A girl I know called me up and told me that I simply had to visit The Underground (200 W. San Francisco St., 505-982-9014). It’s that downstairs club inside of Evangelo’s. I inquired as to why I had to do anything, let alone visit a place I was pretty sure would be a dank cellar inhabited by rats, bugs and CHUDs. She told me I had to go because her friend was DJing and that he was going to play some awesome dance music. It didn’t sound like my thing, but seeing as how I strive to try new things (yeah right), I decided to go.
I hate going out alone, so I formed a killer posse that consisted of old homies, a photographer and a married couple. We all agreed that if we were to go someplace we’ve never been, we would certainly have to be pretty drunk. After all, there’s no point in leaving your house if you’re not going to get fucked up, right?
After a couple stops at various bars downtown, we made our way to Evangelo’s. As usual, some awful bar band, akin to Blues Hammer in Ghost World, played upstairs. I was already scared. Good thing we had the married couple on our team. Otherwise, all the totally old people in the upstairs bar would have smelled our fear and murdered us in a shark-like frenzy.
We made our way downstairs, and imagine my surprise…this place rules! The music, which I had been sure was going to make my ears implode, was bumpin’! They had a pool table! There were young people!
Somebody gave me a City of Española pin! Wow! Four awesome things in two seconds!
I introduced myself to the bartender, an awesome guy named Chris. I wanted to let him know that my homeboy would be snapping photos. He was excited to meet me and immediately picked up my first drink. Awesome thing No. 5. He told me that he pretty much redesigned the whole club himself, and has put a lot of time and effort into it, which is apparent to anyone who owns eyeballs that work properly.
There were some women who tried to dance but one lone weirdo on the floor ruined it. He danced like he was at some fucking rave from 10 years ago, and he smelled awful. Turns out that I knew him from around and, in my drunkenness, I told him, “Sorry man…but you smell just awful.” He ran off to rub lavender all over himself—not kidding—and the dance floor was liberated! God, I’m a hero.
I met new people who bought me drinks. I met a guy who was having a birthday and I bought him a beer. I high-fived homies, knocked back shots, enjoyed the music and felt like I belonged. It’s hard sometimes in this town to find a place where people don’t look at you like you’re worse than Hitler the minute you walk in the door.
Everyone I talked to told me The Underground is the best bar in town. I started to agree by the end of our stay. In fact, the only negative thing I can say is that the lighting was a little bright. I mean, I was out cruising for chicks and when they can see my face clearly, I’m f’d. It was kind of an eye-opener for me. I feel like a jerk for assuming that The Underground would suck and was really glad to be proven wrong. Cheers to you, The Underground. I will be back!
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