Bars That Suck: Brass Monkey/Roxanne - Adams Morgan, Washington DC

I can think of a few gestures that say “welcome to our bar” more effectively than a bouncer throwing patrons to the ground. One of them would call for a doorman to simply check ID’s, and restrain from any unwarranted, barbaric acts directed towards customers.

As I learned the hard way, Adams Morgan’s interconnected bar duo of Roxanne and Brass Monkey went out of their way to avoid such a simple welcome. That’s right - two shitty bars connected to form one glorified frat house of roid-raged proportions. 

On Saturday night, some friends and I decided to hit up 18th street, and Roxanne was the bar of poor choice. After waiting in line behind members of Alpha Beta Dbag, I approached the bouncer; a Vin Diesel look-a-like, post face-mangling car crash. Handing him my ID with no problems, I continued up the small landing of steps leading into the bar.

As I stood on the top of the steps with my pal Crazy Mike, waiting to make sure everyone got in OK, deformed Vin Diesel rudely commanded us to either get into the bar or leave. We voiced no complaints, but remained there for a moment due to Spark’s-induced delayed reactions. About 5 Mississippi’s later, the gorilla of a man brutally ripped us from the landing and launched us from the bar’s vicinity.

The action was completely unnecessary due to my stature as a 5′7″, 135 pound male, but XXX tasted blood and sought more. I made a quick retreat, hiding behind the entrance to Brass Monkey just a few doors down. The idiotic idea of having two connected bars would work out in my favor, as I now planned to walk into Brass Monkey and meet up with my friends in Roxanne.

In contrast to deformed Vin Diesel, the stoned caveman guarding the door to Brass Monkey would have failed to notice if the T-1000 was wreaking havoc on 18th street. He granted me access into Roxanne’s bastard sister of a bar, but danger still loomed around me.

Deformed Vin Diesel spotted me as I was stepping through the doorway to Brass Monkey. He leapt at me from his perch in front of Roxanne, and I was once again launched to the sidewalk. The baboon sure was pleased with himself that time, grunting and pounding his chest in excitement a la scottbrundage.com

A few minutes and a sweatshirt switch later, I successfully snuck past the brain dead duo. I find it ridiculous that the bar’s managers hired such incompetent fools.  

You might be thinking to yourself, “Just because the bouncers are active members of the Foot Clan doesn’t mean that the bars suck!” Trust me though, these places would suck if David Hasselhoff and Marc Summers were bouncing. Here’s why:

Clientele: Frat boys and gold diggers. A friend and I made the mistake of attempting to have a good time by stepping onto the dance floor - we were met by condescending looks by too-cool-for-school snobs. I think I saw one of the spoiled princesses mouthing the word “t-shirt” before erupting into a fit of swine-like laughter. I was consoled by thoughts about their deteriorated emotional states within the next 20 years upon realizing that marrying for money isn’t as fulfilling as they hoped.

Music: As Crazy Mike would say, “unoriginal and repetitive”. A homeless man armed with a loaded iPod could have given the bar an equally entertaining musical selection. I gave the DJ my ultimate test for expertise in musical entertainment: a request for Eddie Murphy’s “Party All The Time”. He didn’t have it. Failure.

Drinks: I ordered two drinks at the bar, both being dry Shirley Temples. The bartender had the nerve to charge me $3 for each non-alcoholic beverage, even after I questioned “Are you really going to charge the DD?”. Apparently, Roxanne and Brass Monkey care little about the safety and well-being of their patrons. Consequentially, I paid the $6 without leaving a tip, went into the bathroom, and topped them off with vodka from my flask.

To the manager of Roxanne/Brass Monkey, please heed the following recommendations for improving the quality of your bars:

1. Restrain from hiring ex-cons as bouncers.
2. Either hire a real DJ or save money by going ahead with my homeless man and an iPod idea.
3. If the cost of non-alcoholic beverages is at all indicative of the alcoholic ones, then you’re a genius for ripping off frat boys so easily. I, however, refuse to endorse your establishment until prices come down.
4. Start checking people’s pockets for hip flasks at the front door.
5. Hire a crew to demolish the bars, via a wrecking ball, and start from the beginning. Market the new establishments to clientèle other than braaaahs and their willing female victims.

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