An open letter to an exclusive place

Dear The Other Side Café,                                  

I’ve visited your pseudo “anti-establishment” establishment on many occasions, but I think this is it. You see, the people that dare to loiter on your hipster-infested porch are called customers. Your stoned staff should offer a menu and occasionally stop by to see if they need to order a drink. Here’s the thing: if I wanted to sip a beverage while being ignored by a bunch of blasé art school dropouts, I’d bring a flask into American Apparel and drink there.

This particular chilly night a few weeks ago, my pals and I chose to shiver our timbers on your deck and down a pitcher or two before a rainy Fenway game. I realize my crew wasn’t part of the “whose vintage specs and Pocahontas headband are coolest?” contest, but it wasn’t as if we were decked head to toe in Red Sox gear.

I understand that we ordered Turkey Club Melted Minis and a pitcher of Endurance Pale Ale instead of the prerequisite vegan burrito and Pabst tall boy with a Basic cigarette chaser. But was that any reason for the waiter with hair like a Brazilian landing strip (not the airport kind) to sneer disdainfully at my friend who gamely approached in an attempt to order: “Why don’t you take a seat?” By the way, thanks for informing us that our pitchers come with free chips and salsa … and by informing, I mean conveniently forgetting to tell us.

Despite being hot for the snappy Mr. Pepper (the ubiquitous Pabst, amaretto and Coke), your place leaves me cold. If I had visible tattoos, would you consider me bohemian like you and stop serving up your overpriced organic wine, craft beer and sprouts with a healthy dose of attitude? 

Not by a long shot of wheatgrass. Not if you were the last deck in town.

Quite sincerely,
intoxiKATEd

The Other Side Café
40 Newbury St., Boston
MBTA: Green Line to Hynes
617-536-8437

Kate Coughlin is a freelance writer living in Boston.