New evidence of the world’s decadence

The other evening I stopped in at the Waterloo Ice House on 38th Street to share a beer and a plate of nachos with a friend, and to pick his brain for advice about what I might be doing different in my job search, and how to deal with explaining in an interview that I’ve been out of work for so long.  He’s BTDT himself before, so I figured I might as well ask an expert.

I’ve been going to various locations of the Waterloo for years, ever since the very first shotgun storefront in the 900 block of Congress Avenue where all the contempo-folkie bands used to play (great example:  the legendary Uncle Walt’s Band) in the days before the Cactus Cafe.  It was one of those joints where you went to eat great greasy burgers (not quite in the same class as Dirty Martin’s, but not far behind, either) and drink Shiner Bock, in the days when that was just an unknown local favorite and not a boutique beer.  (Steven Clark, the former owner, used to have the staff save flip-top beer bottles for me in the days when I was building up my homebrew bottle collection.)

And above all else, the Ice House was a do-it-yourself sort of joint.  You read the bill of fare off the huge blackboard above the counter, ordered your burgers and beer right there, walked back and picked them up when they called your number, and carried it all to your own table.  If you couldn’t carry your own food and drink, you better have a broken arm or leg or be too drunk to walk, or else you were gonna get laughed and pointed at as a dude or a damyankee, and either way, you didn’t have any business in there, so just go on about yer business, Buster Brown.

So I was startled—almost shocked—when we walked in and a girl came up to us and asked “Would you like to sit inside or outside?”  Whaaaaaaaa . . . ?  Seating has always been “pitch ’til you win.”  What’s this “being seated” business about?

It got worse.  Once she sat us down (outside), she handed us menus and then asked if she could TAKE OUR ORDERS!!

Take our orders.  Jesus, Mary and Joseph.  One of the few remaining bits of the funky Old Hippie Austin that I loved, and they’ve gone and got waitresses and directed seating and gods know what else.  Next thing I know they’ll put the staff in white ties and black slacks instead of T-shirts and worn jeans, and it won’t even be worth going there at all any more.

At least the nachos were still good, and they still have Shiner Bock on the beer list.