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| - By some deeply regrettable interdimensional paradox, I end up at this hellhole every time I come to Cleveland to visit my parents. I don't mean to, but someone's someone's BFF/hairdresser/unabashed Limp Bizkit fan recommends it and organizes a party, and there I am, again.
To be clear, WPS is not a hellhole in the cool sense of old West Side Cleveland working class neighborhood dives--oh no, I like those and feel that they have much to recommend them, and will listen to shitty Irish bands in them all the livelong day. It is a hellhole in an abysmal, rap-rock, late-1990's/early 2000's kind of way that was laughably stupid then and is now comically dated as a bonus.
Here is what you may expect: a shitty beer selection in a town that has many credible craft breweries; un-effing-believably bad bar service, where a friend was once so stunned that the bartenders stopped chatting with/serving their friends long enough to notice him that he froze up until said barkeeps walked away again; militant, tattooed frat boys watching UFC on the TV's and listening to Fred Durst wannabe dudes up on the stage.
To be fair, I have never tried the food. But I don't generally reward people who would steal my car by asking them to paint my house, so the fact that they are terrible at everything that I might have wanted them to do so far does not incentivize giving them the opportunity to suck other ways, as well.
You might think that this review is merely superior Austinite hipster snark, but I grew up in this part of Cleveland, and like many places in it plenty well. This isn't one of them. It's instead an amalgamation of everything douchey in the West Park/nearby suburbs culture, and although I am glad to see successful businesses in the area, I really wish this one would go away.
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