I have a business plan I’d like to run past you. Let me know if you would like to pony up the capital.
We need a bar in Lawrence for people who are old enough to remember “The Love Boat” but young enough to know how to YouTube it.
This bar will not charge a cover. If it does, it will use the money raised at the door to pay for things like clean bathrooms and large-print drink menus, though you will be able to opt out of paying the cover by promising to offer up your seat to anyone older than you who looks like she would like to sit down.
But that won’t happen too often in my bar, because my bar will have ample seating.
And not some low-to-the-ground, foam-stuffed vinyl piece that sticks to the backs of your thighs when they sweat. My bar will have firm, comfortable seating, and the barstools will all have backs. They will also rotate only 120 degrees each way and be firmly bolted into the floor to reduce the risk of injury.
The floor, by the way, will never be sticky, it will be clean and grit-free. The kind of place a girl could leave her purse. But no girl will ever leave her purse on the floor, for instead of uptight bouncers at the door who greet each female patron like a nuisance and a bother in the otherwise important world of counting heads and confiscating fake IDs, my bar will have men stationed around the floor offering to hold purses and coats. They will also pull women aside to let them know when their lipstick needs touching up, when their mascara has flaked and when they have spinach dip in their teeth.
Because my bar won’t just serve drinks, it will serve people.
Real people, with real needs. Like good lighting. I have reached an age where the line between lighting that diminishes the appearance of wrinkles and dark circles and that which allows a gal my age to read is a fine one. But my bar will walk that line with unwavering balance.
Speaking of balance, platform stilettos are prohibited. So are rump-hugging minidresses and hair glitter. My bouncers will be prepared to wrap a blanket around anyone dressed like Snooki and drag her to the nearest Chico’s for an intervention.
And, perhaps most important, the music won’t be too loud, because we know if you really wanted to stand around a crowded bar without a dance floor and not be able to hear the person next to you, you would come wearing an iPod. So no loud music. And nothing recorded after Kurt Cobain. Elvis through Nirvana, that’s it.
Live (acoustic) music every Friday, trivia every Sunday, no strobe lights or lasers ever, and no disco balls before 9 or after 11.
Finally, my husband has already come up with a name for this bar. So until another investor comes along, “High Maintenance” will remain under its current management.