A First Timer’s Guide to Public Records

Follow me as I guide you through a night at one of Brooklyn’s hottest venues (and not just because I was wearing a sweater dress).

9:30 PM – Start your Saturday night at a somewhat new, somewhat old friend’s apartment in Boerum Hill. You met several years ago as summer analysts at a top five financial firm (think HBO’s Industry with less drugs and more screaming). What your friend doesn’t know is that you were in love with her for a full year after that. Say hi to her live-in boyfriend on your way in and finally accept defeat. 

9:45 PM – Pregame at home drinking lychee martinis. Who says you need to drop $20 a pop at a cocktail bar to feel fabulous? One word: Whole Foods brand canned lychee (oh wait, that’s five). Or better yet, a mom-and-pop run Asian market. On second thought, yeah, might as well go to the Asian market. 

10:30 PM – Two cocktails and one allergy pill later you’re sufficiently buzzed and finally in the mood to go out. Watch your friend do her makeup and drunkenly share your recent musings while sitting on the edge of her giant clawfoot tub (she still works at that same aforementioned finance firm, hence the tub). 

11:00 PM – Open Google Maps and search for the best sounding place for a night of drinking, drugs and debauchery, all within walking distance. Friend suggests Public Records in Gowanus and the name rings a bell, remembering your on again-off again guy friend/hook-up buddy mentioning it the other week.

12:00 AM – Walk to Public Records and get in line with a bunch of Europeans. Try to recall the bits of French you learned from high school and sharpen your eavesdropping skills. Smoke three cigarettes because there’s nothing better to do. 

12:40 AM – A whole forty minutes later, you’re in! Check your bag and pay for tickets. Cover fee is $40 because the act that night is a hardcore bass-heavy techno DJ and everyone is on molly so they obviously won’t be buying drinks. Friend buys your ticket because, well, you’re a receptionist and she’s a banker. Consider for the hundredth and sixteenth time whether or not you should’ve sold your soul to Corporate America after all.  

1:00 AM – Take a copious amount of shots to distract yourself from how badly you wish you had a powdered substance on you. Turn around and get swept up in the crowd all while squinting through the dense fog and mood lighting. Look for a guy that’s probably on ketamine and is willing to share. 

1:30 AM – Dance for a good thirty minutes and leave via the walkway to smoke yet another cigarette on the very cute patio. Humor some NYU kids who ask if it’s actually worth the $40 to go in.*

*Spoiler alert! it absolutely was. 

3:30 AM – Continue to dance the night away for a good two more hours (you never did end up finding those drugs). Call it quits around 3:30 AM and citibike over to Artichoke Basille’s Pizza on 5th Avenue. Reassure the various older men on the street asking if you’re okay as you teeter totter off into the darkness in your mini skirt. 

3:50 AM – Arrive at Artichoke Basille’s ten minutes shy of closing and realize they’re cash only—luckily, they have an ATM! Volunteer to buy the pizza because your friend covered you all night and you want to return the favor anyway you know how. Your card promptly gets declined but God is good, and you have enough money in your savings account to transfer over and save the day. Pop a squat on the curb and take turns swapping a margherita and an artichoke slice. Share an uber to your respective homes and proceed to clonk out around 5 AM. Wake up around 9 (curse you bodily clock) and vow to do it all over again. ☺