NIGHTLIFE
Nov. 19, 1982
Adventures of the Lost Expedition, Part VII: City line.
CAPTAIN’S LOG, BAR DATE VII: It was with no small alarm that
the Captain examined Jim Bisco’s account of the latest addition to the University Plaza Main Street shore of Lake Erie to the edge of Genesee County
Yes, the
2001 stood directly in the line of march and it could wind up costing the
safari dearly, not only in cash, but also in precious time. The Captain seized
his communicator and established contact with his science officer to propose a
daring two-man sortie.
“It’s going
to take perfect timing,” the Captain reckoned. “If we can get there before 8
p.m., we can beat the crowd and the cover charge. Then we can double back and pick
up the rest of the crew.”
The two of
them transported to the rear of the plaza with less than half an hour to spare.
Had it not been for a big awning proclaiming this the 2001 VIP Club of Buffalo,
there was little to distinguish it from the outside. It could have been the
2001 VIP Club of Dubuque.
The
impression lingered through the aluminum doors, past the discount apparel shop
in the basement and up the stairs. Bisco’s pioneering report had not warned of
the greatest peril, however. The 2001 VIP Club had a dress code.
“No
athletic shoes,” the sign at the door commanded. The Captain inadvertently
squeaked his rubber soles on the polished floor, attracting the keen eye of the
keeper of the portal, an impeccable gentleman in a tuxedo whose tag identified
him as Richard.
“I’m
sorry,” he said sternly. “No sneakers.”
“Wait a
minute,” the Captain countered. “I paid $40 for these. I wear them to weddings.
These are my formal sneakers.”
Richard
eyed the Captain up and down critically. “OK, you’re wearing a tie,” he said
finally. “Go ahead.”
The Captain
heaved a sign of relief and plunged to the nearest of the club’s three bars.
Business suits and dresses were the rule for the dozen or so patrons savoring
the fading happy hour there. Nonetheless, attracting one of the two bartenders
was almost as difficult as gaining admission. Still a few bugs in the
operation, the Captain surmised several minutes later as his
two-for-the-price-of-one cocktails were poured.
The science
officer checked other aspects of Bisco’s dispatch. Aside from no frosted mugs
for his Molson’s, he found them to be accurate. The main lounge area, divided
into separate levels for Razzie’s and the Nickelodeon, flashed with the
two-projector slide show and clearly was large enough to lose an unwanted
acquaintance.
Designated
staging area was the Bagatelle at 3199 Main , a
quiet supper club which was remembered from 10 years ago, when it was a rowdy
university bar called the Beef and Ale. Its fare then had been rock music and
umpteen varieties of exotic beer from around the globe. Now its pride was its
kitchen. Restaurant reviews from the News and Courier were posted prominently
in the small, street-level bar area.
Soon the
expedition’s billiards engineer arrived, as did the first mates. A table for
six was procured in the softly lit upper level, where the walls were hung with
fine arts prints from Benjaman’s Galerie. The safari hungrily fell upon the $10
and $12 entrees, which fully lived up to their billing, and sent Lisa, the
waitress with the voluminous memory, back to the bar for repeated rounds.
Soon the
sedate air of the Bagatelle was punctuated by unrestrained mirth, a mood
muffled only by the ultimate realization that the bill was approaching three
figures. Thus refreshed, the trekkers exchanged farewells with proprietor Mike
Kadryna, who informed the party that he always pours brand name liquor.
On foot,
they set forth for the Third Base at 3264 Main ,
encountering en route the billiards technician’s 18-year-old daughter Beth and
her friends Kelly and Barb, all of whom were bound for the very same
destination.
Beyond the
burly bouncer checking proof at the door, the Third Base proved to be a haven
for mature high school seniors from Amherst, Canisius and St. Joe’s, enjoying
the last days of enfranchisement before the drinking age in this
once-enlightened state goes up to 19. Kelly, Beth and Barb seemed to know half
the crowd packed into this unexpectedly cramped oasis. Baseball cartoons lined
the walls. Bob Seger blared and nobody seemed to mind that most of the
expeditioners were old enough to be their parents.
A couple
doors north at 3270 Main lay the enormously
popular college hangout, P. J. Bottoms, where the crowd was older, the music on
the sound system was better (The Cars, The Clash) and the ambiance was looser.
A sign advertised the next of Bottoms’ famous Tuesday theme parties – a Sadie
Hawkins night, complete with hayride – and slides depicting scenes from
previous Tuesdays flashed above the bar.
The science
officer had gotten reports of a cowboy party this night at the next stop, the
Miners Ten in the University
Plaza
A sense of
triumph accompanied the crew into its final port of call, the Deli Place Main . Many fondly recalled having eaten there and happily
reacquainted themselves with the framed mementos of famous visitors on the
wall, but none had made this sort of stop before at the tiny bar counter just
inside the front door.
Presented
with a truly esoteric selection of beers, the science officer ordered a
Japanese Kirin and launched into a story about how this was the preferred brew
of jazz drummer Elvin Jones. Jovial proprietor Bill Dollgoff, ignoring his 2
a.m. closing, proceeded to expound of the virtues of dark beers from Czechoslovakia and light beers from China
No comments:
Post a Comment