A cabbie’s life, treacherous bike riding, RVs are some people’s heaven, the trolley at night, big rigs near Rosecrans, why we drive freeways, a bus driver’s day, and this skateboarder knows San Diego
Various Authors 4:09 p.m., May 27
Dick’s is all screwed up.
You know Dick’s Last Resort (345 Fourth Avenue (between J and K Streets), Gaslamp downtown, 619-231-9100). It’s the place that’s famous for its shenanegans, where the waiters are there just to mess you up, bad.
(Like, last time I came in, the waitress was barking at a customer who wanted to pay up and go. “Besides, you haven’t drunk enough yet. We have rules!”
(OK, she was just giving him a hard time, like she’s paid to.)
Well, it’s cleaning up.
Not the waiters. Not the service. Just the patio.
Was it this cold snap we’ve just had? Whatever, they’re digging trenches for gas lines for new, mo’better heaters in the patio.
And while they’re at it, they’re repainting and – best part – adding new off-color jokes all over the walls. But the food carries on. Those delectable tidbits like Crabby Balls, Mother-Cluckin’ Good Chicky Wings, and Love Me Tenders (chicken tenders). Me, I’d go for the Crawdaddies or the Gator Bites. About eight bucks.
Actually, there may be better eateries, but if you’re in a party mood, there ain’t no funner place to go to in this town. Some of those waiters should have their own TV show. With you, the customer, as their victim, natch.
And that new, warmer patio? They’re promising it’ll be ready tomorrow (Saturday). But they sound like it’s a race, like “Are you sure, dude?”