I finally talked my buddy Lars into going with me to a bar that we've driven by a hundred times but never gone into. It's on one of the main drags here in Simi, and doesn't look very inviting from the road, but is named "P.C." and because of my association with the online community "Postcard" I knew that I was eventually going to go in and check it out. Without knowing exactly who was in there drinking, we would joke that it was a biker bar or something worse. But tonight, we took a deep breath and went in with the plan that if it didn't look like
our kind of place, then we would move on to one or two of the other places where we usually go and have a few.
Once inside, the place revealed itself to be a lot more reputable than
it looks on the outside. Nice carpet, beautiful curved oak bar, lots
of nice TVs playing sports. There were already quite a few people busy
drinking and laughing at tables, chairs and barstools. The place was
immaculate and warmly lit As it turns out, this is the local watering
hole for all of the long time Simi residents: children of the
ranchers and cattlemen that were here first before they started
building housing tract after housing tract, homes that were bought up
by all of the LAPD and LAFD guys and their families during the
seventies and who were followed here by people who thought that their
presence would protect this place from becoming what they didn't like
about Los Angeles. Most of these men and women were in their sixties
and seventies and, as I found out, meet up at here in the evening and
have a few before going home again for the night. Lars and I were
immediately recognized as new comers and were warmly welcomed. We had
some cold Fat Tires in pints and played darts while the regulars took
turns coming up and greeting us and explaining how this was a great
bar where nothing much ever happened. One guy told me that the
building was originally a mortuary, but that three women bought it
about forty years ago and turned it into what is was to this moment.
He pointed out one of the noble looking women getting some attention
from a few of the more handsome gentlemen as one of the owners. One
guy asked me if I knew what PC stood for, and I almost said,
"Postcard?" but he interjected, "Poor Choice." before I could answer.
I was kinda disappointed to see that the place seemed to be set up for
live music with an empty and unused stage at one end. I asked the
bartender if they have live music and he said, "not any more." Maybe
if I become a regular, I can change that.