I decided to go check out the Monkey Bar after its “Grand Re-Opening” and write up a little review. I’m not gonna lie. I’ve been there before and (this isn’t something I’ll openly tell just anyone), I had an awesome time. It’s basically like going to a Dave Matthews concert. You can’t understand a damn word while you’re in there, and there’s a bunch of people that are way too into it, so if you’re sober it’ll be two of the most miserable hours of your life. But if you’re already hammered by the time you go in, even though you won’t remember most of what happened, when you wake up you’ll have this weird feeling that you had a really good time. And when you roll over, you just hope that the random girl next to you feels the same way.

The funny thing is … I didn’t even get into the damn place. I sat in line for 20 minutes and gave up because I forgot to bring lawn chairs and a hibachi. They say there’s no such thing as bad press, and for the Monkey Bar’s sake, I really hope that’s true.

Dear Monkey Bar,

Your bar sucks. We may be drunk, but we’re not stupid. We see what you’re trying to do with this line-out-the-door-at-all-times idea. But guess what? This isn’t New York City. It’s Amherst, the same town that managed to sell out a Toby Keith show a month ago.

You want people to think, “Wow, people will actually wait in line to get in there. I should go there to get wasted too.” But you need to realize that this is exactly what your bar means to us students: a place to get wasted. People can’t get wasted while waiting in line. Instead, they just get cold and amazingly sober. I hate to point out the obvious, but sober people plus more people outside than actually in the bar equals less money for you.

If everyone thought that in reality, your establishment was overcrowded, then it wouldn’t be much of a problem, but you see, your bar has windows. We can see that there are three people buying drinks, so you’re fooling absolutely no one. To prevent this, just treat the bar like your bouncers treat their ’97 Honda Civics (that they drive like standards, even though they’re automatics) and tint the windows. Moving on to your bouncers …

We know that you’ve been trained to pick out a fake ID. But here’s a head’s up: this isn’t a very difficult skill, and judging from all the Amherst Regional High School Cheerleaders I’ve seen at the bar, you pretty much suck at it.

We know that you somehow manage to get girls, but picking them up by telling them you can get them into the Monkey Bar without waiting in line is just cheesy.

We know that if you had a young daughter, and you showed up at the breakfast table without gelling your hair first, she’d probably cry because she didn’t recognize her daddy.

We know that the headset you wear while “bouncing” is a damn prop. Here’s how I know. In those 15 minutes I wasted waiting in line, I didn’t hear you say the word, “Over” or “Roger” once, and when it comes to using two-way radios of any kind, that’s just the cool thing to do. You’re not in the Secret Service, and no one on our basketball team is good enough to require a bodyguard anymore, so put the earpiece away. It’s just something they give you to make you feel like more of a badass. Honestly, why would you need a headset: to know if there’s a fight inside? How about you just take the hint when the midget crashes through the front window and lands on the poor suckers waiting in line.

We know that you shop at Express For Men. To be honest, I want nothing to do with a store that needs to put “For Men” in the title to help the buyer discriminate which gender the store intends to clothe. I should be able to walk into a store, glance at both sides, and be able to determine which half of the store is made for humans with penises. If Express and Express For Men were combined, that would be incredibly difficult, and I have a problem with that. If a shirt is tight, $65, and has a pattern that looks like a baby spit up strained carrots all over the front, then it’s from that store. If you look at a shirt and it makes you wonder, “God, do we really need more shoelaces on sweaters?” then it’s from that store.

So in conclusion, I’m happy that all of the hard work you bouncers put in at the John Quincy Adams Wellness Center has paid off, but seriously, get over yourselves. Waiting in line sucks, so just let us in so we can drink and dance to that same Lil’ Jon song over and over again. We’ll be a lot happier and it’ll make you look like less of a bastard. If not, we’ll just go to one of the five other places in that 200-foot stretch of sidewalk. I, for one, will be just as happy drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon bottles at Delano’s. Just trying to help you out.

I love you,

Matt

Matt Brochu is a Collegian columnist.