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I'm wincing as I type
this not because our friend was nice enough to invite us here for
her birthday, but because I'm about to annihilate it. It's not to
say the evening wouldn't have been perfectly lovely if some Upper
East Side high school Lolita didn't steal Ms. Hipster's I.D. out of
her purse. That's right, folks. Not her money, not her plastic, not
the beautiful wallet or even her purse, but her one piece of personal
property that would be useful, say, some kid to pass herself off as
an adult of drinking age. Up to that point of discovering the theft
the place wasn't terrible (despite being packed and very, very young).
Afterwards, I might as well have poured 151 over my head and struck
a match. So my theory was that a young opportunistic girl with a friend
waiting outside without proper identification saw her chance, took
it, and walked outside with the i.d. to get her friend in. So I went
to the bouncer and made the mistake of telling him my theory. He turned
a menacing eye towards me and said, "There are absolutely NO underage
people in this bar!" Stifling laughter--and in my drunken beer muscle
way--I said something to the effect of, "You're shitting me, right?"
I've come very close to being punched by guys bigger than him. Just
as he was about to unleash, a gaggle of girls with unlit cigarettes
in their hands tumbled out of the bar talking about My Pretty Pony
and Smurfs and shit. I gave him a knowing glance and snarled, "Just
keep an eye out, okay, buddy?" After my completely fictional back-and-forth,
I headed back inside and spent the rest of the time watching smoke
rise out of TPQ's ears. I asked the clueless chick bartenders to look
out for any suspicious looking young women waving around hot plastic,
and even thought about grabbing the mic away from the dj in order
to threaten and cajole and smoke the little brat out of her hole.
Alas, it was not to be, and the little lady had to go down to Avenue
D one afternoon to file a police report and then another afternoon
at the DMV to replace the stupid i.d. All in all, the place could
have been the Scores
of kiddy lounges, and the night still would have sucked because of
one spoiled jerk who just couldn't wait another year to drink a woo-woo.
[MF]
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