“Are you actually British?”
Ever since two of my friends pretended to be British for an entire night as a ploy to get free drinks from guys, I don’t trust that people I meet are actually British.
“Yes… We are actually British.”
I’d stepped outside Brooklyn Bowl to try to buy a cigarette from someone. For some reason, once in Brooklyn I decided that I should ask if I could purchase a cigarette, rather than ask if I could bum one. I don’t know if that’s an indication of how I feel about Brooklyn or a result of the fact that for once I had money in my wallet. Either way, the British guys I met outside the venue would not let me purchase a cigarette, but gave me one for free… God bless them.
First I met Alistair Robinson (his real name, no joke!), who commented on the fact that we both have a lot of hair.
“WE COULD START A WIG COMPANY!!!” We yelled this in unison… Insta-friends. Really anytime someone wants to start a company that’s sure to fail with me, we become insta-friends. Then his friend Dan took over the conversation while Alistair went to find the ‘toilet.’ We had the usual conversation you have with British people about how Americans call it the ‘restroom’, haha, isn’t that funny, you don’t rest in there, what about the water closet? Oh you mean the WC? Cultural differences. OMG so fun!!
Dan and I talked about how I mispronounced his name (“It’s Dahhhhn”), how he wasn’t from London (it turns out that not all British people are from London!) and then he started saying something about Americans and nationalism and I remembered that Chris was ordering food inside. At some point Dan accidentally head-butted me and I told him it’s ok, in America that’s like a handshake. I then promised him that I’d bring him a chicken wing even though I was uncertain as to whether or not Chris had ordered chicken wings (it’s like 3 to 1 odds in any drinking/dining scenario).
When I got inside Chris had not ordered chicken wings, but Dan came by and I have him a nacho. He head-butted me and then told me he loved me. Seriously, insta-friends with both of the British dudes.
Ok, here’s the part where I rate the venue.
If you haven’t been reading so long that you remember how it works, here’s how it works:
- I go to a bar/club/venue.
- I take pictures that are usually blurry because I’m a bad photographer/ have only an iphone/ am usually embarrassingly drunk.
- I rate the club on a scale created entirely by me, using my criteria for going out. Keep in mind that I have the preferences of a 65 year old antisocial man, that my favorite bar is housed in a building that once caught on fire and no one evacuated, and that I usually write these lists in a state of still-drunk hangover while yelling that I could really use a mimosa right now.
- Sometimes the list is disjointed because I lose focus searching seamless web to see if they deliver mimosas.
- Based on my entirely made up scale, I calculate the score, most of the time incorrectly (re:hangover), and then completely disregard said score and give the place a rating of Best or Worst Club Ever based on my overall opinion.
In Brooklyn: -500 points
Cool stamp: +5 Points. Please disregard other stamps, the one we’re focusing on is the bowling pin stamp, even though the heart stamp is also quite cute.
Bouncer who didn’t take too long to inspect my passport: +20 Points. It’s a fucking passport people. Who gets a fake ID that’s a passport?
Mexican/Tribal-looking bowling pins: +30 points, and also some clapping and bouncing.
Potential for meeting new friends: +50 points. Seriously, those British dudes were awesome.
Number of Black Eyed Peas songs played (0): +27 points. The Black Eyed Peas are the worst. Every time “I Got A Feeling” plays, a puppy is euthanized.
Bad band that we had fun making fun of played: +52. I love every time the a band tries to be Kings of Leon post Brian Eno. There are only so many ways to rewrite old U2 songs, guys.
Bands that were good played: +43. There were also good bands, probably because of CMJ.
Not having to bowl: +76. I didn’t have to bowl, which is awesome because I suck at and hate bowling.
Wishing I could have watched other people bowl: -32. I do wish I could have watched other people bowl while eating my nachos or listening to music. I guess you can’t have it all (without risking getting hit in the head with a bowling ball).
Not getting hit in the head with a bowling ball: +100. Well done, Brooklyn Bowl. I am like a magnet when it comes to injuries. The fact that I didn’t end up in the emergency room while drinking near heavy objects is a true testament of your risk-management team’s planning skills. I applaud you.
One time I saw a fight between a Hasidic Jew and a bro from Jersey at Brooklyn Bowl: +78 points. It happened the last time I was there, but is definitely worth mentioning. Both got kicked out. It was totally the bro’s fault. It was totally awesome.
Having enough people in our group to take a cab (rather than the L) back: +700 points.
Final rating for Brooklyn Bowl: Best Club Ever
Brooklyn Bowl, come for the music (or bowling), stay for the food and friends and/or fights you might see between Hasidic Jews and bros, leave when you have enough people to split a cab ride back to Manhattan.
Peace, love and happy Saturday,
PS – If you’d like tips on how to use a fake British accent to get drinks from dudes, please comment. I will tell you everything.