Nurse Bettie

106 Norfolk St (btw Delancey & Rivington)

New York, NY 10002

(212) 477-7515

Bathroom situation - solamente un bano...Visceralist's pet peeve, verdad, but the place is small enough that there'll never be enough people here at any one time to ruin the experience, kill your buzz, shit in your soup, fuck your girl, etc...plus it's mad clean and has scented candles for some reason.
Takes credit cards? - They don't really have the budget for this it seems...there's a Bank of America around the corner tho, so like Theo said in the Cosby Show pilot..."No problem!"
Crowded on weekends? - yeah, but it's all gravy baby. Most people just wait here till they get let into the (nearby speakeasy) The Back Room (review coming).
Seating - suprisingly ample. Again, taking into account the overall size of this place, it's quite efficient in its seating logistix.
Neighborhood - in the shadow of the hideous Blue apartment high-rise...no one even knows anyone who lives there or who has even been to a party there. The fuck is the point? It's uglier than Thom Yorke.
Type of crowd - Regular people. [ed. nice obscure callback, killt it]
Pretentious/assholes - might see the odd pea-coat here, but they tend to not talk too loud.
Cost of Stella - $6...gift certificates not accepted.
What time people start showing up - generally 11ish and generally only on the weekends. This is an ideal place to invite a date for one of those "grab a drink" things during the week. Visceralist hates that expression, but mostly for its overuse and its misleading premise.
Bartender efficiency - only one bartender but, again, this place is rarely so crowded as to instigate brow-furrowing.
Official Website - here. Spartan and Java'd up the fuck, but still mostly inviting.
Food? How late - debating whether to reference Seinfeld's "The Soup Nazi" or Cam'Ron's mixtape track "Oh No You Didn't"...either way, no food for you didn't.
TVs? What's on - too classy for TV...replaced with 5 foot tall paintings of some pervert's idealized image of a D-cup model from the 50's. Topless. And white.
Guy:girl ratio - 50/50. Though the more interesting ratio to examine might be Guy:Girl:Girls who are hitting on the bartender.
Toys - the scented candle in the bathroom plays a game called "Blown out by Assholes." Now there's a Blown-out-asshole joke here somewhere too, but Visceralist is too groggy. The gist of it would be that the person's received too much anal sex and now requires a colonostomy bag. Get it?!?!?! OMFG OMFG OMFG ROFL ROFL ROFL ROFLROFLROFLOLOLOLO [ed. this really happens sometimes]
Age of clientele - mid-20s...you know, before you're hit in the face with the inevitable.
Space for dancing - no, again this is more of a chill-out place, but without the pretention of a lounge or a disco. Truly a diamond in the rough.
Décor - boobs, candles, tree-trunk tables. Meets all your mammario-phallic needs. Sucka.
Grimeyness - dang, cain't complain. Clean than an unwrapped tampon.
ID check procedure - Perfunctory/non-existant.
Music medium, style & volume - Bartender's iPod kickin out non-obtrusive 80s/90s indie rock at 128kbps.
Specials or most popular drink - signature drink: the "Au-Pear = Absolut Pears, Chambord & pineapple...don't tell the babysitter." Go hard or go home, snitches.
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