Go for the Attitude
by Kurt Epps—The PubScout
You don’t go to place called Dick’s Last Resort expecting culinary wizardry. Go to the Oyster Rock for that.
But if you need an attitude adjustment and you want to laugh a lot while enjoying some excellent beers with good company, then seek out Dick’s. (See how important apostrophes are?)
I was first introduced to Dick’s shtick up in Boston some years ago. The missus and I walked in looking for a bite to eat outside Faneuil Hall. The hint that Dick’s wasn’t your normal pub lunch spot came when a waiter passed us as we looked in vain for an empty table.
“What the hell are you looking at? Can’t you see there are no seats? Now go sit at the G-D bar or get the hell out!”
Excuse me?
But since the bar had two seats open, we followed the waiter’s “friendly” advice. The barman literally threw a bunch of mixed utensils and a menu down in front of us, while saying,”Now hurry up. I’m busy and there are more people who will tip better than you look like you can waiting to sit here!”
Excuse me?
We looked at each other in surprise. Behind us, however, we heard another waiter say to a group already seated, “That’s the stupidest thing you can order, lady, and by the looks of you, you don’t need more carbs and starch.”
Followed by, “This guy you’re with must be rich or very well endowed, considering his face would stop bird crap in mid-air.”
Excuse me?
But eventually, and after reading the menu, it dawned on us that this was typical Dick’s Shtick. You go there for the rudeness, and all of it is in good fun.
So my own group of Rude Boys and I headed to Dick’s Last Resort in Barefoot Landing, Myrtle Beach for our monthly gathering where we drink beer, reminisce, nosh a little and laugh a lot.
The occasion was Johnny A’s pending hip replacement surgery, and we wanted to wish him well. Unfortunately for Johnny who arrived last, our waiter Cory had already been tipped as to why we were there, and when Johnny eventually entered, Cory yelled (from across the room and while waiting on a table of lasses) “Jesus! You must need a walker with that freakin’ limp! You want me to come over and carry you to your table?”
And the stage was set.
Our table was directly under a batch of the hundred or so brassieres tastefully suspended from the ceiling—along with some dainty underthings— thoughtfully placed well away from where we’d have libations and victuals.
Some of those bras were incredibly, um, fulsome, and Cory informed us that the staff had already removed more than one hundred brassieres which had been up there too long.
One of those, he said, was the current record holder at 40GG, which we could have cut in half to make two football helmets with chinstraps, had we the need.
Having seen a good female friend discreetly make such a clothing donation at Suck Bang Blow in Murrell’s Inlet, I could only imagine the audience our 40GG gal had when she made hers.
That’s how the session began, how it continued and how it concluded. As mentioned, the beers were great and the victuals were nothing to write home about. But the atmosphere, the company and Cory’s quick wit and friendliness made the day memorable.
Cory hand made hats for us (which is standard at Dick’s) emblazoned with inappropriate commentary and perfect for pictures and lots of laughs. Everyone in our group of Rude Boys chalked it up as the best session we’d had yet.
It being early afternoon (we geezers like to get home before the sun sets), the place was pretty empty, but we could just imagine the place filled with patrons during the season—and without Covid.
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