The Wet Spot

Very nice as far as ‘dive bars’ go. The baristas were a bit ditzy — after my gal ordered a drink, the girl who took her order disappeared for 20 minutes and came back chewing on a chicken wing that her daughter had prepared in the kitchen. After making small talk with us, my companion had to remind her that she’d ordered a drink 20 minutes before and was still waiting for it. We met ‘Billy Ray from Palm Bay’ and he was a trip. Drinks were strong, for some reason all the HDTVs were turned off so no basketball viewing for us. Overall, very cheap visit, and we’ll do it again if we’re in the area. Billy Ray only mildly hit on my female companion and backed off once I told him she was carrying my baby (she wasn’t, but hey it was fun to see his reaction).

Bartenders make or break a bar. Most of my favorite bartenders no longer work here. The new girls are nice, and if they last long enough, they’ll get some more personality and skill. Ladies night is no longer 2 for 1 u call it. Now it is only wells and beer. Still usually an entertaining place to haunt, but I’m no longer a regular.

Okay, you don’t go to a place called THE WET SPOT expecting The Ritz. I went in with a friend, and when we walked in a bartender was bent over on the bar getting spanked from an older patron. If your response is not «Holy shit that’s so sloppy drunk stupid it’s hilarious!» then get the fuck out of Dodge! If you don’t love it or leave it then you’re no smarter than they; I don’t care what book learnin’ you got!
Free pool at happy hour which seems to last until midnight. Drunk, fat, old, young, and the almost-​not-​ugly are all represented here. Don’t eat, just drink and be merry. That’s what the locals do and that’s why the bathroom reeks of vomit and poor aim. Service takes forever but it’s understandable when one bartender is biting the other on her ass. These things just take time.

AAAAAAAAHHHH!!! Get me outa here!
I and two friends went here one night on a whim. We were driving and thirsty and needed to kill some time, so we decided to stop at the first bar we saw. This was it.
We walk in and I swear, it was like one of those scenes in a movie where time stops. The jukebox screeched to a halt (not really), pool games stopped, leaving clouds of chalk dust and spinning cues. And red eyes gleamed as everyone turned to the door to see whom had just entered their realm.
Perhaps this was the first time 3 rather good looking, young, college educated, anti-​Nascar, fully toothed, non-​inbred gentlemen, had ever graced their «establishment» with their presence. And hopefully the last. After the crowd adjusted to the increase in gross IQ, they resumed their activities.
We approached the bar and I went ahead and ordered for all of us to speed the process along. «3 PBR’s» I said to the not-​as-​unattractive-​as-​you-​might-​think bartender. After the sneer and questioning look she returned with them.
**Sidebar**; I personally love PBR and think it is the most underappreciated adult beverage (next to Zima of course) there is. I also choose, not settle to drink it. In NYC its funny how trendy and often overpriced it is. However, in FL Ive found that it is apparently not so popular and often snickered at by those who drink it, for lack of taste (of the person, not the beer) as well as lack of funds.
So, we pop open our cans and toast to having no more or less chromosomes than one should have. Then a passerby asks us if we’re «A coupla queers or sum’n?», too which I chuckle and reply «No. Why?» Apperently PBR is only for penis owners who enjoy other penises. News to me. After Homophoby McNazi departed us, I went to use the mens room (hoping for a peak, Im sure he assumed).
When I came back my friends were not at our previous location. After checking the pool tables and surrounding vicinity, I assumed they high-​tailed it. So I grabbed my barely touched beverage (waste not want not) and followed suit.
When I got back to car I was updated on the recent events that I had missed, whilst Larry Craig’ing. Apparently some other auburn-​necked fellow asked about our choice of beer and sexual preference. I guess he didnt like the reply he received, because his response was to pull out his concealed knife he was carrying and brandish it in front of their faces. I guess that was the straw that broke camels back, cuz they were out.
Now I dont want to come off sounding all «high-​falutin», because I come from a farming family in the country. So I know and understand country (im fluent in Hillbilly), but this was C-​O-​U-​N-​T-​R-​Y, like back woods country, but in a beach town. I dont know, go figure. All I can say is, without meaning to sound gross… Avoid the Wet Spot.