I scurried through the misty bay air, past the flashing lights of Fisherman’s Wharf, to make my date with rats. Not the gross and infested rodents that scurry in BART stations or back alleys, but domesticated, “people friendly,” safe, and even adoptable rats.
The rat-bar pop-up is a three-day event at the San Francisco Dungeon that began on Thursday and ends on Saturday. Its random and uncalled-for nature has caught the attention of local and even national media—and whichever marketing person came up with the idea deserves major props for playing the press really well, The Bold Italic included. We couldn’t resist, either, I’m afraid.
Once I arrived at the venue, a man who introduced himself as the Rat Man greeted me. His face was powdered with soot, and his Western chaps made me wonder if he had just come from Westworld. Stuffed rats were perched on his shoulders; a couple more dangled out of his pockets. They looked like stuffed animals, but they could have been taxidermy. It is San Francisco, after all.
“Would you like an Ama-rat-to Sour”?” he asked, offering me a drink with what looked like a bloody rat tail garnishing it.
I felt slightly creeped out, but I obliged. I asked Rat Man, who was standing in front of a barrel of snake oil, what the garnish actually was, and he let me in on a secret: it’s a beet root. With my gag reflexes slightly relaxed, the more I sipped on the sweet drink, the more I likened to the goriness of my beverage.
If you haven’t heard of the San Francisco Dungeon, that’s because you’re not a tourist. It’s a theatrical experience that tells the history of San Francisco’s dark underbelly, such as the Tong Wars, the saloon culture on the Barbary Coast, and Alcatraz ghost stories. It’s an immersive haunted house, if you will, that usually does not include real rats, except for once every couple of years in what is a very effective publicity stunt.
Two years ago, a similar pop-up at the dungeon made national headlines to promote the Black Rat Cafe. “Soon There Will Be a ‘Rat Cafe’ Where You Can Dine Among Rodent Pals,” the Huffington Post declared. This year there has already been a fair share of buzz—“Want to Get Drunk and Play with Rats? San Francisco Has Your Bait,” the Guardian reports.
The bar is only a pop-up, just like the cafe was a couple of years ago, and here’s the real kicker: you have to go through and pay ($50) for the full hour-long dungeon experience to finally get to the rats. And—spoiler alert—due to health-code violations, you can’t actually eat or drink with the rats, even though that’s what the articles out there have made it seem like. The San Francisco Dungeon says that a percentage of the sales (undisclosed) will support the Vallejo-based rodent-rescue nonprofit Ratical Rodent Rescue, which supplies the rats.
Despite all this information, the prospect of getting so close to friendly rats—and just the weirdness of it all—was appealing enough for me to schlep all the way out to Fisherman’s Wharf for the first time since 2013, when I first moved here. I have never been particularly fond of rats or any type of rodent, for that matter. In fact, the loudest scream I’ve ever let out was when I saw a mouse in my boyfriend’s apartment (pretty sure I woke up all of the Inner Richmond), but there is something about facing a fear that makes you feel alive, right?
After I finished my drink in the front bar, I began the official tour of the dungeon. It was like being a kid again, having to do your chores before getting the treat, which, in this case, were the rats. In a group of about 15 people, I was ushered into the spooky world of the dungeon. There was a mirror maze. A shaky elevator (unclear if the shakiness was from a fake earthquake or the result of structural issues). The saloon bartender who Shanghai’d her customers. The militant Alcatraz officer who scolded us when we got out of line. And a mini drop ride. There were only three mentions of rats to foreshadow the main event.
At last, after an hour in the dungeon, we entered a back room with rats crawling around tables decorated with rat toys on black tablecloths. I expected to be startled and frightened at first, but their playful demeanor with their handlers from Ratical Rodent Rescue and each other eased my fears. There were about 10 in total—some gray, some hairless, and some white. At first, I just observed them playing. We had the option of holding a rat, but I wasn’t sure if I was up for that yet.
As I watched the rats cutely groom themselves — yes, I said “cutely” — I made eye contact with a bigger hairless rat named Hiroshimo. A volunteer did not hesitate to ask me if I wanted to hold Hiroshimo after noticing we had locked eyes.
Jenn Paz, the nonprofit’s founder, told me the rats often find their way to her rescue shelter because people don’t realize how much care they require, or the rats were bred for snake food. She added that there is an important educational component behind her charity: that rats often have a bad reputation, but they are actually very loving and caring animals.
“People don’t give them a chance. They’re like pit bulls,” Paz said. “Once you get to know them, you see that they’re not gross and terrible.”
Other people jumped right in and started petting the rats or holding them. Then there were the devoted Instagrammers in the crowd. As I watched the rats cutely groom themselves — yes, I said “cutely” — I made eye contact with a bigger hairless rat named Hiroshimo. A volunteer did not hesitate to ask me if I wanted to hold Hiroshimo after noticing we had locked eyes. I cringed but said OK, as he assured me that Hiroshimo is one of the friendliest rats they have.
I nervously cupped both of my hands together to create a cozy platform for Mr. Hiroshimo. He landed softly in my hands and danced around upon his arrival. I started to relax and quickly understood the cuteness of these little rodents. His little pear-shaped body and black eyes unexpectedly warmed my heart. Once he got comfortable, he let out a little sneeze, which startled me, but not enough to cause me to lose my interest.
The idea of owning a pet rat has never crossed my mind. The version of me before this experience would have been a firm no. I’m more of a dog person. But after connecting with Hiroshimo, I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the opportunity if it ever came my way.
I’m well aware of how these events are meant to raise publicity and yield a good picture for Instagram, but the educational part actually did its magic on me. Guess I’m part of the rat pack now.
