Thursday, April 16, 2009

Smith Point – Where everyone is cooler than the next guy

My first two experiences at Smith Point didn’t happen. Why? I am not cool enough to be on the “list.” So you can imagine my sudden feeling of self worth when I was able to gain admittance. More intense was my curiosity surrounding what differentiates the Georgetown “in-crowd” from the marginal rabble that is my cohort. The answer is simple. My middle name is not Abernathy, and I do not have a Roman numeral following my last name.

Smith Point, as a venue, has so much potential. The exposed brick and candlelight creates a feeling of underground exclusivity. The music, a blend of classic 80’s and modern pop is an ideal dance mix. Even more convenient is the bar service, which is prompt. Smith Point has all of the necessary elements for a good time. My complaint is the general pervasiveness of narcissism and entitlement. The girls come in groups for the dancing. The guys compete for their attention with exposed bravado and an attitude of superiority. I am not accustomed to other guys commenting on my clothing, especially since I was dressed appropriately. Save it for the runway, slick.

It is the patrons that spoil the experience. You can be sure that your girlfriend will be looked up and down, like a piece of meat. And you can be sure, as a newcomer, to be judged. But don’t challenge them, because the response may likely be, “Do you know who my father is?” Toward the end of the night, the shadowy corners become impromptu hotel rooms, perhaps because no matter how nice “cool guy’s” residence may be, it is still his parent’s place.

Come to Smith Point, where you can consort with DC’s elite, or at least their children. But don’t let them sense weakness. Look them in the eye, and let them know that your trust fund is just as big, and that Daddy is right around the corner.

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