“I think this looks like the right place. Looks dive bar-y enough to be it for sure.”
We walked into The Brothers with confidence. It was going to be a good night.
Dim lights: Check
Cheap booze: Check
Pool table: Check
While it was a little cleaner than I thought it would be, that doesn’t negate the fact that we were heading into some serious dive bars for the night.
We could smell the smoke permeated furniture from decades of smoky evenings long after the smoking ban went into effect in Omaha. The pinball machine could be heard pinging softly in the back.
This is my kind of bar.
Seriously though, if you want to get the personality of a place, it should be a priority on your list. Sure we could have gone to a swanky bar downtown – but why when you have the opportunity to explore the “real” Omaha?
After a couple beers we moved on to Bud Olson Bar… also known as the bar where old men and prostitutes go to die. I like to think of it as a glorified elephant graveyard filled with beer, cat urine smells, cake on the ceiling (ask Sarah about her birthday…) and a replica of Georges Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte?
A quick round of drinks kept us on our feet and did I mention that Diana likes Jager? Yeah. It was one of THOSE nights. She was very excited about $3 shots and I decided to participate in her glee… you know, for solidarity or something.
Our night ended at their “Cheers” – Oleaver’s Pub.
This is a place I could call home. Somehow I found a perfect mix of the tattooed community and a dive bar that made me feel like I was right home at the old golden days of the Jackalope back home in Austin. Great music, random decorations, and hell, my bartender Landon even modeled for the “Men of Oleaver’s” in a calendar.
The night ended in a blur. Honestly, I was totally taking advantage of Diana being my designated driver. I was hammered and having the time of my life.
Hugs were exchanged and almost tearful goodbyes were shared. Everything ended a bit too fast.
The owner of the bar, with a flash of a grin, handed us a handful of random items to remember the night by. Last year’s employee stockings, a orange vinyl record, a screen printed poster for a random show and a bottle of lighter fluid (which we did have to pass on seeing as we still had quite the drive ahead of us) fell into our laps as we scooted out the door.
Honestly I couldn’t have asked for a better night. Serendipity at its best.
Thank you Omaha for leaving such an impression on me. I will not forget this.