That's what I became last Saturday, due to a idiot maitre d', incompetent public transport (that is still somehow better than that found in any other city in the US), a lack of curiosity and a mauve curtain.
After returning to Astorias beer garden for yet another fabulous evening ... I have other things to say and this blog is not really about the beer garden, but I need to reiterate how fantastic this place is. Its just what drinking and partying and hanging out should be like, so easy and relaxed and just plain fun ... anyway, I was supposed to wake up relatively early Saturday morning and head off to a baby shower where I had been promised a beer in a baby bottle. Now if this sort of promise does not excite you, you are too old.
Leaving the Bronx at around 1030 in the morning, I arrived at the desired restaurant, Supper, at 1 pm, about an hour late, due mostly to the fact that both the 5 and the F trains were under construction (whats new) and each stopped about 20 stops before they were supposed to. Thus, a relatively easy trip down to the village on the 5 train became a nightmare of transfers and bizarre jaunts across this or that set of streets and ended me up somewhere near my destination having taken the V train.
I get to Supper and call Dana, who is the organizer, but can't get a hold of her, so I walk into the restaurant and look around. I don't see anyone I know, or even any big groups, but I am not that late so I figure they mush be here somewhere. I ask the maitre d' and he says they are in the back, which is where I just looked. I look again, they he looks with me, and neither of us see the group, most likely because THEY ARE NOT THERE. All I see is the empty back room full of tables, chairs and a mauve curtain over the stairs down to the bathroom.
I walk out of the restaurant and call Dana and Koffman, the only people I know at the shower, but both phones are off. So I walk up to a nearby park on 10th and A, and take a seat, watching a impromptu concert by a pasty white reggae band. This minor entertainment is supplemented by the filthy hipster convention going on at the bench opposite me, as well as the crazy homeless guy dressed up like an abused jungle convert ops solider who is putting golf balls at the group of wheelchair bound guys watching the band.
By 3 pm I am hungry and tired of the music and the golf, so I call Dana again, no response, and head uptown for some sushi and a good walk. The day was no loss, as I explored alphabet city pretty extensively, hung out in Barnes and Noble (dodging a rainstorm ... its odd to go into a bookstore and read the book you brought with you) and met up with Rob for a drink later than night.
I finally found out what happened, while I was at the bookstore. The mauve curtain covering the bathroom area also covered the downstairs seating area where the shower was being held, and since it was downstairs, no one had cell reception. Dana only got my messages at 5 pm when they all came up for air after baby bottle boat racing. I am not sure why the maitre d' was unaware of the location of the large, reserved room is his own restaurant though ...