On Monday night, I made a bit of a last minute visit to West 27th Street and met up with Lauren and Mike. Lauren's friend was working the door at BED.
Mike says "Wha?? Going out on a Monday night??"
Mike and Lauren getting their groove on.
Word association? Unfortunate.
Dude rocking the cane.
The ladies apparently love the cane and leg brace.
Cane man told us (Said he was a promoter--Who isn't a promoter in this City?) that the hot party that night was at Cain down the street. Once we got there, there was definitely a crowd trying to get in. Cane man acted like he was all hooked up, but his crippled ass had to wait in line just like everyone else. He was only let in after he bought a table (6 Benjis).
At some point, Mike, Lauren and I had waited so long to get in at Cain that we couldn't leave. So we waited patiently. Twice they announced that the doors were "closed." Liars! Haha.
One girl started yelling at the bouncers and door people that they were racist and only letting in white people. As if on cue, this skinny white dude comes marching up, unhooks the rope himself and lets himself in. The crazy bitch starts going off right then and there about this white dude. Apparently he had been in there already and had a "stamp," but that didn't matter to crazy woman. The door people tried stopping the white dude to make him show his stamp. He waved them off and walked in to the club while muttering about how "ridiculous this was." White privilege right there. Haha.
This same chick reappeared 20 minutes later and tried to walk in because she now had a 'stamp.' The bouncers and the doorwoman told her they remembered her and she wasn't getting in at all tonight.
In her defense, they were letting in some really wack people but hey, if I was running a place where people were willing to pay 600 minimum for a table, I'd let in Pol Pot if he was willing to throw down his credit card.
Another guy erupted at one of the door guys because he couldn't get in either. This dude went off. He started yelling about how he's got 50 g's around his wrist and how if he ever ran into the door dude, he'd "wreck" him. This guy then came back into the line to show off his watch (It WAS shiny and heavy looking) worth 50 g's (according to him). And while I couldn't quite see what it was, he pulled out some sketchbook to show his stuff. Lauren and Mike saw it. We were thinking why the hell he was carrying a sketchbook. When he eventually left, his final parting shot to the door dude was "And you ain't even pretty." Hahaha. OUCH!
Eventually, they would only let in two of us, which is wack. Defeated we finally left. I've never really waited in line to get in anywhere so this was a first for me. Chalk it up for a NYC memory.
And you ain't even pretty!