| rev:text
| - God, I hate this bar.
I don't want to, honest. But damn, I can't help it.
First, getting in with an out of state or international ID is impossible. A friend from Puerto Rico got her United States issued government ID taken to the office by management, bent, cut, then returned after an hour, and still told she could not enter. There's a difference between being firm and being a jerk.
Now, supposing you get in, the place is always packed with the most bro bros who have ever bro-ed and the female types who hang out with them. This bar is the most CollegeĀ filled with those who haven't outgrown the fantasy that Animal House sold them.
There are two bars on the main floor, but good luck getting to either one of them. If you try to go to the smaller one in the back, you'll no doubt get elbowed by some girl in a 21st Birthday sash and crown while she grinds on a man indifferent to her presence. If you stand at the main bar, you'll wait. And wait. And wait. I've never seen a group of bartenders both constantly moving and completely ambivalent to their patrons. I had a bartender ignore me for 15 minutes, ask my drink, make four other people's drinks, people who just got to the bar, then ask me to remind him what my drink was before not giving me my change for another five minutes after producing my weak as hell drink.
This bar has absolutely no chill, and the one star I give it is for the fact that they take pictures of people who come to the bar and post it on their Facebook.
|