As you may recall, I was all relieved a couple of weeks ago to have chosen a bar for my last Bon Voyage party. And I was so sure of it that it didn’t really bother me at first when they weren’t answering their phone. It was a fairly new place, so it’s not like they were all that busy; we could probably just show up if it came to that.
By Wednesday, though, I was getting testy. I mean, the place hasn’t even made it onto citysearch yet; and if they print up cards with a phone number that they don’t answer, they never will, right? Right?
So I swung by. The first of the two giant notices on the door was a general restraining order preventing anyone from removing anything from the property. The second announced that the place had been shut down for endangering the health and safety of a large number of people.
Cool.
I decided to go back to basics–I’ve been so concerned with putting together all of the pieces that I’ve been ignoring my favorite bar just because it’s, well, tiny. I did call them, expecting to hear that they didn’t do groups, and to be mocked a smidge just for asking. I was prepared for mocking; I was not prepared for the friendly manager to say, “Sure, we’ll put reserved signs on a couple of the back tables.” Especially since he then hung up without taking my name.
I mean–I know they don’t do that, so he was obviously lying, but he did it so nicely that I didn’t feel mocked. I didn’t feel blown off enough to justify going somewhere else, is what I’m saying. And he did say that the crowd would be thin around 9:00, so….
We basically took over the back of the place, starting with one tiny table and expanding like one of those sponges that turn into dinosaurs.
It was wonderful–if you were there, thank you so much! I felt like an ADD kid for most of it; I spent the first hour or so without ever getting to finish a single conversation. People I haven’t seen in years, people I’d just met, and Andrea bearing a red velvet cake from Buttercup Bakery, some of which ended up in Mary’s hair (for symmetry) made it an amazing night. Actually, the cake got everywhere, but yes, Andrea, I did bring the last slice back with me. I called it “breakfast.”
As a bonus, my team won both games of pool we played–one lamely, when Elena scratched on the eight-ball, but a later one for real, when I sank this incredibly elegant winning shot that no one actually saw.
It was really a nice way to go out. I highly recommend it. I also strongly suggest that everyone pester Mary about the appropriately-sideburned guy I left her with at the table. You know–after I got the icing out of her hair.