Why do I hate this overrated den of inequity? You got it: never had any luck here. I don’t think I’d want to though. Meet a drunk girl here and the only thing she can sober up on is buffalo wings. Stop and think about that for a minute.

I once followed a pair of club girls here. After fighting to get in and a $12 Grey Goose and Cranberry later, I found them on the dance floor crowded with yuppies and sugar daddies. They were surrounded by about six other guys trying way harder than me. Suffice to say, I went home alone that night.

This bar was right around the corner from one of my old restaurant jobs. We would always end up at PJs after work and I was always stuck playing wingman to my divorced friend. I’ll never forget the night he bought a woman across the bar a drink and she then flashed her wedding ring at us. Or, when he tried to impress a group of college girls with the fact that we “volunteered at a soup kitchen”.

Back when my friends were still in NYU, we went here often on Fridays and Saturdays. NYU girls are apparently “too cool” to talk to guys that live in Brooklyn. After a while, I just stopped trying altogether.

This story is a bit of a reverse, but worth telling. I was at this bar in – I think – the summer of 2007, by myself, on a Saturday night. Swarming with people. I’m trying to get to the bar and this woman keeps tapping me on the back, trying to say something clever to get my attention. When I turn around to look at her, she is clearly wasted, plus there’s a vibe about her I don’t like. I brush her off and go about my business. Fifteen minutes later, I leave the bar and she is standing on the street, smoking a cigarette, hitting on a homeless guy. The lesson? Trust your instincts guys.