I’ve been to this place in club mode twice now, and if the Gods are listening I’ll never have to go there again. I’ve never been there during the day so I won’t be talking about that. I’m strictly reviewing the club scene.
This demographic happened to be anyone from Kendall with a tacky shirt emblazoned with glitter.
The first time I came to this place it didn’t seem so bad at the door in the beginning, but neither do most dates with a Puerto Rican girl; that all changes once you’re inside. My friend and I were just walking around Brickell and I had mentioned that I knew of a new place that just opened up so we hopped in a cab. Without hassle, we didn’t need to wait and walked right in. The first thing I noticed when we walked in was that this place was like Auschwitz; they let everyone in of a certain demographic. This demographic happened to be anyone from Kendall wearing a tacky shirt emblazoned with glitter. If you’re from Kendall I expect your hate mail for that statement, though if you’re from Kendall it’ll probably be riddled with spelling and grammatical errors. Since you’re from Kendall. And you’re stupid.
Inside it was difficult to navigate around the hordes of douche bags and douche baguettes, but a full house isn’t really something you can complain about since it usually means you’re in a happening spot. It wasn’t the right kind of full house, however, because my nostrils were burning with the scent of discount colognes from Navarro’s check-out counter and Axe body spray.
How do you spell ‘unapproachable’?
The women were very approachable. They also demanded drinks, and that shit doesn’t fly with me. “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?” is about the most whorish thing a woman can say besides “I’ll do a half-and-half for a Crunch bar.” I have two sisters and I’ve seen first hand how little they give a crap about a guy that buys them drinks right off the bat. Guy buys you a drink to break the ice, he’s a tool. Girl asks guy to buy her a drink, she’s a whore. If you’re disagreeing right now you’re either a tool or a whore.
The second time I came here was more recent. A friend had bottle service, told me to show up, so I did. Getting in the door this time was a lot different. First of all, there was this dude that looked like Bo Bice with a gelled Jewfro passing out judgement on people in line. If you’re going to have someone turning down people based on the way they look, at least put some eye candy at the door, not a dude that got that job because the owner is fucking his sister. I had to wait a couple of minutes for someone to come get me, because once the bouncer noticed I didn’t have tits he wanted me to wait until he decided it was time to let me through.
I got my first taste of shitty service when someone stole my group’s bottle.
Inside I realized the demographics hadn’t changed all that much, save for more attractive women. I got my first taste of shitty service when someone stole my group’s bottle. That’s right, the very first thing I notice once joining my party is two girls clamoring over the fact that someone straight up jacked our alcohol. First of all, what kind of classy motherfuckers are rolling up into clubs Debo’ing other people’s vodka? Second, how does one manage to pull off such a feat in the first place? That’s pretty impressive/ghetto. When my friend complained, the run-around was given as they tried to fix the situation. It’s a simple fix, really, you give the people who got ninja’d a new bottle which you paid a whopping $20-30 to procure and proceeded to mark up 2000%. Instead, these people took as long as Michael J. Fox takes to sign his restaurant bill.
While I waited, I figured I’d get myself a drink in the meantime. Some dickhead snapped his fingers and called out “hey, pssst, hey” at the bartender. She thought it was me, and she gave me an icy glare and began to ignore me. At this point I was annoyed, so I walked to the outside bar to get a drink instead. I said, “gin sling” and barkeep looked at me like I was speaking Esperanto in sign language. I sighed, “fine then, Tanqueray and ginger ale.” The guy there must’ve thought I said “ice with a spritz of Tanqueray and ginger ale” because I spent the next eight minutes chewing my drink. It was the most expensive snow cone I had ever bought.
By the time my friend got the bottle replaced I was aggravated enough with the shitty music and crappy service to the point where I decided to just leave. It’s silly, because I can make a good time out of anything; give me a rubber band at the DMV and you won’t hear a complaint out of me. Mia just doesn’t do it for me. It’s so bad.
It’s clear that a lot of people seem to like this place. Then again, a lot of people also like Enrique Iglesias, so power in numbers means absolutely nothing if you’re putting horse diarrhea on a pedestal.
People who would enjoy it
People who would not enjoy it
- 20 Biscayne Blvd
- Miami, FL 33132
- (305) 642-0032