like Mexicans." What? Yolanda said, "you should meet our friend Rosalinda" Apparently, this slack-jawed yocal goes by the nickname, Boomer (Sam and I had a dog named Boomer, she's dead now) and he lived in a foster home with a Black kid and so he likes Black people. Truly, this whole encounter was like a Russian Roulette game. So crazy!! Who says that?
Rosalinda asked me if I spoke to Boomer when I made my reservation, but when she referred to Boomer, she lovingly referred to him "Did this sweet baby Jesus take your reservation?" Because when he asked her for her name and she said Rosalinda, he said "oh, shit, a Mexican" and after that she said lots of discounts were applied to her visit.
A few other weird things happened while we were there. Like an encounter with someone who said he was paraplegic yet walked and seemed to have use of all four limbs; both arms and both legs, without incident but had a blind cane (perhaps he misunderstood the word paraplegic and thought inability to see with two eyes well??) and said he needed an attorney to help with collecting money for aggravating an old injury if he "slipped and fell", wink, wink. "Cuz, I heard Wal-Mart pays out 30k just to make it go away." Good luck with that, sir.
The moral of this story: avoid the Ghosthole. Drive through Garibaldi. Question livingsocial deals to small Oregon coastal towns you have never been to before. Racism. It is ever present.
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