The Come-on

As a trenchant bargoer, the Night Ranger has been the target of many a bad pickup line. Her most recent favorite, though, occurred recently at The Point, when she got “hey, baby”s from two puka-shell-necklaced frat boys. A bit of a cliché perhaps, but awesome in its unironic delivery.

We’d made a pit stop at The Point over the course of a long Saturday night of bar hoppage, which was for the benefit of special Research Assistant Jedd, who was visiting our friend RA Kevin from Chicago. (“Call him Sledd Shady,” said Kevin, who wanted to be known as Kay-Z. “He’s called Sledd because all the girls like to ride him.”) It was the night before Easter, and once at The Point, we were shocked — just shocked! — to see so many people spending their Holy Saturday out boozing.

After jaunts to a couple of dud bars, Kay-Z and Sledd wanted to go someplace with a high mingle factor, and they visibly recoiled when they heard the dulcet tones of Lonnie Ray’s blues band from outside the door. “There’s a soprano sax, for God’s sake,” Kevin complained. But RA Laura, who had been there the previous week and is All About the Dance, convinced us that the downstairs was much different. So we cut through the top level and descended into a swankish, basement version of Harpo’s with DJs (Steve Thorell on Fridays, Rico on Saturdays), where the crowd was younger.

According to a couple of patrons, it’s a “big UMKC bar,” but owner Mike Flaherty says the average age on both floors is the upper twenties. Many shirts that proclaimed “Abercrombie” were present, and, as mentioned before, puka-shell necklaces were prevalent on both males and females. The room with the bar was seemingly cavernous, but we were duped by a mirror at the back wall, which, as we all learned on one of those godawful home-improvement shows on TLC, makes the room look bigger. A small, dark hallway led to an equally dark dance area with the obligatory black-leather makeout couches and — baffling for a smallish, prime shin-banging spot — a coffee table.

Naturally we needed drinks, so we muscled our way to the bar, where the NR started bossily taking the RAs’ drink orders. She was standing by a highly inebriated guy, who silently observed our commanding drink-ordering ways before asking, “Are you two lovers?” (referring to the NR and RA Laura).

“No,” replied the NR politely. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you’re buying her a drink,” he said before skulking away and doing the pass-out head bob at a table. Broken Gaydar’s lit state became more understandable, though, when we found out that Red Bull and vodkas — which were served in pint glasses — were a bargain at $5. And for a place that was so busy, we were served fairly quickly, too, so we lurked by the bar and drank up.

As we entered the dance area, “Pussy Control” — the song we’ve heard in every dancelike venue in this city — came on, spawning girl-on-girl grindage and rubbing. Which, incidentally, wasn’t limited to the dance floor; in the dark back corner, we spotted a make-out couple. The guy, who was wearing a backward baseball cap, was doing some ass fondling with one hand. In the other, he was holding a bottle of beer in what appeared to be a cozy.

We had to investigate, and indeed, it was a little Bud beer cozy with a zipper at the neck. That struck us as odd, since we can barely remember to bring, say, our cell phone into a bar, let alone any beer accessories. “I’m a party animal,” was Dustin’s explanation for why he brought his own cozy. Um, if by “animal” you mean “dork,” we’re with you there, guy.

Meanwhile, Jedd was cozying up himself with a blond chickie, with whom he eventually left. Sadly, we got a call to come pick him up not long afterward. “She didn’t want to hook up with him because it’s Easter,” Kevin later explained. “The Ascension of Christ put the kibosh on it.” She was saving herself for a different sort of coming, we guess.

Something else we’d come back for are The Point’s cool patio and its drink specials ($1.50 domestic bottles or drafts on Tuesdays, $4 domestic pitchers on Wednesdays and $2 Smirnoff flavors and wells on Thursdays). With such great alcohol prices, we’re also hoping to gather more bad pickup lines. Right, baby?