Rum, Rum Away

The latest OUT magazine party was at the Ace Hotel, a new boutique hotel in Chelsea with a fabulously designed lobby. It was hard to appreciate the design, as the space was packed full of cute and trendy homos, as the OUT parties usually are, due in no small part to their open bars.

I brought Shirley Temple as my date (bringing a non-drinker to an Open Bar event means double the drinks for you) and we arrived a fashionable 30 minutes late. As we turned the corner, we saw the gays.

"A line?" he asked with some disgust, which made me smile. I was thinking the same thing. I was about to suggest we cruise the line to see if I knew anyone, when suddenly he was talking to a hot boy in a baseball cap. Who had just left work. At the hotel.

"You work there?" I asked, in Full Flirt Mode.

"Yep," he nodded.

"So, is there like a secret back door you can sneak us in?" I was batting my eyelashes so hard I thought his cap might blow off, but somehow (probably because of Shirley Temple) it worked. He led us around the side of the building, nodded at a security gueard, through a locked door, past *another* security guard, and suddenly we were in.

"Have fun!" he said, and dissapeared.

"Well that was easy!" I smiled. "Let's hope the rest of the night works out that well!"

As if on cue, a cocktail server approached us holding a tray with fruity-looking beverags.

"Would you like a complimentary rum drink?" she asked.

Normally, rum isn't my liquor of choice, so I asked if it was a full open bar.

"Nope, just these," she replied.

"Thanks!" I said, taking one. As she walked away, I took a sip. Fortunately, I'd been to more than my share of open bar events, and I knew that often the liquor was either donated by a sometimes questionable brand, or else very cheap. Still, nothing could have prepared me fully.

"Vlargh!" I exclaimed, almost actually spitting it out. "That's disgusting!"

"What is it?" Shirley asked.

I looked at it, assesing the murky purplish color. Then, fueled by curiosity, I reasoned that maybe I just wasn't used to rum, and the second sip would be better. I tried another.

"Eweeew-et!" I muttered, barely swallowing it. "I think it's a combination of really bad rum and bad mixers, maybe pomegranite and pineapple?"

He winced. Even a non-drinker appreciates the horror of a poorly-made cocktail.

We began to move through the lobby, a sea of gay men. Inevitably, I started bumping into people I knew.

"Hi Sweetie," one friend greeted me with a kiss on each cheek.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Great except for this drink!" he exclaimed. "It's awful!"

I nodded, and noticed another friend.

"Hi!" I said.

"Hey," he said smiling. Then he noticed my still-full glass. "Don't drink that! It's gross!"

"True that."

A minute later, another cute gay friend, this time with his boyfriend.

"Hi Boys," I greeted them. "Cheers!"

"Don't toast with that, it's horrible!"

"Tragic," the boyfriend agreed.

As we moved on, Shirley Temple laughed about the terrible drink being the running joke of the party. "The thing is," he pointed out, "everybody has one!"

"That's cause they're free!"

Then my friend SirDrinksAlot approached us, also carrying the dreaded concoction. It didn't surprise me though, as he'll drink anything. He'd suck the alcohol out of a bottle of after-shave.

"THIS," he announced dramatically, without so much as a Hello, "is the Worst Thing Ever." I didn't need to ask what he was referring to.

"It's bad," I agreed.

"NO. No, no. THIS ... is UN-DRINKABLE!" And with a grand arc of his arm he placed the full glass down on a table.

I was shocked. I'd never seen him turn down alcohol, especially free alcohol. I took it as a sign, a followed his example.

We left the party soon after, and I think most other people did as well. I wondered if it was actually possible that a bad drink ruined an entire party. (As an Event Planner, I think about these things.) Or worse, could it have ruined OUT Magazine's party reputation, and effect the attendance at their future parties? Or would people just forget all about the awful concoction after two sips of their next decent drink?

The following Monday, I received a Facebook notification that someone, who I didn't know, had commented on a photo of me. I clicked thorugh to arrive at the page of a friend who had posted a picture from the OUT party. It showed my friend, his date, Shirley Temple and me. We were holding the free cocktials. Underneath was the date's comment: "Worst Drink Ever."