XL Nightclub (Closed Permanently)

Love it!

So happy to have a big old school club in midtown. I've only been on Fridays for RockIt but the crowd is great, the boys are cute, the music is solid (how can you go wrong with Corey Craig

Gorgeous space, rancid service

<b>The Up</b><br/> Wow - the space is cavernous, trendily lit and gorgeously spacious. It is a world apart from the other gay night life in New York and on par with the best the world's cosmopolitans can bring up in indulgence. <br/><br/> The space's photogenic qualities attracted a crowd which, despite the expanse they had to fill, gave the place a full feel before midnight (on a Thursday). I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Sure, the bar didn't have St. Germain and didn't know how to make a vodka Southside, but that can be fixed with time and, I thought, it's a stuffy reason to tighten up about a new bar. <br/><br/> <b>The Down</b><br/> Then came time to closeout. After waiting for about 15 minutes (which feels like an eternity at the bar), I finally managed to catch the attention of a bar-tender on the east side of the north ground level bar. No problem, I'm thinking, it's an upstart establishment still getting its bearings on un-expected customer volume. <br/><br/> But when I told him I wanted to close out my tab he informed me, no - <i>spat</i> at me, that he couldn't do that since I opened the tab with another bar-tender. I asked him if he couldn't just close us out for him. His eyes roll as he snaps back, "no, go to the other side". What? Is this normal? Am I so insulated from the doldrums of the street that this vulgarity strikes me as offensive? No, I figure, I just over-reacted - besides, I had two drinks. That's probably it. <br/><br/> So I patiently wait on the other side of the bar. For my bartender. Who has the exclusive ability to conjure up my credit card (and driver's licence). Ofcourse he spends a few minutes socialising with the Nuclear Turd from above no less than five (counted!) times over an elapse of a further 12 minutes. Finally, I get the bill. <br/><br/> Fuming, I head downstairs to retrieve my coat. My friend, who writes for the Times, and I talk about what just happened and chalk it up to one douche bag who slipped through an HR manager eager to fill slots for an opening. Our coat check-outs go smoothly. But to my horror I witness the coat check staff tell a person whose belongings are locked in a room that he needs to talk to someone else. <br/><br/> "We can't do that here, you need to go talk to the people in FuckKnowsistan." <br/><br/> The same air of condescension! The same pandering to their own egos at the expense of the customer! Why doesn't the gay community deserve more than catty, conceited dimwits? <br/><br/> My friend (no worries - he writes about European politics) said I'm too used to the Park and Columbus bars my colleagues frequent, that I'm not gritty enough to stoop down to 10th Avenue and accept that this won't be Michelin star service. But I object. I don't need to feel like I'm going to Per Se. But I shouldn't feel like I'm at the DMV (and I say this as an apologetic to the DMV, given my recent interactions). Heart-broken at the squandered potential. <br/><br/> <b>The Wrap-up</b></br> The space is <i>beautiful</i>. The lighting, the sound system, the ambiance... I loved every square inch of if. But that bartender! And the venomous sting at coat check! Never mind that it wasn't directed at me, it was pedestrian and filthy in a way I don't want to deal with on a night out. <br/><br/> Tremendous potential. But strict changes need to be made in the hiring decisions if they want to attract a NYC base. Otherwise the hotel is going to have to supply a steady cattle call of oblivious foreigners. I really hope that they turn around fast because I truly want to love this place. <br/><br/> P.S. I believe in granting ventures exorbitant leeway in their nascence. This review will be retracted if I see a materially significant improvement.