"We're Americans," I observe. "We go for quantity, not quality."
"Yeah, that's true. But I get an awfully bad stomach if I eat something spicy."
Yes, fellow barflies, it is that special time. A time when hot dogs with all the fixin's (cheese, chili, onions, sauerkraut, relish), are free to any and all. It's 4-7 p.m. on Friday afternoon at Decatur Liquor Store.
Free-hot-dog Fridays have been a cherished tradition at this classic Vegas ale hole for as long as anyone can remember, and then some. "I love this shit," says a big, bearded, pony-tailed guy sitting near me at the cluster of circular drinking tables. "Makes my day plannin' a lot easier when you got free grub."
"Here's hoping it'll stay that way," I say.
"Whaddaya mean?"
"Well," I say, "Question 5 kicks in on December 8th. That's next Friday.
"Damn Californians!"
And we're off to the races.
Let's back up a moment. Question 5, as you probably know, is the Nevada Clean Indoor Act, which prohibits the sale of food indoors if smoking is allowed. Backers of Question 5 (most notably campaign manager Michael Hackett) stated over and over before the election that their goal was to protect the children (nothing works better for your self-serving political needs than decrying the plight of children) and employees at such establishments. Not being a smoker myself, I certainly don't mind eating without secondhand smoke, but it's a fair guess that bars like Decatur Liquor—or Dino's, or Champagne's Café, or any of the city's other wonderful dive bars—don't allow children on their premises anyway. Also, let's ask any bartender in any dive bar in town—what are the odds that they're smokers themselves? (At least they knew what they were getting into when they took the job.) But, hey, it's all okay. Thank God we've got people like Mr. Hackett to save us from our bad habits.
A lot of folks share that disdain. What I find intriguing, though, is that, at nearly every bar I've been to, from the Tap House to the Double Down, many embittered barflies have shifted the blame to Californians for Question 5's passing. Transplanted Californians, really, bringing their granola mind-set to unhealthy Vegas and trying to change the nature of the city. Question 5 is seen by some as a big step in that direction.
"They can go to TGIF or Applebee's," says pony-tail guy, "but I bet any one of those assholes that voted for Question 5 never hangs out here, and they think they know what's good for me!"
A middle-aged lady with a towering bouffant and peach-colored lipstick staining her cigarette chimes in.
"Really, why can't they just leave us alone? They're always trying to push their healthy lifestyle on us. I made my decision about that years ago. I know smoking isn't good for me, but so are a lot of things."
"Well," I say, "let's just savor the hot dogs while we can."
"You mean they may not have 'em anymore?"
"It's a possibility."
Pony-tail guy blurts, "But it's only one damn afternoon a week!"
"And they don't charge us!" she adds.
Pony-tail guy: "Why couldn't they just stay in California!"
Bouffant lady: "I swear, all I ever see when I'm stuck in traffic are those damned California license plates!"
In fairness, of course, there's no way to gauge how many of the 54 percent of voters who passed Question 5 hail from California. As for their allegedly healthy lifestyle, I know many a denizen of San Fernando Valley who smokes and drinks like a character in a Tom Waits song. Still, Californication is not just the title of a Red Hot Chile Peppers' album. It's a very real resentment rooted in what many see as the dubious effects of influxing Golden Staters. Question 5 is just the latest reason we've had to carp about the issue. It goes back at least to the early '90s, and the accusing refrains have become familiar: They sell their California houses for ridiculous sums and move here, snapping up property and driving up real-estate costs (good if you're selling, not so good if you're buying) and property taxes. Cali-plated cars clog our roadways, driving too slowly as they peer around for their destinations. Their demand for the bland suburbs of home has contributed to sprawl here. They condescend to us as though Vegas is some hick suburb of LA. And they bring with them their lifestyle tyrannies—like not smoking where food is served.
Anti-Californianism isn't a sentiment original to Las Vegas dive-bar patrons, by the way. You hear people gripe about it from Montana to Colorado. Nor is it new—30 years ago Oregonians were crabbing about erecting a "redwood fence" along their southern border. It's a feeling that runs deep and wide through the American West.
At the same time, it's worth wondering if there isn't a kind of self-directed backspin on this resentment—after all, Las Vegas owes a lot of its economic vitality to the constant stream of Southern California visitors. Even our nightclub industry derives plenty of its sparkle from the presence of Hollywood-minted celebs.
So we may as well face it—they're here to stay. If only I could with certainty say the same about the free dogs at Decatur Liquor.