
Photo Credit: www.heatgaslamp.com
I swear by bottle service. There is no point going for a night out if you don’t do it first class and bottle service is not only first class, but also fiscally prudent (we will do the math together later). After years of requesting bottle service in almost every city that I frequent including, LA, Vegas, Miami, New York, San Francisco and even Denver, let me tell you: ALL BOTTLE SERVICE IS NOT CREATED EQUAL!
True story. I was in Seattle over the weekend on business and I decided to call up some friends from my college days and hang out before I caught my flight back to LA. My friend Kevin suggested we meet at a new hot spot in Bell Town (Seattle’s equivalent of Hollywood but more like Los Feliz) called Gio’s. He knew a guy who knew the promoter or something like that.
10:30 PM: Me and my boys Desean and Troy arrive and get the typical pat down and interrogation from the club’s list nazi, we walk into a nice little crowd with a good mix of people and a mediocre DJ with a fondness for the Jackson Family. We look around for a minute and see the rest of our group holding up the walls. There are the usual greetings of hugs and hellos.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER: Now what? Five guys standing around gawking at half naked girls and talking into each others’ ears over the loud music. Finally, the smart one in the group states the obvious. “This sucks!” says Troy. “Huh?” replies another. “THIS SUCKS!!!! I have to get up early for church tomorrow, what am I doing standing around here like an idiot”. “I agree, do you guys want to get a table?” I say. “How much does that cost?” asks my cheap friend Kevin. “I don’t know,” I tell him, but in LA it’s anywhere from $500 to about $1,500 not including the tip.” “No way, I have a mortgage and two kids,” says Ed (Kevin’s equally cheap brother). “Yeah, I have a baby on the way. I’m not spending that much money for one night”, says Desean. “Guys,” I begin, “it’s well worth it (here comes the math I promised). There are going to be nine of us by the time everyone else arrives. Let’s keep it at no more than $900 and that’s about a $100 each. So for $100 you will get a table, liquor, personal service and the ladies are more likely to talk to guys at a table than any of these other cheap lumps grabbing their arms as they walk by,” I say to the single guys in the crew. They all look at each other and see the wisdom of my math. “Great. Let me find the promoter,” I say.
FIVE MINUTES LATER: I spot the Promoter. He’s easy to locate in a crowded club because for some reason promoters in every city all look the same. This promoter, Eric, was a real cool Filipino guy with spiked hair and a gang of hot girls around him. I approach. “Hi. Are you the promoter tonight?” He nods in the affirmative. We shake hands. “I’m John. How much for bottle service?” His eyes light up. This is my first clue that Seattle may not be a bottle service town. “About $400,” he says. Is that all? I think to myself. “I will give you $300 if you can get me the table in the corner (I can’t help negotiating even though I think it is a great price).” The table I want is the best table in the house. It’s right next to the windows so you can see everyone in line and more importantly they can see you and ignorantly wonder how you are able to afford bottle service. “Okay. But I can only do it for $350”, he says. “Okay. It’s a deal, but we also have a few more people coming to meet us and we don’t want them to have to wait in line.” He shakes his head in the affirmative and introduces me to his partner, a muscular, tight-shirt-wearing polite guy named Matt. Matt tells me to point out the rest of my party when they arrive and he’ll walk them right in. He takes my credit card and asks me what bottles we want.
So far so good. We sit at our table and begin catching up.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER: We notice that nobody has set up our table for us. This is odd. Every other city seems to have an army of pretty girls in black waiting in the shadows for someone to order bottle service so that they can parade out with ice buckets, glasses, mixers and water bottles the instant that you are seated. Hmmm, I remember Seattle being such a cool town when I lived there. Could Seattle be so far ahead of the rest of the country in technology and coffee but so far behind in nightlife? Even behind Denver? This calls for some serious investigation.
I text Eric: What’s the haps? No service yet. Eric makes his way over to us. “Nobody took care of you yet? I’m so sorry. Let me get someone right on it. And shots on me.” (Did I mention what a cool guy Eric is?) He bought us all a round of Patron shots and headed off to solve the kink in the system.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER: A dumpy rude blonde chick with a cold sore shows up. “What do you guys want, I have lots of tables?” We all look at each other in shock. Everyone glances at me to see if I am going to set this rude person straight. I decide to take the high road instead and reply, “We ordered about 20 minutes ago, can you please just check on that order? She turns away and walks out of sight without even acknowledging my request. I am expecting to hear a barrage of negative opinions about the “bottle service.” Troy is the first to speak again. “Did you guys see that huge blinking light on her lip?” “Yeah, it looked like raw bacon covered in lip gloss”, says Desean. “Her life sucks, herpes and a bad personality”, Kevin chimes in. Phew! No backlash about the bottle service gone wrong.
TEN MINUTES LATER: A pretty blonde named Samantha shows up with a smile and the bottles we ordered. She sets up the table, pours everyone drinks and asks if we need anything else. I stand up, press a $20 in her hand and whisper the secret bottle service code in her ear. She gives me a wink, walks away, and comes back a few minutes later with four girls in tow. This is more like it, I think to myself, someone who understands how all of this is supposed to work. I ask Samantha, “Where are you from?” She replies, “Chicago.” Okay, I’ve never been to Chicago but now I’m thinking Chicago must be a bottle service town. “Are you going to be taking care of us from here on?” I ask with hope in my voice. “No. My section is on the other side. Your server is running behind so I’m just helping her out”. Too bad I think to myself as I watch the only person in Seattle, who knows how bottle service is supposed to work, walk out of my life.
ANOTHER TEN MINUTES LATER: I get a text from my brother: We’re outside. Are you here? I text back: Wait up front. I will come get you. I find my brother, my sister and their small entourage. Once at the table, introductions are made and when my sister can’t find a clean glass for herself, I tell her to sip out of mine until the waitress returns.
ONE HOUR LATER: The rude waitress finally appears. Our last conversation went like so:
WAITRESS: “Do you guys need anything else?” ME: “I need four more glasses and would you mind checking up on us a little more often, these four have been here for an hour without drinks”. WAITRESS: Blank stare. MY SISTER: “Can I also have a glass of water, please?” WAITRESS: “If you get it at the bar yourself, it’ll be faster.”
I look at my sister and see her tense up. I know that look and this isn’t going to be good. MY SISTER: “You must not care about your tip.” WAITRESS: No reply. She turns and walks away. My sister stands to make chase. We all calm her and explain our theory that life has already punished this woman enough and we should just try to make the best of it. MY SISTER: “That was a cold sore on her lip? Whoa! From where I’m sitting and because of the strobe light, I thought it was a piercing or something. Poor girl.”
AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER: The rude waitress makes her final and only other appearance of the night. She doesn’t speak at all but sets the bill down with a half smile. As I’m reviewing the bill, I am debating whether to give the waitress the big fat ZERO that she deserves or whether to be a nice guy and help pay for the penicillin. Then I spot the line item that reads “18% GRATUITY INCLUDED.” What the &^%$$$?
Written by: John W. Fagerholm, Esq.