Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Durka Durka, Never Again

Friday night some buddies and I decide that the play to make is a bar called "Casbah Rouge," located on W111th. Usually the place is decent, but this time it was a disaster. After sitting us at a small table in a dark corner, they proceeded to not take drink or hookah orders. Five minutes goes by and one of us goes up to the hostess and asks if someone is coming. She says "yes, sit the fuck down you American pigdog."

Another 5 go by and another goes up. This continues for about 25 minutes until we finally get a hookah of the wrong flavor. We continue to go to the bar to get our drinks because the waitstaff still decide that they have a problem with performing their contracted, table-servicing duties. It probably had nothing to do with the fact that we're white and the patrons they were serving were Middle Eastern. There's no way that was a factor, because only white people can be racist. It just doesn't go both ways.

When we decide that we've had enough, we head out. As soon as we exit the place, an obnoxious staff member runs out and says "the hookah pipe isn't paid for."

Wait a minute. We spent the entire night trying to get their attention or trying to get them to serve us and we were consistently ignored. We leave after finishing the pipe and our drinks and suddenly we're priority number one? Fuck that.

I go back in and settle the bill. In the tip space I write a big "---." The staff member notices this and tells me that I have forgotten to tip. I tell him that in pig dog capitalist countries such as America, tipping is reserved for service of which one is appreciative. I was most certainly not appreciative of anything about the bar that evening and so there would be no tip.

I mean you've got to be fucking kidding me if you think it's legitimate for these people to demand a tip, especially after it becomes blatantly obvious that they were aware that we were sitting and required service but decided to just ignore us. That is so obnoxious it literally makes my blood boil just thinking about it even 5 days later. The next time I want to sample some Middle Eastern flavor, I think I'll just strap a pound of dynamite to my chest. It will cause less of a headache.

The rest of the weekend was more enjoyable. Went to a strip club only to be told by one of the girls that we should get a private room because, and I quote almost directly, "it's not that much...like...I think it's only $500."

In what bizarre universe is $500 not that much to hang out with a stripper for 30 minutes? The best part of the whole ordeal was her hesitation about actually saying $500. She knew damn well it was alot of money, but I guess she's expecting that saying "it's not that much" will cause me to consider it. Because, hey, a stripper said so! After I said "no dice," she leads me back to my table, bizarrely commenting to one of the bouncers that "he said it was too much money." That's only half the story. Nothing is intrinsically "too much money." For instance, $500 is not too much money for a Beverly Hills mansion or a trip to the moon. It is, however, too much money for a private room with a stripper. She should have told the bouncer "he made a well measured decision that I'm not worth his money." It would be closer to the truth.

Moral of the story? You're better off using your money to start forest fires than pay people in the Vice industry. You won't feel as dirty about it the next morning.