Drift Reality > London, England > Metra Club and Bar

Several days ago, a student society I work with threw a party at Metra Club and Bar in Leicester Square. The party itself was incredible fun. The thing that dampened the mood was the terrible service.

First off, I was greeted at the door by a Metra employee who looked like and evil Leprechaun and sounded a little like Chewbacca. After spending 10 minutes trying to explain that I was affiliated with the society throwing the party, and therefore didn’t have to pay, he passed me on to a guy who looked like he was on his way to audition to be an extra in Boys n the Hood until he opened his mouth and had a British accent. Thankfully, one of the society members was standing near the entrance and came over and somehow managed to explain that I should be let in for free. The doormen grudgingly acceded and I walked in.

I was happy to see a good crowd of people in the bar and chatted with some friends for a few minutes before deciding to grab a drink. Fortunately, it was still happy hour and cocktails were £2.50, so I ordered a drink for a friend and myself.

“That will be £13.50,” said the bartender.

“Excuse me?” I responded.

“£13.50 for two gin and tonics,” he shot back unflinchingly.

As he explained to me, it turns out that you have to explicitly ask for the “happy hour” prices when you order the drinks. Otherwise, they mix you doubles and charge you £6.75. After he explained this, something still didn’t make any sense to me.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “So what you’re telling me is that it is £2.50 for a single. If I don’t ask for the “happy hour” special, then you give me a double, but the double costs £1.75 more than two singles?”

“Yes,” he responded.

“Okay, well, I’m going to give you £10 right now,” I shot back.

“Okay, give me £10,” he responded.

I shook my head while handing over the cash. After that conversation, I was going to need the double.

The rest of the night actually went fairly well, mostly because I didn’t have to interact with anyone who worked at Metra.

Until I was on my way out.

I threw my hat on and started walking towards the exit. As I passed a bouncer, he tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to my hat.

“You’re not allowed to wear hats in here,” he said.

“That’s okay, I’m leaving,” I responded.

“Well, you still have to take it off.”

I sat and stared at him for a few moments, wondering how the bouncer managed to survive to adulthood. Shaking my head, I took my hat off for all of 10 seconds before putting it back on as I walked up the stairs towards the exit.

Bottom line – don’t waste your time or money by going to Metra. The people who work there are complete idiots and if the management had any sense, they would immediately fire all of them.