It’s amazing how people simply being friendly and kind can make a whole difference to your day.
My best friend Lynne and I experienced the benefit of others’ largesse on a recent trip to Miami, when we made the radical decision to check out a rooftop bar.
As many of you know, this South Florida city is an easy weekend destination. It’s only an hour’s flight away from Cayman. Of course, the airport there is another story. They’ve been ‘renovating’ the facility for so long now, I don’t know why they don’t just put up permanent ‘out-of-order’ signs fashioned from bronze. Finding a working moving walkway in Concourse F is a cause for celebration, and the ceilings there are so low, they must have built it when only Hobbits roamed the Earth.
All that aside, once you do make it out to civilisation, Miami offers a plethora of enticements, from shopping to theatre, to clubs.
On the first night of our weekend, we’d already seen women effortlessly teetering along the pavement in towering, spindly heels; parked our Hyundai rental at valet betwixt a Rolls-Royce and a Ferrari; and were sitting at the bar at Gordon Ramsay Hell’s Kitchen in the downtown district.
While chatting with the bartender, we discussed the fact that all of these types of establishments closed around 10:30pm. What were two lovely ladies such as we supposed to do if they wished to imbibe after this geriatric witching hour?
“Sugar is where you want to go,” he said, leaning in to whisper as though the place was actually called ‘Voldemort’. “It’s a bar at the top of EAST – open until 2 or 3am. You’ll love it.”
Well, this certainly sounded like our kinda joint.
The next night, we went to Uchi – a restaurant we always visit when in town – and as we ate the last bite of the legendary fried milk dessert, Lynne suggested we go on to give Sugar a try. Why not?
We ordered an Uber, and about 20 minutes later, we were pulling up outside EAST, a hip building in the heart of Brickell. There seemed to be a line of people outside – maybe they were waiting for taxis or something? We thanked our driver and hopped out, only to find that the velvet ropes stretching back a goodly number of feet were not to corral a queue for transport; these people were waiting to be admitted to Sugar.
In my haze of getting past the age of 30, I had completely forgotten that waiting to get into a hot nightspot was the norm.
“Want to stay?” I asked Lynne, expecting her to give up. After all, we had a minibar at the hotel, so we could put this whole nasty business of revisiting our youth in the rearview mirror.
“No, I’m good to wait,” she said.
Tartar sauce.
We were back there for less than a minute before I raised a concern. Suppose there was no seating in Sugar? I mean, were there chairs, or did someone simply pull up a cube? I needed to investigate, and so took it upon myself to go to the jacketed gentleman up front by the name of Sebastian who seemed to be the one making the decisions.
“Hi,” I began, solidly. “I haven’t stood in line for a bar in 20 years, so I’m pretty rusty. We were just wondering if there will be seating upstairs?”
Completely unlike those unsmiling, unsympathetic bouncer types we’d encountered in the past, or seen on TV, he couldn’t have been nicer. Perhaps taking in my non-night-on-the-town outfit and Lynne’s grey hair, he said, “Get your friend, you guys can go up now. There should be some seats available – just look around once you’re there.”
I grabbed Lynne before he came to his senses, and tried to tip him, but he wouldn’t accept it.
“Give it to the staff upstairs,” he smiled, “and enjoy yourselves.”
We proceeded to take a lift with no floor buttons in it (Gasp! So exclusive!) which conveyed us and some very chirpy men straight to the roof.
As soon as we stepped outside, we knew this was the place to be. There were lit trees everywhere, a large bar in the centre, different levels of seating, and a DJ playing great music that wasn’t deafening, just creating an atmosphere.
We squished and apologised (we’re British and Canadian) our way through the clusters of patrons, trying to get to one of the spots where we could take a photo of the impressive city skyline. There were three ladies at a table with couches who happily offered to snap a picture of us. They had prime seating with a view.
Just as we thanked them, they said we were welcome to join them – there was lots of room. Score! And here’s crackers: One of them worked for a talent agency that represents a roster of artists including… Richard Marx!
“He’s performing in Cayman tonight!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, we booked him for that!” she said.
Talk about a small world.
We stayed at Sugar for a good couple of hours, and had the best time. Had it not been blowing a gale up there, and Lynne hadn’t carried on like it was below freezing, we might have even closed the place.
The combination of Sebastian’s kindness (pity) and those ladies being so welcoming really made our night. It could have been a completely different experience if not for them.
We’ll definitely be going back, but next time we’ll make a reservation to avoid the queue… and Lynne will wear her wool coat.
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