Sitka or Bust: Commute The World

Berry Park is an intriguing establishment on the outskirts of Brooklyn that possesses some of the most intoxicatingly refreshing drinks I’ve ever encountered.  Its a double-decker building that looks very laid back in an almost uncharacteristically subtle way for the flair of New York City. But the subtlety switches drastically upon entering the exquisitely sleek bar of slick varnished wood set against the backdrop of an untouched brownstone wall. Maybe I loved this place so much because it possessed all the qualities I’d envisioned for “Booklyn,” but no matter, I believe that it has a certain charm that anyone can understand. My ideas for drink orders were officially tapped out when I got to the bar to start a tab, but luckily my friend and resident tour-guide had a stroke of genius and told me to order two Huckleberry Lemonades.

Now, I’ve never been a true lemonade lover. In fact, I normally detest lemonades unless I make them fresh on my own, but hey, when someone recommends a drink I ALWAYS give them the benefit of the doubt. Recommendations are not to be trifled with, and the moment the straw from that Mason jar touched my lips I couldn’t have agreed more. We nabbed seats on the upper deck and reveled in the beautiful landscape of the city that surrounded us. In the darkness of the night on the roof I couldn’t have understood that city and its inhabitants any more.

We were working on our second round of Huckleberries when we were approached by a Polish guy who wanted to buy us shots. He allegedly used to play professional soccer in Europe. I really just wanted to talk to him about soccer; if it was true he’d have some interesting stories, and if he was making it up it would be amusing just to hear what he could come up with. I was possibly a little too buzzed at this point because I really could not understand much of what he was jabbering on about, but then again my brain does function slower around accents. We accepted and were at the bar taking our vodka shots when we struck up a conversation with another group of guys at the bar. When people at a bar hear its your first time in the city they get pretty worked up, and when they have already been celebrating a birthday for a few hours even more so. Poland didn’t like the rivalry and/or couldn’t control his alcohol fueled rage and threatened to smash a glass over Birthday Boy’s head. We took this as our cue to sneak away quietly.

Somehow we managed to grab a table and were soon joined by another batch of guys. Thinking back on it, it was like there was an ever-changing flow of guys just passing by. Where were all the women? This is the part of the night that fueled my attempts at witty banter using pickup lines.

• Pickup Line 1: Pointing at the nearest man’s shirt. “Is that felt?” Then you go in for a touch like you are totally just checking the fabric. “Now it is.” That one got a hoot around the table and BONUS I got to grope a dude’s pecs. I recommend it, as long as you think the dude might get the joke.
• Pickup Line 2: Once again looking at the dude’s shirt. “What’s that made of?” After a brief pause and a full body scan with the eyes, “I’m thinking boyfriend material.” I’m not sure why all of my lines thus far have been about fabric. I’m not even that into fabric.
• Pickup Line 3: I was at two wins at this point, and with my track record that meant I was bound for a strike. Pointing at a guy across the table, “If you were a booger I’d pick you first.” Not a crowd pleaser, in fact I do believe I lost much of my credibility with that one.There were groans resonating around the table and a direct “you didn’t just say that” from my friend. I shrugged it off and continued my chatter, still stoked that my other two were keepers.

At least they were good sports about it all, and I think they were genuinely interested in our conversations, but unfortunately I have forgotten their names. Here’s to a Craigslist missed connections post. Find me, my long-lost Brooklyn Pickup Line test subjects.  And that, my friends, all happened at and because of the greatest establishment in Brooklyn: Berry Park.