Tourist Trapped: A Night Wandering The Marriott Marquis

When SFGate Inside Scoop’s own Paolo Lucchesi suggested we visit the Marriott Marquis top-floor bar, “The View,” for a Tourist Trapped, I figured this had to be one classy joint. Little did we know that our quick Tuesday drink at the Marriott would leave us forever changed, having stumbled upon an Evangelical Theological Convention, crashed a corporate party and unintentionally thwarted romance in the elevator.

Along for what turned into this adventure was SFist’s Brock Keeling. We met in the lobby only to discover that “The View” was closed for a private party until 8 p.m. Instead, we tried the lobby bar, “Bin 55.”

The lobby of the Marriott Marquis resembles a mid-sized city’s airport. Hundreds of people in pleated khakis and belt-pagers were milling around, discussing synergy or hypothetically wondering where one might get a hooker. One whole wing of the lobby features huge, slightly separated seating areas with flat screens turned to sports news and financial programming. Everywhere, someone was on a laptop looking sad.

Anyone can hang out here. All day. Forever.

Bin 55 sits in the midst of all this, and is much like an airport bar. Flat screens cover the walls, and business-types sit and stare into their dinner, just like they were sitting at the Marriott in Cleveland.

This is all underneath the Marriott. Amazing!

While waiting for ‘The View’ to open itself to the public and bored with the ‘Bin, we decided to explore the hotel and headed down to the sea of subterranean ballrooms and conference rooms. If a meteor was crashing towards Earth and scientists discovered that our only hope for survival was the convention area of the San Francisco Marriott, we’d all fit.

Much to our delight, Paolo, Brock and I had stumbled onto ‘The 63rd Annual Meeting of the Evangelical Theological Society.”

That’s right. A religion convention. Set-up for the convention seemed to be winding down, so no one really noticed or cared about three internet writers wandering around examining ‘The Bible on Audiotape’ and some sort of tour company that arranges pilgrimages to Turkey.

We chatted with strangers and explored the halls, snagging hard candy and Marriott pens. If this sounds like a great way to spend a Tuesday night, that would be putting it mildly.

Thirty minutes before the private party monopolizing ‘The View’ was due to end, Brock, Paolo and I decided to push our luck and attempt to crash it. We rode up to the top of the Marriott with two rabbis, themselves off to a study group. Guilt-ridden about what we were about to do, we chatted them up. If you ask me, the rabbis were on board with party-crashing. They didn’t go so far as to say this. I just got that vibe.

Are these elevators or jeans?

Had we been smarter people, we would’ve begged the drunk guys in the hallway for their nametags and marched right into the party, confident and appropriately tagged. Alas, we’re not that sly. When we tried to walk into ‘The View’, a woman who probably watches ‘The View’ said, “This is a private party.”

Brock, Paolo and I stood awkwardly at the entrance before silently agreeing to sneak in around the other side of the bar. It worked. The party seemed to be winding down anyway, so we took a table in the corner.

It looks like the Miramax intro up there.

Apparently, they were onto us. Brock was turned away from the bar and we were shot dirty looks from people too scared to actually ask us to leave. This went on until 7:59, at which point Brock marched us right over to a beautiful section of couches in the middle of the space and ordered a round of drinks.

Regular people were arriving by then. We were all allowed in ‘The View.’ My friends pointed out that the space is underutilized, feeling it might be better used as a 5-star restaurant or upscale and exclusive nightclub. ‘The View’ really does take up the whole top floor, and offers stunning views in every direction of the city.

But I liked it as a stereotypical, business-hotel, cocktail bar. Why? Because there was a lot of flirty action at the bar. And ‘The View’ is what some might call a “sausage-fest.”

Come here often? What's your sign?

Much to the amusement of Brock and Paolo, a gentleman in a blue sweater kept tossing me glances. He was really obvious about it too, like we were in a 80’s movie.

Finally we ran out of money for things like a $14 crème-brulee-tini (okay, I made that up), and took one last lap around ‘The View.’ Even with the faux-classy romantic ambiance, there were lots of work-nooks with glowing candles and flatscreens flickering basketball games.

Waiting for an elevator was Blue Sweater, and another woman. Paolo whispered a little too loudly, “Oh God, he’s on a date.”

As we slowly descended the Marriott Marquis in that awkward elevator, Blue Sweater smirked at me.

Brock asked, “Are you both staying here?”

“Yes, we are,” said the woman.

I don’t know what got into him, but Brock then asked, “Together?”

“No.” She stared straight ahead. “We are not.”

In that case, hell-O Blue Sweater. And hello Marriott Marquis. You are my new hangout.


Beth Spotswood