Upstairs: Fab bookstore that I gave five loving stars.
Downstairs: Pub that looked very cool. As soon as I walked in I thought it looked like somewhere the Hobbits would hang out. It's all wood and cool lighting. Like it was carved out of a tree trunk.
People. Why can I not get a f*cking drink in this town? Is there something about ordering drinks in Seattle that I don't understand? Can they smell the California on me and that's why I get abusive bar staff in this town? It's like I'm wearing a sign that says, "See how much abuse I'll take just to order a goddamn drink."
Ok, here's what happened. I sat down and assumed it was table service, since neither of my male companions offered to get me a drink or pushed me in the general direction of the bar (either of which I would have been fine with although the former being much preferred). So I sit there for a few minutes and almost forgetting about the fact that I don't have a drink and the bartender comes over and says something along the lines of "Did you want to order a drink?" I can't remember exactly what he said because I was so taken aback by the tone. Let me explain. Imagine for a moment that you are in the Dining Room at the Ritz Carlton and a smelly homeless person walks in wearing only a cowboy hat and rubber duck on his privates (maybe you live in San Francisco and you don't have to imagine that because you've seen it). Anyway, the homeless dude comes in and he smells just horrible, of human filth and rotten fruit. And he sits down at a table and starts munching the free bread and drinking the free glasses of water. He's scratching his but and smelling his fingers and farting and burping at the other diners. The head waiter comes over and says, "Would you like to order anything, sir?" Now. You can imagine the kind of tone that would be said in, right? The sheer loathing dripping from every word? What they are really saying is, "I'm about 5 seconds from dropping your nasty ass right onto the curb. Now we can do this the nice way, or we can do it the hard way. What's it gonna be?"
That is the tone that the bartender used with me.
I wasn't offended or angry. I was, well... kind of scared. I thought the guy was going to throw me out on the street. He acted like I'd done something horrible. Dude, I don't know the procedures for the Hobbit Bar! Anyway it just kind of left me feeling a little weird so I was like, "Um, no, thanks, I'm going to leave..." and then I quietly backed out the door and ran to my car and locked it behind me. Yikes.
You know, even now I'm kind of scared to give it less than 3 stars because I think the bartender might try to come find me. I don't KNOW about the Hobbit Rules, I don't KNOW! read more