This dive spot is one of those places we love like our drunk selves love Crunch Wrap Supremes at 3 am, or better yet like our inner
angsty tween loves some Third Eye Blind every now and then, i.e., our
attendance is more of a compulsion than a choice. If we’re being totally honest here, its virtues are few and
far between, but you’d be hard pressed to find a cheaper drunk, that is if
getting a little sauced happens to be your thing like it is ours/mine.
I wouldn’t send anyone here for an impeccably-mixed
cocktail, they may well make them mind you, but, as I’m a sucker for three
dollar and fifty scent triple shots of Old Crow, I’ve no frame of reference for
that stuff. I do know a thing or two about getting slizzered beyond
comprehension for under ten dollars, though. You’ll not find more bang for your
buck anywhere in the city. Bet.
Upon entering the Triple Nickel, you might notice that the
carpet has seen better days, as in it less resembles carpet now than a sponge
for spilled drinks, but that all depends on your night vision. The lighting in
here is seriously low, almost creepily low, but not so low that you won’t
notice the moldering water/blood stained ceiling tiles that adorn the room.
The stench is, well, potent. Something like a mix of stale
beer, nicotine, dashed hopes and dreams, and occasionally body odor. Don’t be
deterred though. Give yourself five minutes to get acclimated to your new
environment. A treasure trove of alcoholic bliss awaits those who do.
They pour them stiff at the Nickel; inexperienced drinkers
need not apply. If alcohol is your vice, and you don’t mind waiting a few extra
minutes per drink, then this is your nirvana, provided you aren’t put off by a
little grime, which brings us to the Nickel’s bathroom situation. While sufficiently
rapey (not exactly a selling point) they are functional, which is more than can
be said of other dives in the neighborhood. Plan your trips and use the buddy
system when necessary.
The crowd at the Nickel is always colorful, and it’s not
uncommon to see blue-collar regulars sidling up next to smug hipster
archetypes. Sure, the tension’s palpable but the Nickel’s drinks, by design, keep
everyone at bay, for the most part. To whom it may concern, the kinds of girls
who frequent this spot are a bit of a mixed bag.
Those who aren’t percocet-addled skanks are worthwhile, not
to mention about as attractive as you’ll find in the area, though I wouldn’t
come to this place with the explicit intention of picking anybody up if you
aren’t there on a Friday, and even that can be tricky. In other words, it ain’t
the club, so act accordingly.
The juke box is one of those internet thingamabobs, which
means that while your exposure to esoteric indie crap will be kept to a
minimum, you will likely be forced to stomach hours of Fleetwood Mac/ Journey,
depending on the night, but fear not: the toil that is enduring its patrons’
god awful taste in music will seem inconsequential after you’ve had your first
drink.
A note for the uninitiated: drinking here comes with a
caveat. This is not a McMenamin’s, i.e., the kind of place that will go out of
its way to make sure you don’t get drunk. Seriously, try getting drunk at one
of their establishments, it’s impossible, but I digress. The Nickel, on the
other hand, has seemingly made it its sole mission to facilitate bad
decision-making at cost, so be smart and don’t drive. Seriously. Happy
drinking.
No comments:
Post a Comment