Forty Bucks and A Dream, Stories of Los Angeles: Chapter 8: The Code of the Cop Bar
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BESIDES THE 15 WOODEN GUN LOCKERS MOUNTED on the back wall between the bathrooms, there's nothing about the Short Stop that immediately gives it away as an LAPD hangout. While it may be heavy on department paraphernalia -- a display case full of miniature badges; fliers announcing retirement parties; a memorial plaque for a young officer killed in the line of duty -- the narrow room looks like any other Everyman bar, with baseball pennants and Bud pitchers and a jukebox in the corner. It often takes newcomers a minute to realize they've entered a cop bar, and it is kind of fun to watch: Some hipster will wander in off the street, order a beer and take a stool. A few moments later, you'll see him indirectly eyeing the other customers, considering their short hair, thick necks, the occasional holster, the propensity toward mustaches. And then, as often as not, you'll see his back stiffen, as he runs a moral checklist the way one might, under different social circumstances, check for B.O.: Have I done anything I need to be worried about? Do I have a roach in my watch pocket? If I drink this beer too quickly, will I arouse suspicion? They usually don't come back. While various locals -- neighborhood bohos referred to as “the artsy-fartsies,” working Joes -- can be found at the Short Stop, it's not the easiest place to relax, a fact that has nothing whatsoever to do with hospitality; the bartenders will introduce you to your neighbor and remember what you drink. Rather it's the discomfort factor between “us” and “them” that dissuades most people who aren't involved in law enforcement -- a category that includes officers, detectives, firemen, 911 operators, court reporters -- from hanging out here, a perceived division that seems to be based not on behavior so much as shared experience.“The first time I went there, I was dressed in sort of dominatrix wear -- a pink Naugahyde jacket and a Legionnaire's cap with a little bill,” a freelance photographer says. “I walk in with my friends, basically a bunch of artists from Silver Lake, and this one customer says, 'You're never gonna get served unless I buy you one. I'll buy your first, but it'll be your last.' So we drink up, and as we're leaving, this cop stops me, looks into my eyes and says, 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me.' And I thought, 'Whoa, and they think we're freaks.'“
Forty Bucks and A Dream, Stories of Los Angeles: Chapter 8: The Code of the Cop Bar
Forty Bucks and A Dream, Stories of Los…
Forty Bucks and A Dream, Stories of Los Angeles: Chapter 8: The Code of the Cop Bar
BESIDES THE 15 WOODEN GUN LOCKERS MOUNTED on the back wall between the bathrooms, there's nothing about the Short Stop that immediately gives it away as an LAPD hangout. While it may be heavy on department paraphernalia -- a display case full of miniature badges; fliers announcing retirement parties; a memorial plaque for a young officer killed in the line of duty -- the narrow room looks like any other Everyman bar, with baseball pennants and Bud pitchers and a jukebox in the corner. It often takes newcomers a minute to realize they've entered a cop bar, and it is kind of fun to watch: Some hipster will wander in off the street, order a beer and take a stool. A few moments later, you'll see him indirectly eyeing the other customers, considering their short hair, thick necks, the occasional holster, the propensity toward mustaches. And then, as often as not, you'll see his back stiffen, as he runs a moral checklist the way one might, under different social circumstances, check for B.O.: Have I done anything I need to be worried about? Do I have a roach in my watch pocket? If I drink this beer too quickly, will I arouse suspicion? They usually don't come back. While various locals -- neighborhood bohos referred to as “the artsy-fartsies,” working Joes -- can be found at the Short Stop, it's not the easiest place to relax, a fact that has nothing whatsoever to do with hospitality; the bartenders will introduce you to your neighbor and remember what you drink. Rather it's the discomfort factor between “us” and “them” that dissuades most people who aren't involved in law enforcement -- a category that includes officers, detectives, firemen, 911 operators, court reporters -- from hanging out here, a perceived division that seems to be based not on behavior so much as shared experience.“The first time I went there, I was dressed in sort of dominatrix wear -- a pink Naugahyde jacket and a Legionnaire's cap with a little bill,” a freelance photographer says. “I walk in with my friends, basically a bunch of artists from Silver Lake, and this one customer says, 'You're never gonna get served unless I buy you one. I'll buy your first, but it'll be your last.' So we drink up, and as we're leaving, this cop stops me, looks into my eyes and says, 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me.' And I thought, 'Whoa, and they think we're freaks.'“