Whisky River opens up

Apparently the new location at the EpiCentre (note the annoying British spelling) on Trade has been open since the weekend, but tonight was media night, or something like that. Lots of reporters and other sycophants showed up for free booze and all-you-can Dale Jr. Television cameras followed him around the bar for at least a couple of hours, getting in all the blandest shots imaginable:

(pardon the crappy photography)

- Dale Jr. walks through the crowd
- Dale Jr. stands in the crowd
- Dale Jr. unhooks the "Tensionbarrier" (the things that form lines at airports and DMVs), after a few practice tries, and walks awkwardly up a ramp to take a seat in the VIP section
- Dale Jr. sits at the bar
- Dale Jr. fields questions from a blindly smiling and nodding horde of reporters
- and finally, Dale Jr. stands in the middle of a staff picture, surrounded by the gorgeous bartenders and waitresses

These girls are a reason to check the place out. Their uniform consists of a tight black sleevless top, a short skirt or booty shorts in any color of the denim rainbow, and cowboy boots. Some made half-hearted attempts on the mechanical bull. Others walked through the crowd with trays of food. Most stood around waiting for something to do. I recognized a few as "the hot bartender" from various uptown establishments. My friend I'll call Dick, who I snuck in under the guise of an amateur Charlotte mag blogger being mentored by myself, was especially obsessed with them.

Apparently, Dick had been watching these girls audition for the job outside of his office uptown for the past month. "Basically, I had nothing to do at work all day except go outside and catch the girls trying out for Whisky River," he explained.

They would show up in groups of "two to seven," all good looking and lacquered with makeup. Dick claimed to have overheard the following conversation outside his place of business one day:

Girl: What do I wear to the next interview?
Recruiter (male): Just make it sexy.

I asked one bleached blond bartender how she got her job. "Like this," she said, and closed her eyes and smiled real big. Then she mentioned her many years of experience as a bartender. To be fair, another also said she was hired after passing a test of her abilities behind the bar. Also for the record, she was young, blond and attractive too.

Dick began getting drunk and striking up conversations. We met a contractor who had helped put the place together, along with several other venues scheduled to go up in the EpiCentre. He said he was worried Whisky River would be a passing fad, only popular when NASCAR comes to town. Hard to tell, though, since nothing about the EpiCentre is complete.

Most of the building is actually still under construction, which makes the Whisky River a little hard to find (you have to follow paper signs taped on walls if you try to enter from Trade). The contractor told me about a few of the bars and restaurants planned to open one day (apparently depending on cooperation from the city).

For what it's worth: A pavilion on the top level that will one day host the esteemed Alive After Five; an upscale restaurant/night club called Black Fin; Wild Wing (disclaimer: do not confuse with Buffalo Wild Wings, as this is apparently a touchy subject); Strike City Lanes; Smoothie King; a piano bar called Howl at the Moon.

Anyway, I'm not going to go into a detailed description of the bar. Dick summed it up like this: The three different bar sections have three different themes: old Western (mechanical bull), sophisticated (constellations of changing lights on the bar surface), and sophisticated new Western (big, sleek electric guitar hanging on the wall next to a huge projection screen).

"Sophisticated?" I asked, looking at the cheesy lights on the bar.

"Well, it's sophisticated to NASCAR fans," Dick said, living up to his alias.

Then he began drooling over a bartender in red cowboy boots, and I eventually had to drag him out.