La Opera

I have been here a couple of times now, hubby likes to grab a cold one before a show at the Genesee. Depending on the night it can be a bit scary.
On our most recent visit the owner of the place, was behind the bar and she told us a bit about its twenty eight year history. She and her now deceased husband bought the place and named it «La Opera» after his favorite bar in Mexico. He passed away about ten years after buying the place and she has been running for eighteen years since. She decided to keep the name because it was important to him.
Cheap beer, no food. Friendly bartenders. A very mixed patronage.

Rather than write a review, I’m going to walk you through my experience at La Opera:
Oh look! A casual dive bar. We can get a cheap drink here quick before we head to Three Brothers theater. But first, I have to pee. Dominic P. went to the bar to get us drinks.
Oh look! I bet that pink ceramic tile is from the 60s. My hands are wet, why is this hand dryer blowing cold air?
Back from the bathroom! Where’s my drink? I walk up to the bar and wait. A massive man wearing a bowler hat, approached me from behind, punched me in the shoulder and said what sounded like, «I’m the bouncer.» As I start to mumble «Oh, did I take your seat?» I realize that this man, towering over me, just PUNCHED ME IN THE SHOULDER. I moved, he sat on a stool and began to drink beer from a pitcher. It appeared this pitcher had just been waiting for him.
Still no drinks for us though… I give Dominic P. a look and we walk to the opposite end of the bar.
A man behind the bar, resembling an aged Pedro from «Napoleon Dynamite» acknowledges us.
Dominic P.: «gin & tonic and a captain & coke»
Pedro: «Huh?»
Dominic P. «gin. and. tonic. and a captain and coke.»
Pedro: «vodka?»
Dominic P. «gin. and. tonic.»
Pedro: «vodka?»
Dominic P. *sigh* «Yes…and a captain and coke.»
Meanwhile, my friends arrive at the bar and I tell them about the guy in the bowler hat.
Me (to Courtney C.): «THAT is what my life would have been like if I kept making the same mistakes.» I point at the man on the stool who begins who spin around on the stool in circles repeatedly.
I cringe as I watch Pedro make a vodka cranberry, because the «vodka» is dispensed from a large, plastic bottle labeled «PREMIUM AMERICAN VODKA.»
As I watch Pedro’s sad mixology, the oaf on the bar stool tells my friend about how horrible cell phones are, and we’re all going to get tumors. He asks him, «do you know how many of those get left on the Metra, on the bus, everywhere?»
Michael C.: «No, how many?»
Oaf on the bar stool: «A shit ton.»
The oaf then continued to talk about the Kardashians and how beautiful Kendall Jenner is. I choke down my $ 5 «vodka» cranberry and notice that the oaf is still filling his gullet with cheap beer straight from the pitcher — and he’s wearing a beer glove. Perhaps not a glove intended for the single purpose of drinking beer, but a regular old black, leather glove.
Our group received a lot of dirty looks from people here. I minded my own business but getting shoulder-​checked seems to be the norm for «outsiders» who don’t wear oversized hoodies, stained jeans, gelled back hair, and gauges in their ears. I’m not judging this style, but this was the fashion choice of many people here. Clearly I offended them with my basic white bitch instincts which include chunky costume jewelry and knee-​high boots. It was like the «rejects» from high school found a place to congregate and continue to sulk about «the man» and such.
Ugh. Just… no.