Don't Hang Your Coat on This Fish

Such was the lesson learned this past weekend at Hogs & Heifers, one of the bars that inspired Coyote Ugly (establishment and shit-film) and the requisite potty-mouthed barmaids, singin' out to country songs, women jumpin' on the bar crap. Not the above fish in particular, though it woulda been better as an actual Big Mouth Billy Bass. (Side note: wouldn't it be killer if you could make your Big Mouth Billy say anything you want? Ah, but you can. Glory be.)

Anyway, things were not off to a good start at H&H when they reamed us for a $5 cover charge at the Meatpacking District's faux-dive of choice. But I had guests -- one out-of-towner, one new immigrant -- so I thought it might be a lark. In we go. When I ask for three beers, the barmaid growls, "You wanna drink like a pussy, get a six-pack and go home. Order me a shot!"

Now there was a time when I thought this was cute. Yes yes yes, a little raunchy joust with the liquor slattern! Tally ho! But I just waved her away. "Sure, drink your shot or whatever it is," I said. "I don't care. Just bring three beers." Whereupon she turned on her heel and marched away, disgusted and most assuredly not toward the beers.

Right. So Yours Chumply scans around, looking for someone else to service me. I should mention that this was the period in the evening when continued consumption of alcohol was very important. Very, very important. I honestly didn't care if the barmaid needed to engage in the stage business with the shot of lemon juice or whatever it was in the special bottle that only bartenders drank from. I understood that I had to throw down a few extra bucks for that bit o' foolishness. But that didn't mean I had to watch and applaud and/or hoot. Not to mention that of the few ladies who'd gotten on the bar so far, none were of the sort that improved from an anterior view. And perhaps it would have been more rewarding if one could respond with equal venom, like "Shut it and get the beers, you cheap slut! If I want your mouth open, I'll see you in the alley with my fly unzipped and a roll of food stamps."

Ha ha ha! (The foregoing is dedicated to our female readers. Thanks ladies!) No really, of course, saying such a thing would get me no beer at best and pummeled by the bouncerati at worst. So instead I ignored her, and she ignored me, till my continued, glowering presence brought her back, where our respective routines were repeated verbatim. Except this time, she slouched over to the taps and brought the beers. I asked the damage, she said "Eighteen bucks plus tip!" Ah heh heh. I left the $18 plus a buck apiece for the three beers. It seemed impossible that I should be expected to tip for the "shot" the bartender served herself.

But the fun didn't end there. After worming our way over to the wall and observing the unimpressive spectacle, FPP takes off his coat and hangs it on a wall-mounted fish. Now bear in mind this fish didn't even look real, and if it was, it had seen better days even long after it was dead. Fins were broken off, eyes were gouged out, and it was caked with grime and dust. Nevertheless, this transgression brought a bouncer over almost immediately. "Don't hang your coat on the fish, man!" he bellowed, eyes bulging. This was a member of the Fat Bouncer subspecies. Fat Bouncers are almost always stationed inside for crowd control. Fat Bouncers aren't nearly as threatening as Giant Bouncers, who are usually placed on doors and are the sort who can palm your head with their small hand.

FPP laughed and removed his coat from the fish. Fat Bouncer retreated to his bar-side perch. About a minute later, FPP proceeded to hang his coat on a wall-mounted hubcap, reasoning logically that it was a fish-protection rule, not a no-hanging-coat rule. Wrong. Fat Bouncer came charging back. "If you can't hang your coat on the fish, what makes you think you can hang it there? Don't be a fuckin' asshole!" FPP laughed some more and took his coat down, then asked, "You got a hook, then?" Fat Bouncer snarled and retreated.

Well, that couldn't be the end of it, could it? FPP decided to try and get on Fat Bouncer's good side by reporting on another patron sitting on the pool table. Myself and third man GVB held up our digicams, ready to capture FPP's inevitable beatdown. In retrospect, the resulting ejection may have been caused by our expectant shutterbugging as much as FPP's insolence, as Fat Bouncer reportedly complained loudly about us as he told FPP to fuck off and get out. FPP dutifully turned and exited via the side door with Fat Bouncer in moderately hot pursuit, as GVB and I strolled out the front.

We found FPP whistling cheerfully outside, as Fat Bouncer peeked out the door and heartily declared that we should all go get hit by a bus. FPP returned fire with some unsolicited weight-loss advice, and that was that. The Hogs & Heifers theater project is kinda funny at first, but when it becomes so carefully prescribed that you can't even hang your coat on a hubcap, the place just turns into TGI Fridays with halter tops and dirty talk.

Comments

[Enrique Bana]

I remember thinking that Hogs & Heifers "jumped the shark" a few years back, shortly after the release of "Coyote Ugly", when you'd see phalanxes of dudes with neatly-parted hair lined up outside wearing the Bloackbuster uniform (chinos, tassled loafers, buttoned-down blue oxford).

Other bars of that ilk have fared similarly. "The Village Idiot" closed earlier this year, a victim of the gentrification of the Meat Packing District and resultant high rents, and was one of the few bars made less attractive by the NYC smoking ban (who knew the smell of urine, sweat and vomit could be effectively masked by tobacco smoke?). "Red Rock West" gets a little tired with multiple viewings. Strangely, I've never actually been to "Coyote Ugly" (well, not the New York version, only those in Vegas and Austin).

Y'all should have joined the crowd down at Schiller's on Friday night. Our waitress was, we all agreed, a winning combination of Kate Winslet and Clare Danes.

What's the over/under on when FPP gets his first NYC beatdown? Can't be long now. Can you put me down for the first 2 weeks of December?

[John M. Hicks]

          Chris, Chris, Chris. You're from Alabama, fer Criss sakes! You KNOW that if they've got fish stuffed on the walls of a bar, thar's trouble awaitin'! I usually tip 25% or more, but I wouldn't have given that bitch shit. No shot, either.

          Six bucks a beer and it better have been Guiness, not a Bud! If it's redneck stripper stuff you want, Sammy's does ok here in the Tragic City. And they've got no problem selling beer. However, Birmingham AND Homewood PD do sit in their cars outside. They fight over which juristiction gets to issue the DUI...

JH

          I think a triple post is a new record! Excellent!

[chris m]

Agree on all points, EB. Though there's still something to be said for Yogi's on the UWS, which is a smaller and generally less bellicose version of the same thing. (Our pal from Long Island was highly annoyed that it's now called Yogi's, since it was, in his days of youth, just known as the "Bear Bar." He refused to call it anything else.)

John, a 25% tip for drinks is mighty generous, but as you note, it's much easier when drinks aren't as pricey as they tend to be Manhattan-way. Buck a drink is the way to go.