Monday, March 16, 2009

BELIZE: Jet's Bar

“You’re going to hate every one of them,” Tania said. She handed me the American Airlines in-flight magazine. It was an article about travelers. I hate travelers. They interviewed five travelers and asked them a standard set of questions. Like most travelers, they were show offs. “This one time when I was in Peru…” Fuck off. Yeah, Tania was right, I hated every single one of them. They had stupid advice like, “If you want your destination to be like home, then stay home.” Yeah, I agree with that, you’re right, but fuck right off asshole. Total douche bags.

One of their questions was, “Best airport bar?” They all had really exotic locations, like all assholes do. “Milan, Milan, Milan.” I didn’t have an answer to the question when I was reading it, but it wasn’t long after we landed—and I had folded the magazine up into the seat pocket in front of me—that we discovered the best airport bar in the world. Airport bar? I have a love/hate relationship with them. I hate the prices and I hate the people (“Are you coming or going?”), but I love them. For one, they all look the same. Familiarity is such an American thing. It’s gross, but that’s how I grew up. I’m a product of my environment. I experience a strange comfort at airport bars. They’re stupid. And traveling is stupid. So it all matches up, yeah? But we found an airport bar like no other. It really is the best airport bar in the world: Jet’s Bar, at the Belize International airport.

Jet personalizes your visit to his bar.

It’s in the corner of a small, five-gate terminal. There’s shops and shit that sell crap. They all sell the same shit. Belize tshirts, etc.. Everything has “81” on it because, apparently, Belize became a country in 1981? Anyway, It’s small terminal. But then there’s this bar. There’s no sign. It’s just a bar. Me and Tania dove right in. “Cool,” I said. I have an affinity for local shit. “Really? It looks horrible and weird?” I’m all over it. And Jet’s was horribly shitty.

I was totally wearing a cowboy hat, too, because nothing says, "I'm a total tool" when you're traveling better than a cowboy hat. This should be in VICE's "dont's" column. I'm no fashion expert, but there's no better mismatch than a cowboy hat and flip flops. Way to go asshole.

Jet’s is a barrage of shit. Shit everywhere. Mostly patches. Like military patches. And photos. Photos with Jet. Every photo had Jet in it. Jet is a little fucking fucker. He’s about four feet tall. He’s tiny. A Munchkin. And like the Munchkins, he has a really weird high voice. I don’t know how he did it, because he’s weird as shit, but that bar has been there for 40 years. “Coldest beer in town, best hot dogs in Belize, and best rum punch in the world,” he said. I heard him say it over and over again.

It was always funny watching a white person approach. He’d attack from behind. “WHAT CAN I GET YOU?” he’d say in his high little voice to their ass. What kind of a bar are you approached from behind? It was understandable how some people would recoil, but I hated every one of them. It was like a litmus test, seeing how people reacted to a little N-word midget asking them what they wanted. “Hotdog?” he’d ask. The ones that were grossed out were fucking assholes. You wouldn’t want them around anyway. “Hotdog? Oh my god, like, that’s sooooo gross!” Get the fuck out of here, jerk wad. But the ones that were like, “Hotdog? Really? Yeah, fuck yeah!” were cool.

That was one of the coolest things about Jet’s: they served two things, hotdogs and booze. Although there was some details that accompanied both. You could get any drink you wanted (if you were a dick), but they were pushing rum punch and beer. That’s it. “Best rum punch in Belize,” Jet said. As for food, they had hot dogs. They had Pringles, too, but they didn’t mention those. The Pringles came in the can, of course, but the hot dog came with mustard, ketchup, mayo, relish, onions, and hot sauce. “Best hot dog in Belize,” Jet said. How could you not get one? I hated every vegetarian donkey fucker that turned their nose up to even the suggestion of a hot dog. Because even if I were vegetarian, I would have ordered a hot dog from that man. “Hot dogs?” they’d say. “Please…” and walk away. How dare they?

Best hot dog in Belize!

Incidentally, it WAS the best hot dog in Belize. And that’s only because it was the only hot dog I had in Belize. It was the best. The rum punch? I had a lot of rum punch in Belize and I hate to admit it, but Jet’s was not the best rum punch I had in Belize. It was good, but it didn’t win the trophy. It did get me hooked on rum punch, though. More on that later. Mmmm, rum punch…

Best rum punch in Belize! Just drink it and shut up.

All around the bar are pictures of Jet. I noticed that in every picture he’s posing with ladies. I threw Tania under the bus immediately. “Jet!” I said over the bar, “Can we get a photo with you?” He looked at me. Then he looked at Tania. I’m pretty sure he looked straight at her tits. “Yeah,” he said in a very tired manner. He was famous and had been posing with ladies for years. “C’mere,” he said to Tania, motioning that she should walk around the bar. Tania shot me a “whatthefuck?” but I just shrugged and gave her the, “Too late now?” look. Do it.

Jet is tit-height. And, like most men, Jet loves tits. Tania went around the bar and put her arm around the little man. The little man put his arm around Tania and slammed his face into her boobs. Tania could not stop talking about how hard he pressed his face into her boobs. Apparently Jet really REALLY likes boobs. And then after looking at all the photos on the bar more closely, I realized he slammed his face into every woman’s bosom. If it were anyone else, I’d have fought him. Instead, I just ordered another rum punch and a hot dog. And giggled my ass off. Tania felt violated. But, like, funny violated. I mean, really? Wouldn’t you slam your face into Tania’s boobs if given the chance? I do it all the time. But I’m afraid you’re not offered that opportunity unless you’re a four foot tall little N-word that makes the best hot dogs and rum punch in Belize. Plaze.


Anonymous said...

Fuck I hate "travelers" too. When ever they get back all they can do is tell you how much better some other system/culture is than ours. You should bring home whatever great local booze they have there, I guarantee it will taste like shit in the States.

RyGar said...

Please don't write "n-word." It's cowardly. Like you have the balls to think it, but then not say it. Commit, Dave, we know you can. Nigger-Faggot-Cunt-Dyke. Wheeeee! Swearing is fun and clever. (Maybe you are also using this piece somewhere else?)As much as I like boobs, I don't normally thrust my head into them in an aggressive manner. Though, I may start.

kool-aide-mustache said...

Although he probably only does it to get in better position for breast mashing, I applaud him for coming from behind the bar and sneaking up behind you to get your drink order. A sniper order, if you will. I like a curve ball whipped at me when getting drunk in other cities/countries. Only a good drunk could respond and interact with him without feeling threatened. I probably would have ordered anything he offered. “Tussin, sir?” Sure, make it a double. You guys should have packed him up in your carry-on bag and brought his lil ass back to LA where he could make you rum punch and dogs indefinitely. But alas, there'd be a void in Belize's sacred Jet's tavern forever. Ze-plane, Ze-plane!

gbrl said...

why is jet pointing into the camera?

Tasty Morsel said...

Always envious of the Food On Drunk journeys...we settled for sausages in downtown L.A.

Anonymous said...

Just got back from Belize and does press hard into the boobs. I thought I might need a rape kit.

tacogirl said...

too funny - hi from Ambergris Caye.

Anonymous said...

Elements of Style, Part V, No. 9: Do Not Affect a Breezy Manner. I think this applies not only to the Jet piece, but also to your body of work.

Read and heed.

Anonymous said...

Elements of Style, Part V, No. 9: Do Not Affect a Breezy Manner. I think this applies not only to the Jet piece, but also to your body of work.

Read and heed.