A night out on the Hill entails deciding what places to go to, what to wear, who to meet up with, and, finally, which side of Broadway to walk on.  I usually prefer the east side of the street because it can offer a peek inside Le Faux at Julia’s and a glimpse of sidewalk diners at Broadway Grill.  The new Panevino has potential “people glancing” opportunities, too. My observation of the nightlife on the Hill is that people can be sorted into three categories:  the workers, the revelers, and the wanderers.  These three groups of people come out and interact and unknowing create the night scenes that shape Capitol Hill culture.

Open For Adventure Originally uploaded by blackracer

The bartender, one of the workers, is the iconic representation of nightlife, at least for drinkers.  Whether it’s whiskey on the rocks or a dry martini, they are eager to fill us with potions of pleasure, keeping us all warm and content.  The clinking of ice cubes for a cocktail, the plunging of draught beer into a pint, and the fizzy popping open of a beer bottle are all sonic examples of a bartender’s orchestra, the bartender is the maestro.

One handsome bartender, well the one I have known for a few years now, who we will call “Tom Cruise” (an in-joke) is a prime example of the professional bartender trade.  Tom (the pseudonym is purely ironic, but obviously a reference to the classic 80s film “Cocktail” where Cruise’s character murders his competition, his best friend) is an eager man.  He plays the friend, the matchmaker, the comedian, the minister, the cop, and the psychiatrist.  Tip them all well – they deserve it.

They patiently listen to their customers, who represent the revelers, and have their next order ready for them.  They listen to a pretty young blonde women say things like, “I (giggle) need to make some life-changing choices…” and salty older men makes grumpy statements like, “If I was in charge of the world, I would make a lot of changes!”  And this is just a few bar stools away with just the strains of dub music playing.  I think I need to seek out more joyful revelers. 

On the street, on Pike to be exact, crowds of people surround the entrances of their chosen venue for the night.  Outside The Lobby, pretty guys dressed in fashionable attire, puff on cigarettes and converse in hilariously high tones.  They are content – their bartender did a fine job.  At the bar next door, The Comet, the decidedly different crowd mill around.  They are also smoking.  Their attire is more last-minute – jeans and t-shirts and still very fashionable.  Both ends of the spectrum mash up next to each other on this street.  Revelers are gathering, talking, and exchanging information and lining up for hot dogs at several stands. 

Amongst the revelers are other people walking around the Hill, they are the wanderers.  They have many reasons for heading out into the night – some just need to be alone but also out and others like to tempt fate and see what great stories they will have for future days.  They didn’t dress up, didn’t choose any place particular to go, and have no friends to meet this time.  Some nights have to be singular adventures.  I kind of fit this category tonight, but I am also on a mission to get a story.  While walking across from Neumos, I see someone taking a picture.  He notices me too, snapping a corner scene with my digital camera.  He has a professional camera and seems to also be on a mission.  We acknowledge each other and introduce ourselves.  His name is Paul, too, and is photographer visiting from Baltimore.  He is taking pictures of the bands playing at the Comet Tavern.  We exchange information and then he is off down the sidewalk to seek out his story.

The wanderers can blend in with revelers quite easy.  Sometimes a wanderer becomes a reveler and sometimes a reveler becomes a wanderer.  It’s all a part of the many stories of a night on the Hill.  I feel like I am wanderer at heart.  However, there is this one place – I don’t want to reveal it – that is a bit dank and dark.  The tables are a bit crusty and the chairs creek and wobble.  The music system suffocates songs into indecipherability.  Fellow wanderers sip on dark drinks, low-keyed revelers whisper quiet, desperate conversations to their friends, and the workers mind their business out of respect for your privacy.  Lately, I spend an inordinate amount of time there.