For whatever reason I’ve been thinking about The Village Idiot a lot lately. For those of you outside of the NYC area The Village Idiot was a bar located in Manhattan on the corner of 14th and 9th. It closed over 5 years ago but there’s not a day that goes by without me looking out the window and getting a little misty about the wonderful magic that went on there, or how I’d probably be dead if it was still open.
When I first moved down to the city about 10 years ago I didn’t really know anyone. So when a guy at my job, Rob, asked me if I wanted to get a few beers I hopped on the chance. We eventually became good friends and did a decent amount of drinking over the next few weeks around the Union Square area. I was a single man then and had no ties at home so I wanted to explore this fine city and all the bars it had to offer. One day he took me down to The Village Idiot. Little did I know that place would change my life in ways people only read about. The first time we walked in it was about 5 in the afternoon and the bartender was piss drunk, topless and wearing her underwear on the outside of her pants. I was in love. We eventually nicknamed her Chim-Chim and over the next few months became big fans of her work. The bartender who came on for the night shift was in a better state, but as the night when on she got closer and closer to Chim-Chim status. That’s the kind of bar this was.
The jukebox was full of old country music, the beer was cheap and there was an endless supply of peanuts for your consumption. Of course the first time we were there and I went to eat some Rob grabbed my hand like that scene in “Raiders of the Lost Ark” when Indy goes to eat the poison date. You didn’t eat the peanuts. What you did do though is get drunk and thrown them at each other, the bartenders never really seamed to care, sometimes even joined in. The more booze you got in you the worse it would get. Eventually I’d be eating the peanuts.
Over the next couple years the idiot became the spot I would go anytime I got a chance to do some serious drinking. People I knew would complain about the fact that is smelt like vomit, you’d often see cockroaches on the floor and transvestites were regulars. I didn’t care, I loved that damn place. One night I got so drunk there that when I got home I felt that I had to eat something to keep from getting sick. Unfortunately soup was the only thing in my apartment. I spilt some on the floor and neglected to clean it up before putting the pot on the stove and sitting down. When I saw the soup boiling over I ran into the kitchen, slipped on the wet floor and hit the pot which shot boiling chicken soup into my face. The scream I let out was one of the loudest I’ve ever heard. The next day my face was so messed up that people at work forced me to go to the emergency room. I waited two hours for a doctor to give me a sample size Neosporin and a pamphlet on reconstructive surgery. I was not happy. Luckily the burns healed and I’m not a freakish mess today, but I can thank the idiot for that experience.
One night I got off the bus and had to pee so bad that I decided to run the three block hike to my apartment. I got four steps into my job and fell flat on my face, cutting up my hands on the sidewalk. Another night I didn’t notice an air conditioner coming out of a house window and walked head first into the corner. When I moved out of the area a little piece of my head was still embedded into corner of that AC unit. Another night I was there with a buddy of mine and proceeded to do more shots then I’ve ever done in my life. Unbeknownst to my friend every time I took one I put the shot glass in his bag. When we went to leave his bag must of weight at least twenty pounds and to this day he still have those shot glasses. That was also the same night I learned just how expensive a strip club can be in NYC.
I don’t drink nearly as much as I use to back then and I’ve cut hard liqueur completely out. I can say The Village Idiot was the first place I tried Brooklyn Lager and in many ways opened me up to the world of craft beer but I’d be bullshitting if I said I went there for fresh brews. I think we all had a bar like the Village Idiot at some point in our lives, and if you didn’t you’re really missing out on something. After it closed a little part of me died and I spent the next few years trying to find a spot that could take it’s place. I never did. Which is probably for the best really but still the Village Idiot will always hold a special little place in my heart. I rarely go down to the meat packing district anymore. It’s gotten a lot classier, which is a major reason why the Village Idiot couldn’t afford the rent anymore, but when I do and I walk by the old spot I still get a little misty. It’s been occupied by a few different restaurants over the years and I always wonder if the people eating there know what had been on those floors years ago. For their sake I hope not. Go bless you Chim-Chim, whoever you are.
