(Editor’s Note: Earlier in the year, GaySocialites.com presented the State Of Gay Nightlife address where we determined that nightlife is what you make of it. The Ritz is certainly making its own determination of what nightlife should be, and the GaySocialites team is less than thrilled with their definition.)
I am fond of the drink. This has been and never will be any sort of secret. I, Demanda Dahling, am very fond of the drink. And I’ll drink anything really, as long as it has an alcohol content above that of Nyquil. My go-to drinks though are iced V’s (read: vodka on the rocks), and white wine (read: really cheap white wine, because bitch is on a budget). So, I drink.. heavily. And, like most of us who drink (heavily), I occasionally misbehave. One would think this would welcome in a New York City club–crazy queens, mischief, wild times, and hey, most of those who dress up do it for free! It’s a win-win, right? Apparently not.
Let me first say that my misbehaving occasionally leads to some pretty interesting albeit colorful situations. For instance, I throw things. I don’t intend to, but they slip right out of my hand. I always apologize if this happens but truth is, they never slip out that hard. Also, I like to crawl. This, however, I intend to do, whether it be across the bar or on the floor. And when I crawl, glasses occasionally break. Point is, when glasses break, some spills may occur here and there. It comes with the territory. But I don’t mean it to ruin your time and destroy the bar. It’s all in the spirit of entertainment–and I’m one helluva entertainer, if I do say so myself. And I do.
What also comes with the territory of drinking (heavily) is one occasionally does not always remember everything one does. For instance, if I throw things, or crawl across the bar, or tell a joke, or lip lock it with some cab driver, I may not remember doing it in the morning. But this is when I want to have a heavy night out on the town. (Yes, while I admit my heavy nights out on the town sound like the beginning or even intermediate stages of alcoholism, I actually do have a good handle on myself, believe it or not.) Usually I prefer to have a few drinks with my pals, give a little show here and there, and split.
This was not one of those easy, breezy evenings. No, this was one of those evenings that I decided to step out and drink.. heavily. I don’t remember where I went first, or second, or third, but I know I wound up at The Ritz, a “club” in Hell’s Kitchen. I use the quotation marks because it markets itself as a “club” yet calls itself a “bar & lounge.” (Yes, it does use the tacky ampersand). I know this was the last stop on my world tour because, let’s be honest here, The Ritz is not exactly a destination spot. You know? I see it as the place to go when there is nowhere else to go. Nothing else is going on at all, but you go “because you want to dance to same music you listen to in your bedroom,” sweat “because it’s not climate controlled,” be cramped “because the layout is poor,” and have a mild New York evening “because everyone wants just an ‘ok’ night in NYC.” And that’s fine to have every once in a while. But I know I certainly call up my cronies to suggest, “Let’s all go to The Ritz!” (I wouldn’t call them anyway, I text. Never that though.)
Now, I’ve been here numerous times and know a good majority of the staff–bartenders, promoters, bouncers, the shot queen, a manager or two. For the most part, they have all been a peach to me, despite a few of my mishaps. They understand the show, and know that my shenanigans–planned or not–are part of the spectacle.
I digress. Because it was the last stop on my tour, I arrived wasted. Knowing the spectacle, they let me in and I started causing a raucous. I had been at a party earlier where the drinks where far too expensive for me, and I couldn’t find a damn drink ticket, that I had my water bottle of wine in my purse. It’s a necessity for those situations… and cab rides between venues. I became a little too boisterous, even by my standards, and I was asked to leave. That’s fine, I never mind doing so, because in the end you’re doing me the favor because I clearly just need to go home. Doesn’t mean I won’t raise a little stink about it though. So I did, and as I was I may have opened up my water bottle and made it rain wine all over the bouncers.
OK, so I know what you’re saying–you may have done that? I did do that, and although funny, it may have gone a little too far, and if it did I apologize. My stunt got me banned though, and this got me thinking. If you banned every person for misbehaving a little in a “club”, you wouldn’t have any customers left. When alcohol is involved, people act a little loopy, and you should expect that when you’re in the nightlife business. Furthermore, no one was hurt. No one was murdered or raped. I didn’t bring in a gun and shoot up the place like some crazy white-faced freak. No, I did what drunk people do. If a 6 foot whatever bouncer is going to cry over a little spilled wine from a 5 foot whatever queen, I have to laugh. Not even I am that sensitive. Get over yourself and calm down, it ain’t that serious. It’s The Ritz, not the fucking Ritz-Carlton, mmm’kay?
I’m fine with being banned. After all, isn’t that the punchline of the whole joke? I’m banned. From the fucking Ritz. From the awfully terrible, wretched Ritz. It means I will never, ever have to be dragged there kicking and screaming again. Ha! It also means that I will never be bamboozled by their supposed shady business practices. I’m not one to gossip (too much), but allegedly on many occasions, they have ceased paying their promoters. I was also told that they did an overhaul and let go a lot of their existing staff to bring in people who will work for much cheaper. (By cheaper, I mean muuuch cheaper.. like free.) Sure I understand cutting costs, but you get what you pay for–and if what you want is a joke of a “club” then hats off to you for succeeding admirably.
New York City is supposed to be a city of full of debauchery and fun, and nightlife is where it’s supposed to shine the brightest. Banning someone like me is yet another example of how antiseptic it has become. What was once the city that never sleeps has become a city that actually takes very frequent naps. The Ritz is just a bad idea. While I’m normally up for a bad idea or three, if this is what you have in mind, please know I respectfully decline.
