Back to Archives

Flying Boots

They loved my ass

Email Article Print Article Share on Facebook Share on Reddit Share on StumbleUpon

Bandito Betty and I took a little trip up to the South 38th and Pacific Avenue area last weekend to check out Flaming Dragon Tattoo. Directly across the street I see a neon sign that dons a blinking boot with wings. I can literally hear it screaming at me — it’s dying for me to go in and have a beer. Bandito and I call our friend and tell him that if he doesn’t hear from us in a few hours to call 911.

As we are about to enter the Flying Boots Restaurant and Spur Room we’re greeted by some patrons in the notorious outside “smoking section” that all Pierce County restaurants have acquired in the last year or so. Their livers have been well lubricated, and one of them is adorning a particularly awesome blinking Seahawk cap. I know already this joint is going to be crazy.

We rally up and plant our asses in one of the five booths. The rest of the seating is all belly up to the bar. If you look up you can make eye contact with anyone in there. This is 1) because of the small capacity, and 2) because the walls are lined with smoky mirrors. I also would suggest not having a private conversation in the Flying Boots, seeing as how everyone is within earshot. Bandito immediately warns me that an older man with a full gray ponytail stared at my ass the entire time I was sitting down.

This leads me to yet another tell-tale sign of a dive bar: When there are more than two men over the age of 60 staring you down to the point that you know they are going to go home later and masturbate to the thought of you.

Flying Boots had it all: wood paneling, upholstery on the walls, leather barstools, low ceilings, rope lights and teddy bears as it’s décor, and indoor/outdoor carpet as flooring.

Mullet count: 1

Service: so-so but friendly

Beer: cold with moderate selection

Flying Boots restaurant and Spur Room

Bar Exam Dive Grade: B+ /A-

comments powered by Disqus