You got to be ‘PJ’ing me!
A story of what happens when you leave the reserving of a table to other people. Read on…
It was the night of an important cricket match for India and my friends just had to go out to watch it.
Well, I’m all for sports and supporting Team India. So I said yes before really questioning where exactly we were watching the match. Big Mistake.
I was sent an address in Bandra and was asked to “be there BEFORE the match begins. Please.” For once I conceded and made it on time.
But to my surprise (and disgust) we weren’t watching the match at a restaurant or a pub or even someone’s home (which I sort of detest). We were watching it at a club; don’t start celebrating for me just yet, this wasn’t a night club.
This was more like a club where old uncles and their other old uncle friends are members and they come to drink and eat at ‘club’ rates (which is absolutely inversely proportional to night club rates). This was a club called PJ. And I was hoping, as the name suggests, that this IS a horrible joke.
To add to this, the place also has a dress code and an entry charge. My guess is they think if they conduct themselves the way actual clubs do, they might just pass off as one. Someone please tell them, they aren’t fooling anybody.
At first, they tried denying us a table (oh c’mon!) but then seeing our numbers, they let us in. After collecting the entry charge, that is. Once we got up to the ‘bar room’ (please don’t ask me what that is), we noticed that it was less a bar; more a room in a home that was cramped with chairs and tables with a screen on one side for the match. By now the friends who picked the place seemed kind of sheepish and wouldn’t really catch my eye. I felt slightly bad for them and tried not to make a big deal out of it but, SERIOUSLY?
Our view of the screen was blocked by four heads and we had to twist around in our seats to know what was happening. But on the (slightly) plus side, the entire room was watching the match as one big group. I noticed three instances where people from separate tables were discussing cricket with each other.
Well, this warmed my heart a little. After all, the game is why we were here. So adjusting my mood settings to ‘happy’ I settled in to watch the match and took a bit of the pork chilly we’d ordered and promptly spat it out. I have hardly ever tasted anything that vile and difficult to ingest in my life.
Things just went downhill from there and it turned into one bummer of a night. What with me not touching anything on the table and India losing the match, we’d all had enough by the end of the night.
PJ’s, you’ve got the potential. You just need a few tweaks though. Nothing major, just some actual space, a classier décor, edible food, and a change in name should do it.
