We pull into the new Green Iguana around 6 p.m. on Thursday for its grand opening and find the parking lot filled past capacity. The drinking establishment is located on the first floor of the Westshore Hotel in Tampa, right next door to Thee Doll House. A handwritten sign advertises "$3 valet," so my co-worker Sal inches his ancient beater into the long line of cars leading to the entrance. By the time we reach the front, our friendly valet motions to us by dragging his index finger across his throat. "No parking left!" he shouts.
We slowly circle the lot while hurling curses at other drivers and the situation in general before making it back onto Westshore Boulevard. After taking a right on Cypress, I spot empty spaces in an office-building lot that appears closed for the day. We get out of the car and wait for our co-worker Lyndsay, who is also grappling with parking.
The three of us traipse through the wet grass in hope of entering the Green Iguana via the back, but are stopped by a chain-link fence. "Well, my feet are thoroughly washed now!" quips Lyndsay, who's wearing a pair of open-toe heels.
Following a lengthy walk and a gas-station stop for cigarettes, we finally enter the Green Iguana — all three of us in strong need of a stiff drink. Free wine samples are offered just inside the door, but the woman pours about an ounce into each of our plastic cups. This doesn't sate our appetites.
We squirm through the hordes of gleeful imbibers and find a tiny spot on the patio. This kind of hassle irks me. My post-work drinking ritual typically takes place within minutes of calling it a day — either at my mile-away-from-the-office apartment or at one of the numerous bars near Creative Loafing headquarters in West Tampa.
Anxious from the tightly packed surroundings, I foolishly volunteer to procure the first round of drinks. Squeezed in by the service station, my pathetic expression fails me. Throngs of thirsty customers overwhelm the three servers working the lone bar that's lined two and three deep. Maybe it'd be best to relocate? Find another, less congested happy-hour destination and return to Green Iguana when the place isn't throwing a grand opening bash?
While these thoughts cross my mind, the bartender finally acknowledges me, politely saying: "You can't stand there, this area is for the servers."
Shit.
I see an open stool across the bar and make a mad dash — almost bowling over the slow-moving woman blocking the way. But the seat isn't empty. A muscular guy in his late 20s stands behind the chair, half-assedly attempting to order a drink.
My patience runs paper-thin as I worm my way to yet another side of the bar in hope of service. I awkwardly lean my arm over the shoulder of a smartly dressed young woman who appears to be in her mid-20s. Perhaps sensing my desperation, she offers assistance, taking my credit card and holding it over the counter until the bartender takes notice. I order three rum-and-cokes and a glass of red wine for the gal who helped me out.
"Thanks," she says with a sincere smile — and then aids me in getting the three, rather large cups secured in my rather small hands. To the bartender's credit, the drinks prove delightfully potent.
"That is strong," Lyndsay says, her face beaming.
During my 15-minute ordeal at the bar, another co-worker, Scott, arrives. One of CL's senior ad reps, he lands the four of us an invite to the VIP area. Considering the bedlam at the bar — exacerbated by grand opening specials like free draft beers — I'm elated to be in a comfortable room with only a couple dozen other people.
Shortly after being fitted with the requisite VIP bracelet by the stereotypically huge and mumble-prone bouncer, I'm approached by a perky young server. Van Gogh vodka is available gratis — the night takes another turn for the better. With drink in hand, I survey the buffet table, helping myself to slabs of seared tuna that prove delicious.
The gal who helped me order the rum-and-cokes appears in the VIP area. Our eyes meet, and she walks over to thank me again for the glass of wine. The fourth cocktail has kicked in, and this might have something to do with our abbreviated conversation.
An hour or so later, the VIP area has closed, and we're back on the patio, puffing on cigarettes. Despite my request for another rum-and-coke, Lyndsay brings me a Jack Daniels and Diet Coke — her drink of choice. It turns my stomach.
"You should never complain about a free drink, Wade," Lyndsay snaps.
After a night of scoring top-shelf vodka and hors d'oeuvres, I had to admit she wasa right.
Green Iguana, 1200 N. Westshore Blvd., Tampa, 813-868-7600 or greeniguana.com.
This article appears in Jan 23-29, 2008.