TODAY: THE VILLAGE LANTERN

The Village Lantern is located on Bleecker St. between Sullivan and Thompson in the West Village. This is a pub-style restaurant with a mostly Italian menu, which also hosts stand-up comedy in the basement seven nights a week.

One Saturday night about three weeks ago, I was scheduled to perform. I showed up on time, and secured a seat at the small table near the back bar area. I set my guitar down (in its' soft, padded "back-pack" case), I tucked my purse under the seat so that it would be less likely to get stolen, and I put my jacket on the back of the chair. When my turn to perform came closer, I grabbed my guitar case and began to unzip and get my guitar out, but immediately I noticed it was wet with some sticky, smelly fluid. The smell was like rank, extra strong mildew. I noticed there was wetness on the carpet around the floor below my table, since I was squatting down to keep from blocking people behind me. I quickly grabbed my purse out from below the chair, hoping that it wasn't also drenched in the stinky liquid, but alas! It was covered in the sludgey goo. I reached in and felt a mess of wet papers, my cellphone slithering around in the slime. Finally, I checked the bottom of my coat, which was resting on the floor. It too, was wet with that nasty water.

I grabbed all three items like they were kittens (by the scruff) and brought them upstairs to find a manager. I found him and said, "I set my items downstairs on the floor, and I think that there is a leak or something, because it's gotten all over my stuff. I think the area should be roped off," I said. "Yes, I think there was a burst sewage pipe, or they were having some pipe problems," he said. "So, do you want some money or something?" The guy asked. I hadn't thought about it. I actually had just come up to show him the damage and ask that they notify others not to make the same mistake I did. But since he'd brought it up..."Well," I said. "If you'd like to pay to get my coat dry-cleaned, that would be very nice, especially if it's sewage."

"OK, come back in an hour and a half and we'll talk more about it," he said.

I performed and was less than spectacular, knowing that all my stuff was covered in shit in my purse. After my set, I went back up to find him, but he was gone.

I went home and tried to save what I could in my purse. I had to throw most of the papers away - jokes I'd written, song lyrics, flyers for upcoming shows, etc. I realized my purse was also completely drenched in the smelly goo and so disgusting, I just threw it away. It would have been impossible to get that smell and goo out with a regular washing and it wasn't worth paying to have it specially cleaned. That was inconvenient, as it was a special purse that had a cross strap I could use when I rode my bike around without it interfering with me pedaling about. (Like a bike messenger bag, but not so sterile or professional looking, more cozy and girly, while also looking sharp.)

The guitar case, I tried to blow out with a hairdryer, which worked for the most part, but it is now hard and encrusted with the liquid that it had sopped up. My coat I dried with the hairdryer, but it is similarly hard and crusty around the bottom of the coat.

The next day, I called and spoke to someone on the phone. I explained the situation again, and he said that there was a problem with the sour mix tubes and the liquid and smell was sour mix. He asked how much damage was done financially? I said, "Probably $50, at most, if you wanted to replace my guitar case. I already threw my purse away," I said.

"OK, someone will get back to you," he said.

Later that night, I got a phone call from a Dan, who was calling back about my 'illeged' damage. I told him the story, and he said, "Well, I don't believe you. I talked to other comedians and no one else's stuff was damaged,"

"That's because my stuff soaked it all up!" I said. I told him about tapping my foot down and hearing the liquid splashing around. He accused me of lying again.

"So, you want five hundred dollars?" he said.

"Five hundred dollars? I never said that!" I said. "I'd said if you wanted to pay for my coat to be cleaned, that would be a friendly gesture."

"Well, we're not paying for anything to get cleaned. You shouldn't set your stuff down at a bar. Someone obviously spilled a drink. It happens at bars."

"At most bars, people clean up spilled drinks," I said. And this was no spilled drink. It was a puddle of liquid. He denied the puddle accusation. "I just don't believe you," he said. "I'll come over and bring my stuff for you to see, smell and feel," I said.

"No", he said. "Don't come here. As a matter of fact, don't ever come back here again," he said.

"I'm coming over there right now," I said, and hung up. I brought my things directly over and tried to reason with him, showing him all the stuff. At this point, I was mostly concerned with fixing the impression that I was a liar. I am not a liar, and to be accused as such was disheartening. When I got there, he wouldn't touch or look at the stuff I brought. He said, "I told you not to come here." A waitress who overheard us talking said, "I'll give you five bucks for drycleaning." I tried to explain now that it wasn't about money, and really never had been. It's about people taking responsibility for damaging other people's property, and perhaps issuing a heart-felt apology. It was about people caring about people, and having respect for their customers, and running an honest business.

But those principles were lost on the Village Lantern, as Dan invited me to come back the next day and talk to Susan, who I later learned was his wife.

I didn't come back to talk to Susan, but I decided to come back and do the spot I'd been booked to do four days later. Dan was there. He came into the basement and confronted me as I was about to go on stage. "I thought I told you not to come back here," he said. "You did," I retorted. "But I'm going to do a spot on this show. Then I will leave." He fumed. He looked drunk. "You better get out of here and never come back." I looked him in his crooked, drunken eyes and said, "I'll leave when I'm done performing." He was livid, but silently stormed away instead of making any more of a scene.

I haven't been back since or talked to Susan. But I'm afraid that they share negative attributes, as a husband and wife team. I plan to write Susan a letter, but I'd rather not bring or contribute to any more business to their restaurant.