Kat F.
Yelp
So I walk in. I'm meeting friends but they aren't there yet. I walk up to the bar and wait my turn. And I wait. And I wait. The bartender repeatedly serves people who have come to the bar after me, without so much as looking at me. Finally she practically snarls at me, asking what I want. I tell her I want the porter. She asks for my ID and it takes me a minute to dig it out, which clearly puts her in so much pain that she nearly dies right there at the bar. Finally I find it, she looks at it, and then asks me what I want again. I tell her the porter. A mason jar of the stuff slams down on the counter in front of me. I offer a card and she stares at me as though I've just crawled out of the sludge and am growing legs right in front of her. "We don't do CARDS here."
One of the regulars at this point takes pity on me and points out the ATM, but I have a twenty in my pocket for once and offer that instead. I'm so flustered by her bitchiness that I actually forget to tip and only remember once I'm sitting down...but I decide I'm not too worried. (Of course, when I go for my second jar a bit later, the service is even worse.)
The atmosphere sucks. I like a good dive bar, but this place is trying a little too hard. The beer jars suck. Are they the pint size? They feel smaller.
I liked that there was a dog in the bar, but I wish that he had been pulling the taps because all dogs automatically get five stars from me.
I won't be coming back here. Why would I when there are several places on 45th where the bartenders know my name and actually want my business?