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.