“It’s WHAT?” I screamed into my cellphone. I couldn’t believe my ears.
On the other end of the line, my friend Sasha was trying to communicate from inside of the bar I was about to enter. “It’s a ten dollar cover for anyone who doesn’t live in Manhattan!” she yelled back.
I guess I heard right. Who knew that a bizarre, out-of-place Upper East Side drinking establishment could suddenly morph into the George Washington Bridge? Literally, this bar didn’t just have a cover: it had a toll. Thankfully, I had brought my EZPass with me (actually, I just happen to be from Manhattan), so the bouncer waived my fee.
“A ten dollar cover for people who don’t live in Manhattan?” I asked him curiously as he inspected my ID. “Isn’t that a little… fucked up?”
He laughed. “Yeah, I guess. It’s something we’re trying out to see if it works,” he explained.
Well, apparently it wasn’t “working,” because the entire bar was crawling with the Bridge and Tunnel crowd. Not that I have a problem with the B&Ts. Not at all. In fact, I was there to celebrate the birthday of a certain B&T, Matt, the wonderful boyfriend of my best friend, Sasha.
I looked around at the cleavage and greasy hair. Uh-oh, I thought to myself. Where am I? I was relieved to see a familiar face in the crowd. “Sasha!” I had to scream over the pounding noise of the late 90s dance music. “I think I’m underdressed!” ["Underdressed," our friend Katie pointed out later, meant "not showing enough skin."]
“Nah, you’re fine, all of Matt’s friends are wearing sneakers,” she yelled back.
Well, what else are you supposed to wear to a bar that only keeps overpriced Budweiser on tap?
But my initial scan of the scene revealed that this was not a sneaker joint. This was a place to wear tube tops and pointy-toed high-heeled monstrosities and attempt to dance. I shuddered. I am not familiar with bars that don’t have pool tables or a sizeable beer selection. So I order a bottled Bud Light (when in Rome…) and headed off to watch the hordes of rhythmically-deprived underaged kids on the dance floor.
After my second light beer, Sasha and I headed to the bathroom, which was entirely too small for the size of the club. Three or four Barbie clones were waiting inside, although there was some confusion as to who was actually waiting to pee, and who was waiting for a friend to pee, because, like, in a bathroom the size of my cubicle, that’s a logical thing to do.
(I had a near-horridly embarrassing experience once again, folks. After lining the toilet seat in paper, I attempted to sit down on it but it apparently was not attached to the toilet, and it flew to the floor. I had the fortunate luck to regain my balance just in time to avoid falling in the toilet. But seriously, it was a close one.)
I was washing my hands when Barbie Number Five entered and began to pet herself and stare into the mirror. She was on a cellphone.
“Did you SEE her!?” she shreiked into her T-Mobile security blanket. “I sore her! I SORE her!” (that’s Lon Gislandese for the preterite of “to see”). “That UGLY BITCH was talking shit about ME!”
A little too loudly, Sasha said to me, “I can’t imagine why!”
Oh. My. God. Barbie was so engrossed in her cellphone that I don’t think she heard — but I wasn’t about to wait to find out.
“Run!” I yelled, and we booked it.
Once we were safely lost in the crowd, I headed back to the bar to order another light beer. The bartender came over looking absolutely exhausted.
“Bad night, huh?” I asked.
He looked around, and then leaned forward towards me and whispered, “This place is ridiculous.”
I nodded. He didn’t need to explain it to me. He handed me my beer.
“Six dollars,” he said. That’s what I’ve been paying for this piss beer? I thought. Oh hell. I yearned for the comfort of my own local bar, where a four dollar pint of a good hefeweisen was waiting for me.
I paid him and left a dollar on the bar, but he handed it back. “The boss men are right there,” he said, as if that was some sort of explanation, and looked over at a group of young men standing next to me.
What the hell did that mean? I thought. The bartender walked away and I left the dollar anyway. It’s against the rules to TIP? Where the hell am I?!
That’s when it hit me: When the bouncer asked for my ID, he meant passport.
I couldn’t finish my last beer. Tired, I gathered my things, said my goodbyes, and headed out the door. The same Customs official was manning the door when I walked out.
He smiled. “Goodnight!”
I walked away, slightly relieved to recognize my environs. It was a jungle in there, but I made it out alive.
Happy Birthday, Matt! Don’t take my cynicism to mean that I didn’t have fun last night. It was an experience, to be sure! Here’s to our upcoming road trip!
16 responses so far ↓
1 brotherpriest // Mar 26, 2005 at 9:07 am
Jesus. What is this fascination of girls dressing like complete and utter sluts for “a night out?” I seriously can’t understand it. Apparently “going out” is synonymous with “dressing like an absolute whore.” Someday, girls will realize that it’s not exactly a classy or attractice thing to show as much skin as possible. I honestly wish we could go back to the days when men wore suits and hats and women at least covered themselves when they went out, instead of intentionally dressing as “eye candy” (pseudo-whores). Shit, this isn’t my website! Why am I taking up so much space?? So sorry… This is just a topic that has pissed me off lately because I think I hate everyone, especially sluts and guys with lame pick up lines for these sluts.
2 brotherpriest // Mar 26, 2005 at 9:10 am
I forgot to even address your comment. Yes, Drug Boy did in fact drive (and was serious about not comprehending how his door could be “a jar”). Come to find out, he has a bit of a problem with his nose being attracted to white powder. Yeesh.
3 Magazineman // Mar 26, 2005 at 10:13 am
LOL! That was great. I mean, too bad you had to pay 6 bucks for a beer (and since you didn’t finish it you probably left, what, two dollars in the glass). Your description really brought the place to life, though: I can almost see the cleavage and greasy hair…
4 TimsHead // Mar 26, 2005 at 11:38 am
Sounds like hell. Or New Jersey. As the craptastic scene unfolded, were you thinking, as Gnarlysurf once famously said: This my Xanging faithfuls had Xanga entry written all over it right from the get go. Great googly moogly.Paying six bucks for a Bud Light? It doesn’t even qualify as beer! That’s wrong on more levels than I could ever address in this space. Good call on liking hefe weisen, by the way.
5 Jay_galk25 // Mar 26, 2005 at 11:59 am
“Come to find out, he has a bit of a problem with his nose being attracted to white powder.” - We have a friend like that, we call her coke whore, maybe I’ll tell a funny story about it sometime next week.
(I had a near-horridly embarrassing experience once again, folks. After lining the toilet seat in paper, I attempted to sit down on it but it apparently was not attached to the toilet, and it flew to the floor. I had the fortunate luck to regain my balance just in time to avoid falling in the toilet. But seriously, it was a close one.) - Laughed out loud, so loud.
Maybe me and my crew of misfits should go out again eventually, then you’ll start seeing witty shit like this on mine :). Another hilarious post, I love your Xanga.
Jay “Rawr”
6 visitamanda // Mar 26, 2005 at 2:25 pm
surely it IS hell when all you can order is Bud light. my condolences, though I’m glad it had the makings of a brilliant post.
7 Gabe_Real // Mar 26, 2005 at 11:59 pm
$6.oo for a Bud Light??? That cannot be a proverbial *drink special*… and an almost-adventure of the American Standard variety? Whoa.”Lon Gislandese” | Barbie Number Five petting herself. Hahahahahaha. Do you know how much you rock??!?!Have I ever told you? You soooo rock. I *heart* your blogs.You can chillaxout at m’bloggah anytime. (As if you needed an invitation)
Another highlight *swing-for-the-fences* blog. Positive Vibes.
8 derf6179 // Mar 27, 2005 at 5:49 am
ugh Bud… I’ll pass…but great story as always
9 trcs // Mar 27, 2005 at 6:15 am
I don’t think I’ve ever had the “pleasure” of tasting Bud Light. Sounds like I’m really missing out.
I’m still trying to figure out the whole can’t-leave-a-tip thing. What’s with that? Who the heck would want to work there?
10 MaximaBella // Mar 27, 2005 at 6:27 am
great profile pic..
six bucks for a freaking bud? I would have gone ape shit!
11 Magazineman // Mar 27, 2005 at 2:16 pm
Oooh, new pic. I like. Inspired me to change my profile pic (slightly)
12 chicagoartgirl23 // Mar 27, 2005 at 6:39 pm
I hate going to clubs where tubetops are required–but that’s mainly because I don’t own a tube top. ::smile::
13 McCrakin_Phil // Mar 27, 2005 at 9:43 pm
sounds fun… i will disregard the FACT that u have completely dissed the KING of beer… But i am originally from St. Louis and thats where its from so perhaps i am programmed to drink it. Still, u are forgiven Ma’am. Bud and Honey Brown… Good beer… good indeed. Worth 6 bucks hell no, but what beer is? the correct answer is none.
14 Rod_Lamour // Mar 28, 2005 at 1:28 am
Good Story…..sounds like a good lawyer could win a suiton discrimintion there. Can’t really picture you with a tube top and spikes ,heavy makeup….thank God my girl is a natural beauty….. Can’t stand Bud either…piss water would propably have more body
15 DavisMcDavis // Mar 28, 2005 at 5:26 am
I can’t understand why you weren’t allowed to leave a tip. You should mention, for those out of state, that $6 for a beer is obscene and yet very, very common. I think the first beer I bought in a New York bar was a $5 Rolling Rock,and that was about 57 years ago (okay, maybe 10).
Nowadays I just assume a martini is going to be $10, even if they put in those cheap Goya olives. Ugh.
16 MaximaBella // Mar 28, 2005 at 7:30 am
ryc: I love keane, and what a kewl middle name! What kind of music do you listen to? Im suprised you havent heard of Keane..