SCENE OF THE CRIME by Natasha
As evidenced by all of the columns that I've written so far for this fine entertainment rag, I'm normally not a hater.
This week, I have to draw the line.
Six Olives Lounge, I've had enough of you, and I'm now fully prepared to accept the responsibility of making you my enemy.
I've been in this establishment four times, and each time has been an absolute train wreck.
On two of the occasions, I was in the bar with several friends. We were ordering lots of drinks, and there were three other tables doing the same thing.
The owner did last call at 11 p.m.  WTF?
A statement I made then still rings true to this day: Apparently Six Olives doesn't like to make money.
On the third occasion, much to my demise, I met up with a group of friends there who assured me that it would probably go better this time around.
Yeah right.
I ordered a mojito, and the owner brought back this monster 32-ounce mamba jamba.  I told her that the 32-ouncer wasn't what I had ordered (I was actually trying to take it easy for a change) and that I just wanted a regular pint-sized mojito. The owner said, "Oh, I thought you said you wanted the Mondo Mojito." I assured her that I didn't, and she had the nerve to tell me that I needed to do a better job of distinguishing between the items on her menu. 
My friends said they'd buy the more expensive Mondo for me and implored me to simmer, but my heart rate was off the chart.
I sucked it up.
When the owner came back to our table, I asked if her kitchen was still open. She said it most certainly was and grabbed me a menu. I got all excited for a chicken burger, and a few minutes later when I was ready to throw down my order the owner said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I guess the kitchen is closed after all."
I walked out â€" cursing.
And what happened last night will go down in infamy.
Ten beautiful friends and I were going out to celebrate a birthday. I warned them about my experiences, but the crew wanted to go to Six Olives anyway.
The place was busy, and there were two open tables, but we all agreed that some of us could sit on the long couch, a few could stand, and we wanted to see if we could possibly occupy one of the tables.
Thank goodness I wasn't the one doing the negotiating.
The Six Olives staff told us that we couldn't take the tables because there were reservations in the hopper and that we couldn't stand there, even though we were in a corner and weren't in anyone's way.
My more-than-polite friend was perplexed and said, "So are you asking us to leave?"
They quickly answered with an assertive yes.
Six Olives, you can do me the honor of adding me to your 86d list. There's no way in hell that I'd ever drop a dime near your door again.
Six Olives, 2708 Sixth Ave., Tacoma, (253) 272-5574

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