Behind Bars: Inside the Cell Block

Some of my friends have said they are avoiding it like the plague. Others have gotten there early, eager to be first in line for the opening night dollar shots. Me? I was, for the most part, indifferent. But I took advantage of the fact that Ernesto kept many Penn Staters inside and joined the hundreds of other desperate-for-a-new-hangout college kids at the Cell Block, the new kid on College Avenue.

First of all, let me say that I was a huge fan of Crowbar, the Cell Block’s predecessor. A recent addition to the over-21 world, I spent many a night rockin’ out (as hard as a middle-class kid in central Pa. can rock out) at the 18-and-over shows of Virginia Coalition, The Clarks, Matt Nathanson and Steven Kellogg. I didn’t need the bright lights, big-city feel of the Bryce Jordan Center — just a few good friends and a little room to groove — and I had myself a good time.

But, skeptic aside, I joined a few alumni friends to check out the State College bar scene’s new addition. Let me set the scene for you:

It was a dark and stormy night. OK, it really wasn’t. Ernesto’s constant downpour had more or less lightened up, and I was waiting in line with the other brave souls, staring at an entrance that, nameplate aside, looked identical to that of Crowbar. Ten minutes and one $3 cover later, I was standing in the middle of the bar with a severe sense of déjà vu. The bathrooms were a bit cleaner, the walls were painted a deeper red — but in terms of décor, not much else had changed inside the hard-core, industrial-styled walls.

The clientele was a different story.

“Oh my God, it has like three floors!” a blond girl yelled as she and her friend waited for traffic on the steps to move. News flash — Crowbar also had three floors: the bars on the lower and upper level and the live music stage on the middle level. However, at the Cell Block, the second floor — my old laid back groovin’ ground — has been transformed into a horny, modern-day Soul Train. The sounds of the DJ kept the packed dance floor bumping and grinding together as one. Those of my friends who braved the orgy-like conditions of the dance floor found the crowd to be grabby with an increased amount of creep as the night progressed.

But the highlight of my excursion was the continuous stream of young, charismatic sales girls (as I’m sure the job was advertised) who tromped throughout the bar floors wearing next to nothing and carrying test-tube-like shots on a tray. All to the delight of my leering alumni friends.

Maybe I’m not cut out for the nightclub kind of life. Maybe I just wasn’t in the mood to have my personal space continually invaded. But either way, I miss Crowbar. I miss the no-contact-needed camaraderie, the music, the atmosphere. And despite what the slogan says, the Cell Block is a set of bars I’d rather not be behind.