Daniel Carlson photos
“Oh my God, here comes that sick queen! Get out of here, you bitch!”

Jimmy the bartender shouted this at the man walking into the bar, giving a playful toss of his hand as he did so. I’d been at Decades for 10 minutes.

My only previous experience at a gay bar was the night I accompanied some friends to a club in West Hollywood called Hot Dog. The bar was changing locations and going out with a bang, and that night in the glittery heart of WeHo at the corner of Santa Monica and Fairfax was a fun one, in part because a guy named Eduardo told me I had nice eyes. (WHICH I DO.)

Decades, however, is a bar proper instead of a club, and looks like every other middle-of-the-road joint you can find in any city: It’s got a U-shaped bar set out from the walls, a juke and video puzzle consoles, a couple of TVs and pool tables. The Christmas decorations were still up when I went, so I enjoyed my drinks beneath a tasteful string of garland and red ornaments that ran along the ceiling above the bar. Situated on Richmond, just west of Montrose (and right next to a 24-hour video store that I wasn’t about to go in), it’s a fun, accommodating place to get a drink and meet up with other members of the gay community.

Seriously, it’s like Cheers for gay men: Everybody in there knew everybody else and greeted one another by name as they came in. Jimmy has a lot of regular drinkers, but he calls everyone “baby,” and trades terms of endearment with some of the patrons that I don’t feel comfortable even saying, let alone typing. I’ve spent months or even years at bars and only developed a name relationship with the bar staff. Everybody else got a head nod and was mentally labeled, e.g., The Guy With The Hat or That Lady Who Gets High In The Parking Lot. And who knows, maybe the guys patronizing Decades have really been going there for that long. But it didn’t feel like it. It felt like after a couple visits, you’d be known, and though I know part of that is because the gay population is smaller than the straight one, it’s also part of the bar’s vibe. It’s just that easygoing.
koozi
When I sidled up to the bar to get my requisite Shiner, Jimmy actually had to dig around in the coolers to find one, in the process tossing out some old Smirnoff Ices that no one had ever ordered. (Because they’re disgusting, is my guess.) But he found a cold beer to my liking and passed it to me in a koozie advertising Eros 1207, whose website I won’t link to because it’s not remotely SFW, but if you want a fleshlight, swing on by.

I spent my evening peacefully drinking and talking politics and world affairs with the guy next to me, who didn’t seem devoted too strongly to one party or the other, though he did defend Sarah Palin’s speaking habits and talked of how Reagan had a good public persona, announcements I met with a quiet nod and a defusing swig of beer. Jimmy kept me in Shiners and I hung out with a group of guys getting their easy drink on and catching up on their days, lives, and jobs.

I’m tempted to write something like “Decades is a gay bar that doesn’t feel like a gay bar,” but that sounds wildly stereotypical and kind of presumptuous. What I mean, though, is that it’s just a great bar, and a great place to hang out.

When the bartender calls you a bitch, you’re in.