Stories of bars (1 of 4): Lost.

The other month I was getting ready to go on a night of barhopping in this (white) (Irish-American) neighborhood south of the baseball stadium, where the racial lines are really prominent and a young (black) kid had gotten beaten to death within the past decade, I think, for biking to a park that wasn't on his side of the neighborhood.

There was a baseball game on, and as I was walking south by the stadium parking lots, I noticed the neighborhood was getting (black), which confused me, since there was a bar indicated on maps I had located online 5-6 blocks south, and the neighborhood had the same name as the (white) (Irish-American) neighborhood.

I asked a (black) parking attendant, and they said they weren't sure if a bar was there, but to walk 4 blocks west and then continue walking south, if I wanted to get to the (Irish-American) neighborhood....

I did that, and the neighborhood turned (white).

I started walking to another bar on my list, but I wasn't clear of neighborhood boundaries, and there was this one street that looked industrial and all these teenagers in hoodies walking up it, so I walked past, and glanced back to see if they were (white) or not.

They were, so I casually started walking back to intercept them, and see if there was an (Irish-American) bar farther south.

They said there was, and I was like, "Thanks, I don't know this area really well, and I'm afraid of getting into a bad neighborhood."

Then, like a 12-year old boy said, "Hey, just don't go past the vidock [sp.?], that's where the n*gg*rs live." 

And then the kids said bye and left.