Sep 24th, 2002
Thrusters
I want to discuss a little club in Pacific Beach called Thrusters. When I first arrived in San Diego, I remember the trepidation that I felt upon hearing my friend say the name “Thrusters,” when describing where I would be meeting him in Pacific Beach. Living in Hillcrest, my mind immediately began to conjure frightening images of men wearing cowboy outfits and dancing to the Village People. I was pleasantly surprised when I walked into Thrusters and found it to be every guy’s dream: A dive bar with hot chicks and cheap booze. Anyone who has ever been to Pacific Beach knows it to contain an assortment of bars/clubs that are packed to the brim with meatheads, surfers, and blonde bimbos with tattoos on their lower back (for some reason, every girl in Pacific Beach has this - I’ve begun to think that it may be an initiation rite before you sign your apartment contract in PB or something). Thrusters manages to defy the PB logic and is a venue where you can relax and enjoy a drink in a sedate atmosphere.
I had nothing but good things to say about Thrusters - that is, until both Karl and me got kicked out on different occasions. The first time happened back in February or March. Karl and I were calmly enjoying a drink when a couple of cute girls walked into the bar. I began talking with one of the girls when all of a sudden, her friend pulled her away and rudely told me, “She has a boyfriend.” We were standing nearby and I kept glancing at the girl who I had initially been talking with, because, well - because she was cute I guess.
The two girls were soon joined by a guy, presumably the “boyfriend” of the first girl. Out of nowhere, the guy approached me and told me to stop “Oggling his friends.” I calmly told him that I wasn’t “oggling” anybody and if there was a problem, I would rather discuss it outside. He said, “Okay,” so I walked outside the bar. Once outside, I realized that he had chicKarled out because I was standing there by myself. So I headed back inside and approached the guy, asking, “Hey! I thought you were going to go outside.” Before I knew it, the manager of the bar - a short stout fellow - had picked me up and carried me outside. End of story.
The second time occurred last weekend when Karl and I were back at Thrusters, once again calmly enjoying a drink. I headed to the bathroom and when I came back, I saw the manager - the same guy who had carried me out - taking my stool away. I then saw Karl yell something in his face, and then watched as the guy marched Karl out of the bar. I approached the manager and asked him what was going on, to which he responded, “Your friend just called me a douche-bag.”
I went outside and asked Karl why he had called the manager of Thrusters a douche-bag and found out that the manager had been taking my stool away to clear space in the bar, as it was starting to get crowded. He ignored Karl when Karl had told him that I was sitting there, and Karl had called him a douche bag. End of story.
Basically, even though I’ve not had the best luck with the place, I still think that Thrusters is pretty cool.
