The Bigfoot Pub and Eatery

Over the years, I’ve been mocked a lot for my love of shit like Bigfoot, Nessie, and Mermaids.

But my mind wants to explore these mysteries. I love thinking about the unknown and the idea that there are things we still don’t understand. That sense of magic excites me.

Of course, a lot of the people who make fun of my hope that Bigfoot is real spend their time watching shit like ancient aliens, so I say to them, kindly eat a giraffe cock.

My dad loved Bigfoot too.

He once told me an outrageous story. It went something like this:

Ginger, I swear ta God, I was in that old camper out in ya grandpappy’s woods, and I heard a scream like ya never heard before. I walked outside, and it screamed again, and there was a sound like it was beating on its chest. I swear. If you don’t believe me, ask ya momma. I never heard nothing like it, and I know damn good and well it was a Bigfoot. I don’t care what anybody says. They’re real, daughter. They’re real.

I believed him.

I believed everything my dad told me.

Needless to say, anything squatch-related makes me a little nostalgic.

Which is why, when I saw The Bigfoot Pub while visiting my dear friend Laggy, I screamed, nearly running him off the road, and asked him to take me. After a few warnings, such as the food is jank as fuck (isn’t it supposed to be?), it smells like piss in there(yes, that’s what we’re looking for), etc., he knew I wasn’t gonna let up on it and promised to take me.

He ended up being so happy he took me. And yes, I’m putting words in his mouth.

But we did get cute pictures of both of us and had some great conversations at the bar.

The inside wasn’t all decked out in sasquatch stuff, but it was still really unique. We sat at the bar and got two White Claws because I told him we were gonna get white girl wasted (he declined).

I looked around excitedly at the skeletons on bikes, paintings of Madonna and others, and Christmas lights everywhere. This is the kind of place I’d visit all the time if I could. They even had darts, which is my favorite game after cornhole.

I found out that the pub, hidden away in Spokane, Washington, was established in 1972. Madonna even filmed many scenes from the movie Vision Quest right there in the bar.

After a couple of drinks, I started talking to the cute, friendly blonde bartender. I asked if she had any interesting stories or history to share. She leaned over the bar, her eyes lighting up. “Nobody ever asks!” she said. Then she told me a story I’ll never forget.

“Ok,” she began, “I obviously wasn’t here for this, but I’ve heard it from three different bartenders who have been here for years. The story goes that back in the mid-eighties, there was a Bigfoot that would make his way out of the woods three or four times a year and sit out back after we closed for the night. He somehow got ahold of one of the aprons that said Kiss the Cook. He’d put it on, sit in a lawnchair, and smoke a pack of Marlboros before heading back to wherever he came from. The only reason anyone ever knew about him was that Ol’ Steve the cook came back one night really late to get the house keys that he’d accidentally left, and he saw him. Said it scared the absolute piss out of him.”

She paused here to see if I had any questions, but I just nodded to her to continue.

“He kept coming around for about five years, sometimes spotted by a bartender closing up or by someone who had heard the story and spent nights waiting for him. Then, one night, he just never came back. It probably had something to do with more and more people coming around to see him, or fuck, maybe he just quit smokin’. That’s the story anyway.”

I drank in that story like it was a magic potion that would bring back both my dad and Elvis. For a moment, it was like sitting around the old kitchen table with my dad, hanging onto every strange tale he told, my heart open to possibilities. Maybe that’s why I chase stories like this, ya feel? They let me feel close to him again and remind me that there’s still magic left in the world if you want to see it.

My excitement wasn’t necessarily contagious, but it did make Laggy and a few other locals smile, perhaps remembering the first time they went into the pub, or heard a story that made them feel the way this one made me feel.

I loved that damn place with its shitty food and piss smell, and I hope I can go back sometime and catch some more stories.

Have you been here? Do you have any Bigfoot stories? Tell me in the comments!

🖤🖤— GC

Brb, gone squatchin’