As soon as I stepped foot into the bar, I instantly wanted to turn around and run as fast as I could in the opposite direction. It was so crowded, and the hodgepodge of people was really just...weird. Ya know in the movie "Clueless" when Cher walks through the school campus with Tai and explains all the different cliques? That's what it felt like (minus the cool kids). Probably the most annoying group of people I witnessed were the Upper East Side frat boys with their faded T-shirts, backwards caps and flip flops. They were totally out of their comfort zone, and this, no doubt, was their first time making it down past 42nd Street. Guys, do a favor for all of us and stay uptown where you belong.
I'm pretty certain that everyone in the bar had just recently moved to New York, and this was their first big night out. It had to be. They were just so gosh darn excited about everything. And there was one guy behind me that was talking extremely loud to a group of people about "having sex all day long." Whoa, cool man. Is that his get-laid tactic? Does he think that's a turn-on? Let's hope for his sake that's not the only Ace up his sleeve, or else he's gonna have one lonely winter.
I arrive at Superdive shortly after 10, eager to experience the
"cultural elitism and intellectual camaraderie" of its inaugural Champagne Tuesday. The cover strikes me as outrageous, until I realize the suggested donation at the Met is also $20, and Superdive boasts guys in white track suits humping the air with one leg off the ground while making a motorboat sound, which the Met most assuredly does not. I am eager to part with my $20.
The bar is filled with black and white balloons with ribbons. I can't see much but I'm sure everyone is dressed nicely and discussing philosophy. Then my world comes crashing down. I am denied entry due to the bar being "at capacity." I'm told to try back in 30 minutes, maybe an hour, but it does not sound promising. It seems less crowded than the grand opening, but there's nothing doing. I'm also told the bar will be closing early tonight, 12:30 at the latest. I am Jack's inflamed sense of rejection.
I stand by, hoping for a break, or at least a chance to observe the makeup of the Champagne Tuesday crowd. A group of nine girls and two guys exit, mostly in work attire. One fellow kicks over something metallic sounding and states "I didn't do that." The crowd is happy-drunk, and well behaved. A woman in leather pants exits and gains admittance for one of her friends who had been waiting outside. It's clear I will not get in, and I retire up the block.
Tuesday nights. Unlimited champagne. Sabered open for you. In a bathtub on wheels. By a midget dressed as a pirate.
Let's just let that marinate for a minute.
Welcome to Champagne Tuesdays at Superdive, a new bastion of cultural elitism and intellectual camaraderie, debuting tomorrow in your favorite beer-scented pit of depravity in the East Village.
If ordering a keg to your table, doing a keg-stand on said keg, or generally gallivanting about in the Wild Wild West of dive bars just was too tame for you, here's your chance to let your hair down a little more. Twenty bucks and an appetite for champagne and destruction gets you all the bubbly you can drink, and, yes, that champagne will be sabered and served to you by a little person named Nick wearing a pirate outfit.
At this point, you might be asking yourself why a tiny pirate wielding a tiny saber meant to chop the top off of a champagne bottle is manning a mobile bathtub full of bubbly bottles. And you also might be asking yourself why you would be purchasing champagne from this tiny Jack Sparrow.
Well, because it's Tuesday.
