What makes a bar special? Is it the decor? The drinks? The food? Perhaps the clientele? For me the Crackerbox provides all this and more. The first time I drove past this place, I literally slammed on the brakes and said “Holy crap! That’s a bar?” I can only describe this place as 1 part dive bar + 3 parts hoarder-house. It literally looks like your white-trash grandfather put an ‘Open’ sign on his creepy garage and started selling booze out of it. How this is an establishment that has a real liquor license is beyond me. Check out the Yelp reviews to see for yourself. How it pulled off a 4 star rating has got to be for the morbid fun factor.
If this were the Pearl, this would be a ground-breaking art installation.
It only makes sense that one of my friends would end up working here. She’s originally from Fresno, and I dare say only someone who has lived in a place that trashy could handle working at this bar. Whenever I have a Saturday or Sunday off, I try and go out and visit her while she’s working. The first time I went, some guy clogged up the toilet and rendered it useless. I showed my friend how to make a toilet flush using a bucket of water, harkening upon my hillbilly skills. The second time I went, she told me that someone had stolen the toilet seat the night before. Today, it was “crazy person” day.
Usually the clientele is made up of locals-blue collar types. For some reason, today was a totally different story. Right after I arrived, a man in a cowboy hat that I can only describe as looking like a ‘rapist’ came in and paced back and forth. Then a woman in a bedazzled shirt asked us to watch her chihuahua whilst she went to the market and bought cigarettes and candy. I sat with a shivering dog on my lap as a woman with flame red hair, 3 inch long purple acrylic nails and a $300 purse came in. She allegededly used to work there and kept mentioning her Mercedes. Still holding the dog, I then had a very long conversation with a man in an epic denim jumpsuit about the quality of today’s soy milk. He told me that as a street person, every dollar counts and he wants to purchase quality with his money. Although going off on brief tangents about the government and the country of origin of pomegranates, I have to say he made a good point. The bar was starting to get crowded, and my friend was becoming busy. I was just about to leave, when a woman in a teal green belly shirt came in holding a statue of Buddah covered in ants. She had no teeth.
A covert shot of Mrs. Mercedes and a gentleman in a wolf shirt.
The chihuahua lady.