Ah, the single guys on the prowl—a staple of the bar-going experience—the bane of women’s nightlife everywhere. My bachelor buddies Mark, a local comedian, and Jeff, the guitar player for Zeusophobia, are already seated at the bar, surveying the room’s single ladies by the time I arrive at the Downstairs Bar. The Downstairs gets its name by being located directly under the Viaggio Italian Cuisine and Wine Shop; with its Thursday night comedy shows and Friday night live music, there’s plenty to draw in the pretty girls.
Unfortunately, all the lovely young ladies in attendance tonight are situated in a tight group in the alcove next to the stage, where guitarist Kelly Kellam entertains them with a series of Dave Matthews and Vertical Horizon covers, setting a mellow mood for the evening. The group already contains a handful of “dudes,” which would make it awkward to approach. And it would be a long walk of shame from those comfy golden couches in the corner back to the cold marble of the bar across the room. Instead, we opt to do what single guys do when the hunt doesn’t work out.
“Did you guys see the season finale of Lost?” I ask, in full geek mode.
“Yeah,” Jeff says, “but it didn’t seem like Charlie had to die.”
“I know,” I concur. “It seems like he could’ve just as easily closed that door from the side that wasn’t filling up with water.”
We’re halfway through explicating the entire mythology behind the mysterious Dharma Initiative when Kellam finishes his set, suddenly leaving the bar in virtual silence.
“Does this place have a jukebox or something?” Mark asks Todd the bartender. Translation: It’s gotten way too quiet in here for us to continue this nerdy conversation without the danger of attractive women hearing us. To drive the point home, a pretty blonde sits down next to Jeff, and he wastes no time ditching our TV talk.
“See,” Mark says to me, “the musicians always get the hot chicks.” With no other prospects nearby, Mark asks Todd about getting booked for next Thursday’s comedy show. Todd does stand-up in addition to bartending, and even does both simultaneously. The pressure to be funny must be incredible, since the longer he’s onstage, the longer the crowd has to wait for their drinks.
Jeff’s lady friend leaves for the restroom, and Jeff immediately turns to us.
“Do you guys remember what she said her name was?” he asks.
“You’re the one hitting on her,” Mark says. “I don’t have to remember.”
But, being a good sport, Mark agrees to assist by subtly working the information out of her. When she returns, he asks, “Excuse me, I’m sorry, but what was your name again?”
She answers, but Mark—failing to clearly hear her—asks, “Did you say ‘Vomit’?”
“No,” she replies, dead serious. “My name is not Vomit.” Mortally offended, she quickly picks up her purse and leaves. I watch in a daze, still stunned by the most epic demonstration of cock-blocking I have ever witnessed.
“What happened to Robin?” Todd asks.
“Ooooh. Robin,” Mark says before insisting, “It sounded like she said ‘vomit.’”
“You called her ‘Vomit’?” Todd asks, incredulous. He quickly rushes out a side exit to catch her in the parking lot and apologize on Mark’s behalf.
“I’m still booked here for Thursday, right?” Mark yells after him.
With the last of the single women scared away, the three of us just sit at the bar, contemplating Mark’s insane faux pas.
“So,” Mark finally says, “do you guys watch Heroes at all?”
Downstairs Bar
11251 S. Eastern Ave., Henderson
492-6900