Truly Rogue

May 11^th 2016 was one of the saddest, most disappointing days of my life.

                I know what you’re thinking; What happened to this poor sap? Did he lose a loved one? Get laid off? Was forced to binge-watch Friends on DVD (Could I be anymore sarcastic?)?

                No, unfortunately it was much worse, for on May 11^th I visited Rogue Ales (Brewers on the Bay) in Newport, Oregon.

                I was looking forward to the visit as I had been acquainted with the delectable beers of this Oregon-based brewer for many years, having happily discovered “Dead Guy” nearly by accident at a local Total Wine. I was more than excited to get to see the rest of their offerings first hand.

                My girlfriend and I arrived around 5 o’clock to a mostly empty restaurant and about a ¾ full bar. There was no greeter when we entered so we both used that time to take in the ambience. My eyes deftly scanned the bar; I saw many bountiful beer offerings as well as Rogue-brand spirits, much to my delight. Against the closest wall I noticed stacks of beautiful bombers. Closest to us in a small alcove that the host or hostess might’ve operated from (had there been one) were soft cotton t-shirts, in a rainbow of colors, emblazoned with the awe-inspiring Rogue lettering and logo. I wanted to shout “Here, take my money you clever brewing Gods!”

                But something was amiss. There still hadn’t been anyone there to greet us, seat us, and let us know that they’d be happy to help us…

                …Again I glanced to the t-shirt area. On second look there had been a young lady back there. Apparently she was getting ready for her shift, or killing time during it (hard to tell?). She didn’t make eye contact, even after my girlfriend and I tried optically flagging her down.

                Finally, a young lady approached. She grabbed two menus and said hello. Finally, the delay in seating was just a temporary snag. Everything is going to be ok, I whispered to myself.

                “Are you talking to yourself again?” my girlfriend asked.

                Mental note, Whisper inside your head I reminded myself.

                As the second young lady walked us to our table, she paused and hollered at the shy one that was still seemingly trapped inside the t-shirt area up front. “Do you want to take them?”

                Them? Them? Clearly, I reasoned this server had mistaken us for some average everyday nobodys out for a rare non-Budweiser excursion. We were craft beer lovers (definitely), craft beer snobs (maybe), ready to drink and rejoice after a long day on the road. Further it didn’t matter to myself or my girlfriend who waited on us, but why discuss that in front of us?

                I immediately got a bad feeling about sitting in the dining area. This place serves alcohol; we came here to sample some adult beverages, so by God let’s sit at the bar!

                “Ma’am,” I asked meekly, “would you mind if we sat at the bar?”

                “Sure, no problem,” the server said with a smile. Eagerly, I led my girlfriend over to the pulpit of the pub. We took two seats, as two individuals on the far side of the bar were paying their tabs and leaving.

                I rubbed my hands together and scooped up a beer menu. I couldn’t help but sprout a grin.

                “Oh you two decided to sit at the bar?” came a voice from behind me.

                I turned and saw the female staff member that had been stuck at the t-shirt area since we had walked in. “Umm ya, we asked your co-worker…” I informed her.

                “Hmm…” and the young lady turned on her heels and strode away, never to be seen again (by me anyway).

                We were then greeted by our first bartender. She asked (as is always appropriate at a bar) if we would like a drink. To which we replied yes and ordered. We were also given a complementary taster of a featured beer, which was a nice and unexpected touch.

                Before we finished our first pints our bartender was ending her shift. Her replacement arrived about the same time as a boisterous group of, shall we say “mature” gentlemen who were very much regular patrons of this establishment.

                How do I know this you ask? Simple, as the men arrived and our new bartender took over, the manager on duty took the new bartender aside to show her how to make the ring leader’s favorite drink. “You mix this, and this. And he has to have it with a glass of water,” I overheard him say. To which the bartender replied, “I hate those guys, they are so scary.”

                However, at Rogue it seems “hate” translates to exceptional, unparalleled service. As it turned out we must’ve been well liked there, because we got the opposite.

                A few minutes passed and our beers were depleted. We didn’t see the bartender again until she was summoned to the bar by the manager, who proceeded to give her a lecture about refrigerating the garnishes and fruit wedges.

                Several more minutes passed, and my girlfriend and I were able to watch the group of regulars have a great time. They laughed, they swapped stories- which my girlfriend and I did as well- we just did it without any beer.

                More time was wasted, and no one came to check on us. We had already given up on another beer due to the wait. However, as she was making her way past, we asked if we could pay for any of the bombers along with our regular bar tab, rather than up front. She obliged, and I went in search of some delicious brew. I was determined not to let this visit cloud my view of Rogue. I snapped up a bomber for myself and my gal, and went back to the bar.

                Surprise, surprise: still no bartender. So again, my girlfriend and I waited, and my confidence and excitement about Rogue dwindled, until alas the minutes had ebbed  away and I found I no longer cared about Rogue.

                “Do you want a shirt?” my girlfriend asked, already knowing the answer.

                “Nah, I’ll pass.” deflated, I stared at my empty glass.

                I returned the bombers to their original location, and when I myself returned to the bar there was finally a bartender behind it.

                “Can we get our check please?” my girlfriend shouted to her as she rushed by.

                “Oh of course, you don’t want another beer?” the bartender asked precociously and I found myself wondering if she was actually being facetious.

                My girlfriend placed a stern hand over my arm- only because she couldn’t reach my mouth. Luckily, I got her point and bit my tongue.

                And speaking of tongues, I am now pretty certain that I mine won’t ever taste another Rogue beer again.  

               

               UPDATE: (5/26/2016) A representative from Rogue reached out to me and has informed me the establishment has made changes in service standards at the specified location. And despite the company's ne'er-do-well persona the rep was very understanding and polite ;) . The matter was attended to quickly and resolved to my satisfaction. I am proud to say I am a Rogue customer once again!