There used to be a notorious cocktail bar on Haight Street called the Persian Aub Zam Zam Room. The bartender was a cranky old guy named Bruno. When you walked in, he’d size you up and if he didn’t like the looks of you, he’d simply refuse to serve you. Sometimes he’d make up an excuse like “there are no more seats” when the place would be totally empty. He’d also turn on you if you ordered the wrong drink, like, say, a Sex on the Beach or a vodka martini. I only drank there twice, and both times ordered a martini dry, once with olive, and once with glass onion, and he didn’t kick me out. But I saw him turn away some preppy looking kids who seemed tentative, and that fearful vibe clearly triggered old Bruno.
In another bar on Lower Nob Hill, the owners had set up a bed frame and mattress right in the bar for the owner’s elderly mom/grandma to sleep in. The bed was actually pretty close to the entrance, so when you walked in, on the left was the bar and on the right was this old lady lying in bed. They’d hung a TV from the ceiling so she could watch it all day. She never paid any attention to anyone who came in the door.
A not-weird bar was the Nightbreak (also in the Haight, where Amoeba Records is located now). It was sort of the CBGBs of San Francisco at the time. I only mention it because I saw the Melvins there with about 8 other people.
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