Invasion of the White Kids

21 Jun

So most nights I’ve gone out, a bar named ‘Caves’ has been the destination.  Caves is a pretty cool place and we generally have a fun time.  One of the guys, Taylor, has been talking up a little Mexican bar called Coco’s that him and some of his friends have been going to regularly.  Now, I imagined a Mexican themed bar but no, it was a Mexican bar.

We walk into a sparsely populated setting with mariachi softly playing from a jukebox in the corner of the room.  Aside from us there are only Mexicans and I’m talking cowboy hats, big belt buckles, 5’5’’, the whole nine yards.  Taylor and his friends are all extremely fashionable, typical hipster kids.  The first thing I do is park my car; the first thing they do is lock up their vintage Schwinn road bikes.  Taylor swears they love him there (and the cute bartender girls definitely do) so naturally we bust in like we own the place.  It’s a cash only bar, obviously, and I have no cash.  Luckily this is a cool place and the girl behind the bar gives me a free Modelo.  That was the highlight of the night and I felt a growing affection for the bar.

It was a really strange interaction between the two groups.  The hipsters were really into how authentic the bar felt yet also wanted their music to be played (this isn’t an assumption, a few comments were made, ‘why aren’t they playing our music?’ which leads me to think that some nights they will, in fact, play their music.).  At one point a bunch of the hipsters started dancing, which was soon followed by the cat-calls and whistles from the Mexican contingent.  I looked on, bewildered.

Taylor, our ‘regular’ at Coco’s, even has his picture on the wall.

It certainly was a cool, relaxed and inexpensive bar.  In spite of the friendliness of the bar girl or Taylor’s picture on the wall I couldn’t help but feel like an invader into this bar’s otherwise quiet charm.  It’s something I’d like to enjoy but worry that by enjoying it in the way we do, we will inevitably change it.

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