Dear Bill “Ba” Arnold, I am so very sorry for the incident Friday night at your fine establishment. I would like to apologize for the behavior — and the dress — of my colleague Eric Celeste (whose bald head you can see in the enclosure, reflecting the neon light from your sign). When the evening began, our group of five had no intention of visiting an upscale nightclub. That’s why, I assume, Eric was so cobblarly unprepared. To his credit, though, before we approached the velvet rope, he changed out of his flip-flops and into a pair of workout sneakers that he had in his gym bag, which was stashed in the trunk.
It was the workout sneakers that your bouncer found so offensive. At first, from a few feet away, I thought the problem might have been Eric’s purple-and-green plaid shorts. But no. It was the white Richard Simmons-style sneakers. And, really, I can’t blame the bouncer. The sneakers were awful. They were the sort of sneakers that, even when new, a homeless man would (rightfully) decline to wear.
Of course, the situation was only made worse when Eric asked to see a manager, and then, when you came over, he told you all about the story he’d written in D Magazine that prominently featured Martini Park, and then he begged and pleaded — atrocious footwear notwithstanding — to let us in since we’d driven all the way up from Dallas and so forth. All so unseemly. So undignified.
In closing, again, I’m sorry. Thank you for your understanding and for bending the rules. We had a swell time Friday night. And you have my word that next time we visit, we’ll be better dressed.
