Who ARE these people?

Last night I attended a free-bee mojito party sponsored by the concierge company that services my swanky office building. They hosted this event at High Bar, a midtown roof top lounge that one must gain entry through a series of velvet ropes and speak easy like basement catacombs.

Once at the penthouse level my plus one and I found Bookie 2, poured ourselves some free drinks then decided to do some investigating. The intimate outdoor space was furnished with brightly striped low couches and large square beds festooned with canvas drapes, with a BBQ, bar and DJ area. We plopped ourselves in an area marked ‘reserved’ since it afforded us the best vantage point to view the crowd and boy was it an odd mix. I thought it would be mostly business peeps from our building but it turned out that there were two very different parties being hosted concurrently. On the edge of the roof along the row of couches sat the office-y types (mostly woman, except for the one couple making sweet sweet love on the bed in the corner) while in the center the reserved banquets held a LA trashy crowd who I believe may be solely responsible for the influx of New York City’s bed bug infestation. This group of trendy, oh so bored with life anorexics were draped over one another smoking and texting. The guys looked to be in their 40’s with teen age haircuts and frosted tips, skinny jeans, and $200 vintage T shirts that had been strategically hand distressed by some top designer. The girls were mostly 23 with no pants, ratty hair (that oh so dirty messy I just rolled out of bed and did some blow look), all with a penchant for showing some sort of foundation garment. Who are these people? Where do they come from? Why don’t they smile or laugh? These are not my people – entertaining to watch, kinda like being at the zoo – but not my people.

So the immediate company was swell, the free drinks were yummy, the view was lovely and the people watching was a hoot however it was not the evening that I had hoped for – oh well.