I'm sure Blue Martini is a fine place to sip cosmopolitans after a successful haul at Neiman Marcus. In fact, two 40ish looking women with orange tans appeared to be doing just that when I visited the Blue Martini's patio bar last Saturday. The women looked satisfied following a productive afternoon spent purchasing new blouses, bras or whatever else it is that puts smiles on the faces of female shoppers these days.
I sipped my beer and tried in vain to enjoy the sterile surroundings. Usually, a bar stop is just what I need to knock the edge off going to some place like International Plaza. Billed as "Tampa Bay's premier shopping, dinning and entertainment center," it includes two floors of stores, plus a playground, food court and the adjacent, Disney-esque nightlife strip Bay Street. That's where Blue Martini sits, far too close to the maze of retail madness for me to find it appealing on Saturday.
Truth be told, my nerves were bad long before I sat down next to the Neiman Marcus ladies and across from two young women in matching black blouses whose idea of being sociable consisted of one talking on the phone while the other texted.
For starters, malls make me jumpy. Some people fear large rodents, cockroaches and strange noises in the night. I can live with those things. What really screws with my head is hundreds and hundreds of people coming together to buy stuff. The entire shopping mall experience — from finding a parking spot to locating my car several mind-punishing hours later — is enough to make me want to camp out on my sofa for a good, solid month with no human interaction whatsoever.
I tried that once in college. It's not so difficult. Most pizza delivery guys — if you tip properly — will make beer runs. They'll even pick you up toilet paper after a certain business relationship has been established.
Last Saturday, I made the mistake of visiting both WestShore Plaza and the International Plaza in the same afternoon. I thought a new pair of jeans might be nice or maybe a fresh shirt. Foolishly, I underestimated the anxiety of strolling through the mall — during summer vacation, on a cloudy Saturday — with only a vague idea of what I came to purchase.
My mind wasn't prepared for taking part in the pandemonium that occurs when you dump X-amount of hardcore consumers under one roof. People start shouting for no reason. Moms turn strollers into battering rams. Senior citizens pass out anywhere they can find a chair.
I started at WestShore mall. My stay was short. Everything annoyed me: the sight of teenagers trying to look hard, the nauseating smell of Auntie Anne's pretzels. I entered through Macy's and exited the same way after spending 10 or 15 minutes cautiously surveying the main thoroughfare.
My plan was to then head home. But my sense of direction is awful. So I got all turned around, and the next thing I know I'm facing International Plaza.
Somewhere in my mind I recalled, vaguely, hitting the Blue Martini late one evening. So I knew this mall had bars. I figured I'd drop in.
Inside the actual shopping plaza there are no bars. And I could have used a drink. A strong one. About every 10 yards or so.
I was assaulted by screaming toddlers. I dodged little brats zipping around on sneakers that double as roller skates. I spotted an old man digging in his nose while his wife snored next to him on the bench. A dumpy kid about 9 or 10 years old with a loud, grating voice wore a shirt that read: "Before you start talking, remember that I'm not hearing a thing you say."
He bumped into me on his way to what I guess was the Häagen-Dazs stand up the way. His parents maintained a leisurely pace while junior chugged forward. Perhaps Mom and Dad were hoping to lose him. I honestly didn't blame them. It was time for me to leave. After a couple of quick glances at some racks, I concluded that I could live without a new pair of jeans or shirt. By the time I arrived at the Blue Martini, my nerves were shot. I ordered a beer and tried to relax. But my view included a kiosk full of tie-dyed scarves. More junk.
The people at the bar weren't drinkers. They chatted away and snacked on plates of fruit while the ice in their cocktails melted. I stuck around long enough to down two domestic bottles of beer. Prior to leaving, I witnessed the two young women who couldn't put their phones down long enough to have an actual conversation walk away from an unfinished bottle of Bud Light ($5) and a half-full White Chocolate Martini ($12).
Stunts like that are very offensive to the serious drinker. The service at Blue Martini was fast, my two beers were cold (albeit overpriced), but it definitely was not my scene. I probably just need to avoid malls altogether.
Blue Martini, 2223 N. West Shore Boulevard, Tampa. 813-873-2583 or bluemartinilounge.com.
This article appears in Aug 1-7, 2007.