Minority Report

Camel, a word which evokes images of dunes and sandstorms, is actually the name of a Korean club in midtown New York. Against my better judgment, I acquiesced to my friend Brian's repeated requests for me to join him in one of his much-hyped, whiskey-driven romps at the oddly named club last night. Suffice it to say, being the only white guy - and the tallest person in the club - led to a bewildering experience and a night I won't soon forget.

Actually, it could have been much less unusual, or at least I could have better dealt with the awkwardness, if I would have been the least bit drunk. Even after having two pitchers of sangria with dinner, and a beer or two one club prior to Camel, I was in no way, shape, or form intoxicated. Well, why not purchase a beverage, Andrew? That would seem to be the sensible thing to do to solve your problem of clear headedness.

And that is just what I did. I sidled up the bar, waited for the bar tender, who, in a strange cost-cutting measure I have never witnessed before, was also the DJ, and ordered an innocuous Bud Light. This they did not have in stock at the moment, so he instead supplied me with a Coors Light. Close, but not cigar, mon frere. While the identity of my drink was disappointing, I was at last on my way to comfort in a place where I stood out like a sore thumb.

In making this purchase, I learned something: since most of Camel's patrons originate from Seoul and are bank-rolled by some rich family member or relative (according to Brian, the resident expert), the food and drink at this club are astronomically priced. How much did I pay? Try $8 for a Coors Light. I don't even like Coors, let alone Coors Light, and I spent $9, with the requisite tip, to drink one. When I approach Brian to complain, he tells me that most people aren't even allowed in this Club unless they plan on participating in the ultra-expensive "bottle service" offered at each table. Sadly, that information, conveyed in a more timely manner, could have helped me.

So, it turned out, the thing that separated me most from the Koreans was not my ethnicity (or lack thereof) but my unwillingness to be economically eviserated on a repeated basis. In other words, I opted to remain sober and a wee bit uncomfortable.