Listen, I love living in Brooklyn. There are plenty of great bars and most of the people are quite friendly and I have no intention of leaving anytime soon. Or at least I didn’t before I read the latest New York Times style piece “Mixing Drinks, Adding Class,” which posits as its main thesis that “a growing crowd of 30-something New Yorkers” will not “invite friends over for cocktails without the assistance of a bartender.” Fun! I know I don’t take a bite of my breakfast burrito without first consulting my personal sommelier, John Q. Billingsworth.
The story centers around our hero, one Ms. Claudia Argiro, a 33-year-old boutique owner who hires a private bartender to pour vodka punch into plastic cups for a private party of two dozen people in her Williamsburg apartment. Now, I don’t really have a problem with this. I mean, whatever someone wants to do with their hard-earned money in their own home is of no concern to me. There are worse things to do with $200 (the average rate for one of these private bartenders) than have some nice person serve up booze to a group of your closest friends.
No, the money shot of extreme doucheitude comes later when the writer gets a quote from Ms. Argiro’s neighbor, Dustin Terry, who says his job is “to get models and Saudi royalty into hot clubs.” Quote:
“In my opinion, if you don’t have a bartender at your party, you’re a loser … If you can’t afford to hire a bartender … you shouldn’t be having a party.”
Mmm, that’s the good stuff, like something a blond villain from an ’80s teen comedy would say. No doubt a group of loveable misfits or an outrageous basketball-playing teen wolf is plotting his downfall at this very minute. So congratulations, Mr. Terry. You are officially the biggest douchebag in Williamsburg.