The recently problematic trend in bar atmosphere you may not have noticed

Do you miss the ol’ days?

Photo by Ori Song on Unsplash

Before 2020, I was magnetized with rooftop bars. Anyone in their mid-20s or pretending to be in their mid-20s had jumped aboard the national phenomenon: They put a bar on a roof. We have got-to-fucking-go.

There are a few things here. One is elegantly illustrated at Perch in Downtown Los Angeles (please commit to a quick Google search for me):

1. A rooftop requires multiple lines, avenues, queues. You pop out of your Uber or chain up your tandem bicycle (make sure it’s Kryptonite Kryptolok Standard with Cable, or else you’re just a sucker without a front wheel. A begrudging unicyclist, baptized in fire and skinned elbows), and as expected you slide into line. Nothing out of the ordinary here, your taste is confirmed by the need to wait (it’s a rooftop, taste was never in doubt). So, you stand around. Play some satellite radio. Collaborate on the latest New Yorker crossword. Until you get to the heavenly gates, the door. Doorman takes a once-over on your ID (Arizona licenses last 50 years!!! I will give my real ID as a fake to my son). You peer around the god-forsaken corner….to see an elevator. Yup, that’s right. This roof, it’s up. At least a few floors, maybe a hundred. And there is another line to it. Looks like you mistimed…