Hell's Kitchen Bars

After sundown, the neighborhood becomes yet a different space.  For the past few years, the same group of homeless and temporarily-housed people sat outside my front door.  They mostly talk and joke around; many drink out of brown-paper bags.  We have gotten to know them, and them, us.  About eight (8) months ago, a number of stores on the block closed.  They were renovated and re-rented at much higher prices, resulting in an economic change on the block.  An upscale bar and a hair salon replaced the shoe repair shop and the wholesale Latino music store.  Suddenly, there are gangs of fraternity-boy types standing outside smoking in front of the bar.  A few weeks ago, I came out of my apartment building with the dog, said hello to the normal crowd of people outside, and went on my evening walk.  I walked past the crowd of men who hassled first my dog, and then me as I didn’t stop to let them pet her.  On my return about 30 minutes later, there were 2 cop cars outside my building.  They had all of the homeless folk in handcuffs and were packing them into the cop cars as the crowd of fraternity boys stood and jeered.  After inquiring as to why they were carting off my acquaintances, I was ‘reassured’ by one cop not to worry, that I was safe, and that it wasn’t a big deal. These men had warrants out, but they weren’t really dangerous.  As far as I’m concerned, they took the wrong people away.  But capitalism trumps homelessness.

The night walk I take with the dog takes me past a few bars, both gay and straight.  One bar is a hipster boy bar; a younger all male crowd who travel in from other neighborhoods to drink here.  This is a completely closed space to us, because even though it is a gay bar, and we are gay, it is only for those who are male.  It is not even for those who live as males, who have transitioned to being men, or for those who identify as men.  This bar is for men who were born men and are gay.  But it is more than that.  The men who frequent this bar are also hipsters.  They spend a lot of money on their name-brand clothing and are dressed to stylish perfection, every crease, tear and tuck done purposefully.  This bar is so closed to us, that when we walk by, the customers outside only notice that we are women wearing sweat pants.  I doubt they even think past that as to whether or not we are queer.

There is another bar, a straight bar, that seems to be completely open to us.  Though most of the people who frequent this bar are straight, they are welcoming and friendly to us.  They know we are together and treat us exactly as they would treat any hetero couple. The crowd is mid-twenties to mid-thirties, of varying races and class.  There is some trendy clothing, but it is not necessary to gain entrance.  Additionally, the dog is welcome there.  If we are walking by at night, and stop to chat with people there, we can decide, in our sweats, to go in and have a drink, with the dog at our feet. 

I was upset with the opening of the upscale bar on my block. I knew it would bring about change.  The crowds of clean-cut drunk men standing outside smoking makes me feel physically unsafe.  And where before, I had a crowd of people from my block sitting outside, since the last arrest, they don’t sit there anymore, making me feel even more vulnerable.  It turns out though, that the bartenders are friends with friends of mine, and I ended up going inside with them for drinks.

So now, today, I sit here, inside Perdition, writing in my journal about open and closed spaces, a cold pint on the table, Bracha next to me, feeling completely comfortable here.  The bartender is the friend of my friend, and it is daylight, so there are not too many people here.  It is relatively quiet.  As I sit here, there is a young white woman moving herself into the newly-renovated, very expensive apartments upstairs from the bar.  The entrance to the building is tiled in marble and has a video monitoring system at the door.  The apartments have a washer and dryer, dishwasher, wood floors and a porch.  A studio starts around $2000.  The building next-door is comprised of mostly people on welfare. Some of the people in this building spend their time on the street, mixing in with the group of homeless people who also stay on the street. I know one man who lives in the building, who picks up found furniture from the street, or from people like me, who are giving it away, and resells it for beer money.  The disparity between these two buildings portrays the larger social issues in the neighborhood. 

The doors are open to the bar; which makes the entire front open to the sidewalk.  One of the men from the corner bodega walks by.  He nods at us and shrugs as he walks off.  I instantly feel like a traitor to the neighborhood.  There is a class divide happening, and by being in this bar, I have shown what side I am on.  I want to get up and run over to him, to tell him it isn’t that way.  I don’t like the people who come to this bar, I don’t like that capitalism is forcing people to find other spots to spend their time, as the street is now no longer open to them.  By being in this bar, I am contributing to this.

I step outside for a cigarette with the bartender. She tells me that the people who come to the bar are finding them through Time Out Magazine.  This explains a lot.  It is another example of a class issue. Time Out is a magazine that people purchase in order to find other paid things to do in the city.  The magazine does have an online component which is free, but in order to look at this, you have to either have internet access, which also costs money, or you have to have time to go to the library to use the free internet there.  If you have the leisure time to go to the library to research what you can go and spend money on in your spare time, then you also are of a certain class.  This means that the people who frequent the bar are in a different social strata than I am, and this is one of the things that makes me uncomfortable with the space.