If you know this story just from the title, then you lived it, as I don’t think any of us that were there have ever told the whole thing. Let’s set the scene: a car show in Glendive, Montana set smack-dab in the middle of a two-day bender. Take a second and look it up on the map… Glendive isn’t exactly the most popular tourist spot on Earth. Anyways, Friday night we arrived, and three of us decided to check out downtown. What goes on in Glendive, Montana on a Friday night in June? NOTHING! Somewhere around five bars were open, and there weren’t enough people in any of them to fill the stools. Brutal. The only saving grace was the fact that one of us didn’t drink, and we didn’t have to walk.
The show went on all day Saturday, and what better to finish off a Saturday with than a Saturday night? This time, however, all three of us were ready to party, so we walked. How far was our motel from the bar district, you ask? Two miles. This was the Delila’s Donair walk three years or so prior…
It goes without saying, that once we got downtown, we were thirsty. The first bar we stopped in was your typical, small-town, alcoholics/VLT’s/hurting country music type of place. A solid one-beer establishment. NEXT! Round two took us to a night club, but not just any night club, as this was the place that people went when they got thrown out of every other establishment. There was a dude outside wearing a wife-beater with a pink skinny tie, and he was bleeding… A little bit from everywhere judging by the lack of legit white on his ribbed beater. There was a chick with a Mohawk that I was 100% convinced was a dude. There was another chick (the prettiest one, fyi) whose ribcage was deeper than it was wide, like it was installed sideways. She had thin, stringy, dark hair, and your typical meth-addict teeth. At one point in all of this, the cops pulled up to talk to bloody-beater-tie. The only thing he had to say was “why are you guys always harassing me?” Guess he felt he looked fine… We went in for one awkward drink, the same as the previous place. NEXT!
There was only one more bar within reasonable walking distance (reasonable meaning we weren’t walking further than the two miles we’d already covered). When we got there, we’d found our place! It was a Legion, of sorts. Kind of like an Eagles Club, not really a private bar, per se, but a relaxed, well-lit, cheap place to get drunk. We were home!
Once inside, we were overcome by the smell of warm food, cheap scotch, and urine. There were flags, medals, old pictures on the walls, and even a giant banner that read “Weinberger Family”. Um, we just crashed a family reunion… By accident… Oddly, no one asked us to leave, nor did anyone tell us we’d done anything wrong. Did they think we were family? Did they not care? I think shots of Southern Comfort were two bucks, so we weren’t saying a word. I’m not sure how long we sat there drinking cheap drinks, but I’m going to say a couple hours. They had home-made munchie mix and custom koozies, how could we bail on an event like that? A couple of non-local oil riggers actually came in by mistake as well, and ended up joining us at our table for the exchange of some solid drinking tales.
When we left, we planned on getting a cab to save the two mile walk. Not necessary, as the oil riggers had a sweet Chevy crew cab pickup with one door and rocker panel caved in (they also had names, but this story is old and it’s all long gone). We opened the doors, slid the assortment of rifles, shotguns, beer, engery drinks and chew cans to the middle, and were on our way. Not wanting to call it a night on an empty stomach, we stopped at the gas station for some munchies, and of course some cold offsale. Now, I’m a vegetarian, so I just bought some Doritos and cheese dip, but for omnivores, Montana has so much more to offer. Taquitos? Check! Shiny rotating footlong wieners? Check! Wedge fries with nowhere near enough dipping sauce or seasoning? Check! This place knocked it outta the park! They had one item, however, that only one of us dared order… The chicken nugget hot dog. That’s right, a mechanically de-boned portion of chicken mixed into a slurry, extruded into the form of a hot dog, breaded and battered, and placed onto a hot dog bun. Delicious… Or not. After that, we left the gas station, headed back to the motel, hung out in the parking lot for a while, and that was it. We never saw the oil riggers again, nor did we ever see another chicken nugget hot dog. All I have to remember the night by is my koozie, and now this blog entry.