Clientele: Forget that “working class” definition. The regulars at a dive bar need to appear to never be working, unless they’ve assumed the position of full-time barstool filler. The crowd at a true dive also tends to have quite a few years under their collective belts, if they’re even wearing them. The demographic ranges from middle-aged to downright ancient, with notably few 20-somethings present. And while we’re on the topic of ages, the bar needs to be time-tested. After all, dive bars are aren’t born, they’re made, and any bar new on the block needs to withstand the test of years before being bequeathed the title.

Ambiance: There is none. The décor probably didn’t even look new when it was first put in, and it has definitely not been updated in the past few decades. The lighting is dim, either due to a concerted effort to mask the general lack of clean surfaces or because windows are nonexistent and a handful of light bulbs are burned out. The smell in dive bars almost deserves its own special consideration, because it’s often the most defining feature. Ranging from stale beer and cigarette butts to urine and intense body odor, it always lingers and it’s never pleasant. Overall, you should be slightly afraid to enter a dive bar, and remain generally ill at ease until you’ve downed a few stiff pours.

Price: Drinks need to be dirt cheap, or else they’ll seem out of place next to the layer of grime covering the faux wood paneled walls. $2 for a beer is a good standard. You’ll should never have to question if you’re getting your money’s worth at a dive bar. True dive-tenders definitely don’t believe in underpouring, preferring to serve that whiskey with just a splash of soda.

Selection: Cocktails cease to exist at a dive bar. There isn’t a single martini glass within the whole place, and drinks contain a maximum of two ingredients. Just one is even better, since most dives earn their bread and butter by catering to the “shots and beer crowd. Beer selection should be domestic and limited, and any question about microbrews met with a blank stare. Bottled beer will generally look like the only thing safe to drink.

Service: There are two different ends of the service spectrum in dive bars. In one corner there’s the surly older barkeep, seasoned from years of heavy boozing and most definitely not in the mood for any of your nonsense. Rarely amicable, he/she serves the drinks their way, and you can leave if you don’t like it. In the other corner is the “Cheers” bartender. They remember your name, your drink, and all of the problems you’ve unloaded on their all-too-supportive ears. While both are perfectly acceptable in a dive bar, I prefer my bartenders crotchety. It lends an air of credence to the entire joint, and serves as a reminder to those that wander in off the street that this ain’t no disco.

In case you’re already thirsty and can’t wait for my first review, I give you Ha-Ra Club. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Carl is one mean s.o.b., and delights in his reputation as one of the crankiest bartenders in SF. If his ‘ornery attitude and gruff demeanor don’t scare you off, you can enjoy mislabeled taps, a more frequently than not out-of-order men’s room, and the kind of ragtag bunch of patrons you’d expect from its Tenderloin location. Just don’t say I sent you – I get enough grief from Carl as it is.

Ha-Ra Club
875 Geary, SF. (415) 441-9336