Victimless door crimes.

Last night, Lauren, Greg, "Mike Sherman" and I went to the Florida Room. And after living here for six years, I FINALLY learned the secret to cracking a hard door: My Bionic-Man eyes.

Background:

Last night was the 1-year anniversary for the Florida Room, the Lounge where the David Barton Gym used to be in the basement of the Delano. I think I went to its soft opening, actually - which feels like FOREVER ago. In my old age, and house-poverty, I have scaled down going to places that charge a minimum of $15.00 per drink, so it's been a bit since last I went there. April or May, actually.

De la Soul was playing, and the door was a bitch to get into. As are most things, it was "List Only."

Lauren tried her hand at dropping the name of a luxury magazine editor, and "Mr. South Beach himself," who she's friends with but got, "Sorry, not on the list."

I stood by Greg.

"Try to read a name off the list," he hissed.

"Ugh. The writing is too small," I hissed back. Still, I kept craning to see the names, and for a split second, there it was. Jewy name. +4. Could I do it? Could I lie? What if the Bouncer knew Marc _______? I'd be embarassed! But...they weren't marking names off, just ensuring that names were on. Marc wouldn't be prejudiced if I used his name, successfully... We all get in, Marc gets in later (or before) and the Florida Room makes some money off us... Everybody wins!

Greg dropped a name and was denied. "Sorry, I don't have that name on the list."

"Mike Sherman" (I don't remember the guy's name) dropped a name and was denied.

My turn.

Bouncer turns to me, and nonchalantly, I give the Bouncer my new "name," spelling the last name out for the Bouncer.

"Here you are, that's a plus 4," says the bouncer, "who's with you?"

"Her, him and him," I replied.

Velvet ropes part, we get in, and the rest is crowded, drinky history.