So, I stopped going to Mastry's Cocktails about 6 months ago. In part because I truly despise leaving a bar and smelling like a half-burnt cigarette, but also because there is a 100% probability that you will be thoroughly creeped out before the night is through. And against my better judgment, I decided to brave the crowd there once more.
Mistake #1: Leaving the Independent, where good beer and good times are served simultaneously.
So I arrive at Mastry's via the rape- I mean, back-alley. Now, here is where I must admit, mastry's never fails to impress: Liquor is ubiquitously cheap. My premium vodka beverage was $5 even. Whereas at my typical watering holes, is at LEAST $7-$7.50. So priase you, Jay Mastry, for knowing how to appeal to my wallet above all else.
Mistake #2: Expecting that it should take less than 5 minutes to be served even though the bar wasnt even in the same zip-code as busy.
After an anonymous cougar attempted in vain to solicit the bartenders with her busty charms, I finally got my drink and proceeded to mingle with -- oh, thats right. Myself. Thank God I brought my tried and true drinking buddy Donnie along for the ride. So while we scanned the room with palpable disappointment, we decided to join my brother and his friends out back.
Mistake #3: Thinking that out back would be any better. (It does, and will forever and always, smell like fresh vomit out back of Mastry's.)
Forget the trash compactor that is less than 5 feet from the back patio, at least that smell fades like the stench of Venice after a few minutes. But, no... this... This is a most sinister and wretched funk so potent that even hobos avoid its plume of terror. Im wholly convinced that each and every time, we have some sequin-clad college neo-yuppie to thank for this. Thanks ladies, for always raising the bar on holding your liquor.
Highlights!
Once Donnie and I swagged a booth, we made with the chit-chat and within almost no time at all, the creeping began. A younger dude, that had to have been rolling on Tampa Bay's finest disco biscuits came stumbling over to our table, and proceeded to babble incoherently at us until the music distracted him enough that he just danced beside our table in blissful rock-bottomness.
Conclusion: Dont touch anything. Or talk to anyone you dont know. And you should probably pick up a smoking habit so you can retaliate every time someone blows their cancer in your face. But, like the rest of us standing around the bar waving money in hopes our $20 is somehow greener and shinier than the guy next to us, youll be back. Because the drinks have an inexplicable cost/strength ratio that you simply cant say no to.
See you Thursday, bitches.
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