ATL - The Graveyard

CLARA GREEN 7/1/08: Trapped in the Closest

After I got back from living in Mexico, I was excited to find out there were some bars that my friends actually populated in East Atlanta Village, mere blocks from my house. On one of my first nights back, I met up with some friends at the Graveyard Tavern, which has a huge space with a dance floor (only on Mondays it seems), a big bar, and a lot of comfy ass couches (maybe a little too comfy when I’m tired and debating going home). On Mondays they have some sort of promotion, so there are a ton of people, including a lot of skinny jeans, tattoos, and white vans.

The vibe was nice and I was happy to be at a bar that had a cooler atmosphere than most of the bars I go to, but definitely not too upscale for me and some cut off jean shorts. So my first night goes well. I buy a cheap beer, socialize with some friends I haven’t seen in a while, and even ask the bartender if they ever play hip-hop, particularly R Kelly. And then I go home.

Next Monday I go to the Graveyard again, and this time it’s my 21st birthday so I decide that I’ll skip my usual “slightly tipsy but nothing more” demeanor and go for shit drunk. My friends keep buying me drinks, though I try to take it slow and sip a little water in between. At one point, maybe a drink or two in, my best friend decides to buy me a tequila shot. When we order the drinks, the bartender looks at me and says “Aren’t you that R Kelly girl?” Now, a comment like that would usually win my heart but not when he says R Kelly’s name like he actually believes “Trapped in the Closest” is all Kells has to offer. And then, when he returns with our shots, to two girls who are not drunk at all, he stares at us and bluntly states, “Don’t throw up on my bar.” Maybe I misread the memo, but I was under the impression that bars were made for drinking, and bartenders are supposed to serve these drinks friendly and eagerly, especially to girls who have boobs and hot blonde friends.

This didn’t sit well, nor did the waiting for twenty minutes for the same bartender to give me a fork. At some point I talked to the general manager about playing some music other than borings 60’s music on my birthday, but he didn’t seem pleased and responded, “This is a rock bar.” The bar also loves to play soft porn on a huge screen, which makes me massively uncomfortable, not because I’m a prude but because it is impossible to keep your eyes off the screen, and the blatancy of its marketing technique insults my intelligence. Watch hot girls suck on each other’s nipples, get horny, buy more drinks to get more drunk so you may actually have a chance.

But regardless, I have come back to the Graveyard twice since then, mostly recently tonight. I avoid the bartender and the staff in general, and keep to my friends and my drinks (which I make someone get for me because I refuse to talk to the bartender). I sit at a table where my back is facing the TV screen, and pointedly walk away when a guy tells me that the porn isn’t making him horny, but I am. The Graveyard seems to be a hit or miss, and tonight is a miss. After escaping the wrath of many creeps, I end up waiting by the pool tables for a friend to finish his game. I sit alone, zoning out and thinking about my bed. And then, under the musty smell and smoke sifting through the air, comes salvation. The general manager spots me across the pool table as he moves through the room turning TV's off as the bar closes. He comes over to me, grasps my hand and says, "Hey, how's your night been? Did you have a good birthday? What's your name again? Thanks so much for coming."

I give the Graveyard a 7 - good atmosphere, good friends, and good proximity to my crib. Points taken off for shitty service (though 1 point was re-awarded due to the general manager’s smoothness) and shitty music.