Way down Christopher Street toward the river, Chi-Chiz has long provided an upbeat and very real hangout for gay people of color–and me!
I live for the friendly people, pool table action, card games, serious trannies, karaoke night, wall paintings, and raggedy-assed bathroom.
But nowadays, Chi-Chiz is a shell of its former self, having been bitchslapped into submission by the Sixth Precinct.
There are huge signs on the window stating just what kind of ID you’ll need to get in.
Signs also announce that you have to buy two drinks and you can’t loiter and if you’re found soliciting, you’ll be ejected, and so on and so on, until you wonder if it’s even worth the effort.
As if that’s not unwelcoming enough, you’re then greeted by a doorguy who studiously puts your ID in some kind of airport-style machine to make sure it meets the city’s expectations.
If allowed, you then enter a place that’s so brightly lit you might as well wait till daylight and play pool on the street for more privacy!
WTF? Well, apparently, the cops are blaming the club for virtually every drug transaction going on in the neighborhood.
The residential building next door even has a TV monitor in the window, on which you can see all the street traffic as it’s filmed for some more finger pointing.
People, please treat my Chi-Chiz with some respect.