Burned
Last weekend, I ventured skeptically back to Lit. A previous post about my first night at Lit was a rather glowing review, but don’t assume that I’ve been spending most my life living in a hipster’s paradise (yes, that was a Coolio reference). My second encounter with the bar left me burned.
It was a Friday night around 2:00 a.m. I’d just come from a delightfully dull bar–perfect for a few drinks and conversation with a couple of friends. But now we were looking for something less low key. We met up with two other friends and our party of five approached the bar’s dark exterior, IDs in our hands, alcohol in our veins, and a fire in our hearts.
“Private party,” the bouncer told me.
“What?”
“Private party. You can’t come in.” Even from his seated position, the burley guy managed to remain taller than I. New to the notion of an exclusive bar scene, it didn’t occur to me to argue. Nor did I realize that the 2:3 ratio of guys to girls might be a problem. Apparently, having guys in your entourage is a ballsy move (literally) that could impede bar-hopping ability.
I was pissed. In August, Lit welcomed us with open arms.
What had changed?
With NYU back in session, maybe Lit could afford to be a lot more exclusive.
Also, in August, Ed Westwick–aka Chuck Bass of Gossip Girl–had been spotted mackin’ it with some anonymous girl. Such a celebrity sighting may have also upped the exclusivity of the bar.
These notions make me gag. First of all, the idea that all of these little underage NYU ragamuffins can go to Lit whenever they want, but that as an old, haggard 22-year-old, I get turned away…well, that’s just humiliating.
Secondly, just because Ed Westwick went to Lit one steamy Wednesday night in August doesn’t qualify it as exclusive. Granted, if I saw Ed Westwick in Lit, I would probably pee my pants and try to pass it off like I’d spilled my drink. Maybe that’s what they’re trying to avoid. But that doesn’t mean passage should only be granted to the most hipster-elite who refuse to get excited about anything that swims in the polluted mainstream of pop culture.
So I decided I’d swear off Lit. Until my friends and I got really drunk last Saturday night and, come 2:00 a.m., decided we wanted to go dance and profusely sweat out all our alcohol in Lit’s dark, dank basement-cave.
The odds were against us: a party of six with a 3:3 ratio of guys to girls. But I had a plan. I happened to be mildly acquainted with a friend of two guys that occasionally deejayed at Lit. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was all we had.
We arrived and, sure enough, Papa Bear was stoically seated on his Baby Bear stool.
Papa Bear: “It’s a private party.”
Ha! Not falling for it this time.
Stunned/Intoxicated in the City: “Our friend is in here. He knows the DJs. They told us we’d be able to get in.”
PB: “Can I get a name?”
S/I: “Yeah. Tim Wolf. He told us we wouldn’t have a problem at the door.”
PB: “I need a name of one of the DJs.”
S/I: “Look, you let us in here two weeks ago without any problem. My friend’s inside already. He knows the DJs. He told us we’d be fine to get in.”
PB: “How many guys are with you?”
S/I: “Three, but two are European so…”
PB: “Okay, okay, whatever.”
And that was it. We were IN. The place wasn’t even close to capacity. The basement was practically empty, which made Lit’s exclusivity even more lame. But that didn’t matter now that we were on the other side of the door.
Oh, how I reveled in my success, dancing into a sweaty oblivion. With the exception of 30 seconds of “Hypnotize” by Notorious B.I.G., the basement music was Doo Wop-themed and though my friend’s two European pals faded fast (“What is this? No techno?”), the rest of us did the twist, the shake, and the mashed potato long into the evening. When I finally came up for air on the first floor of the bar, an attractive young Brit struck up a friendly conversation with me because he was so intrigued by how sweaty I was.
It was as though I could do no wrong!
My friends and I left Lit in the wee hours of the morning. The bar was back in my good graces. For now. But if I ever get turned away again, Lit will become nothing more than an old flame.
Tags: bouncer, dancing, drinking, East Village, New York
