Seat-Holding, Noble Pils, Soggy Waffle Fries, and Carmelo Anthony

Mid-winter recess is, hands down, the best perk of being a teacher.  Although it's only a week long, it even beats out summer because by the time mid-February rolls around, you're sick of the winter doldrums and it's just nice to be able to stay in bed.  So what better way to kick off the break by going out for happy hour?  And what better happy hour offerings can there be besides $3.50 Noble Pils?  I met my girlfriends Jessica and Amy at The Wharf in midotwn last night and was pleasantly surprised by that special, but not without a few bumps in the road first.

When I meet Jessica for drinks, I always try to be punctual because she's usually early.  I can understand why; she grew up with ten brothers and sisters, and one can only assume that if you don't show up early to meals, you might not eat.  On this particular day, however, she got stuck on the 1 train (thanks, MTA; that last twenty-five cent fare hike was totally justified) and I found myself in the undesirable role of seat-holder.  Seat-holding, especially at a busy midtown joint on a Friday afternoon at five, is tricky business.  The key is to make some sort of contact with the seat or seats you're trying to save, either with your body or your personal belongings.  Then you also have to make sure you don't make eye contact with anyone who looks like they might be searching for a seat.  Finally, you must never, EVER, tell anyone that you are saving a seat.  You tell them someone is sitting there.  Watch how these two different scenarios play out:

SCENARIO 1:

Couple walks into crowded bar and spots Liz sitting next to two empty seats.  Her arm is draped over one chair, and her bag is sitting on the other.
MAN: Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?
LIZ: I'm saving them for my friends.  Sorry.
WOMAN: Are they here yet?
LIZ: Well, no.  But they're on their way.
WOMAN: But they're not here yet.  And we are here now.
LIZ: But I'm saving them.  I've been here for a half an hour.
WOMAN: Maybe we should have the manager settle this.
Woman asks to speak to manager. Manager favors flesh-and-blood present customers' money over potential future customers who may or may not show up.  Liz reluctantly moves bag and couple smugly sits down. 

SCENARIO 2:

Couple walks into crowded bar and sees Liz sitting next to two empty seats.  Her arm is draped over one chair and her bag is on the other.
MAN: Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?
LIZ: Yes.
Couple walks away, in search of greener pastures.

Do you see how a simple subtlety in your answer can change the whole course of action?  Don't feel bad if you didn't realize this at first; it took me a long time to get the vernacular down. The reasoning behind it is simple; you can argue that saving seats for people who aren't there is unfair, but you can't argue if someone is sitting there.  No need to elaborate that the people who are sitting there aren't on location yet.  After dodging a few would-be seat stealers, Jessica arrived, and Amy soon after that.  Amy was fresh off passing a licensing exam that she needed to start her new job, so our night out doubled as a celebration for her as well as my vacation launch. 

The Wharf is your typical midtown fare--two levels, a decent tap and appetizer menu, and gaggles of striped-shirted investment banker guys belting out "Pour Some Sugar on Me" at the top of their lungs when the DJ plays it, as if they're the only ones in the world who know the lyrics and are therefore part of some elite club.  What sets the bar apart is the beer prices.  A typical Manhattan bar would sell premium (read: anything besides Budweiser and anything that ends with Lite) drafts for at least six bucks a pint.  The Wharf has different selections each night on special for $3.50, and all drafts for that price all day, all night, every Saturday.  As soon as baseball season starts you will probably be able to find me there every Saturday afternoon.  We watched the NBA Legends/Celebrity game on ESPN, which might as well be called the Carmelo Anthony channel since every five minutes they gave us an update on where he might be traded.  God, I can't wait until the trade deadline so I don't have to hear this crap anymore.  I don't want the Knicks to give up Raymond Felton or Wilson Chandler, but that's a whole separate blog. 

All in all, it was a good night.  My favorite part of the night was when one of said striped-shirted guys, quite drunk at this point, eyed Amy's leftover soggy waffle fries and asked, "Are you going to eat those?  I'm starving!"  "Be my guest," she said, and he happily munched away.  "You know, they do cook food here," I said to him.  "Food that wasn't previously owned by strangers."  But he didn't seem to hear me.  He was too busy busting out his rendition of  "Here I Go Again (On My Own)." 

Website for The Wharf (located on 3 ave between 38th and 39th Streets):

http://www.wharfnyc.com/