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http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn...2004Feb12.html

At Coyote Ugly, It's Bellies Up On the Bar
But Can It Turn Washington Into an Unbutton-Down Town?
By Joel Achenbach
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, February 13, 2004; Page C01


Yeeeeeeeeeeeee-haawwww! Hot babes dancing on the bar! Tight jeans, tank tops, taut bellies, sassy lips . . . slingin' the whiskey, drizzlin' cocktails into gaping mouths. You can see them from the street, silhouetted in the second-floor windows, clogging away till the cows come home. It's a hot-babe bonanza!



They're the Coyotes, the bartenders of Coyote Ugly, Washington's newest, loudest and least undergarment-friendly nightspot.

A news release says the Coyotes will taunt bad tippers, spray the crowd with water "and aim to get the tamest female visitors to dance on the bar and donate their bras."

You're thinking: Unlikely. Not in Washington. The women are too conservative. And yet right here, on a Wednesday night, even as Disney on Ice conducts family-friendly business across the street at MCI Center, that's what's happening: A mysterious babe in black sidles up to the bar and "donates her bra."

Her husband applauds. She slips the bra from underneath her jacket in a deft maneuver, and hands it to the Coyote on top of the bar. The woman in black soon mounts the bar herself and gets in touch with her inner Coyote.

Somewhere along the line, the reporter has forgotten to find out the name of the organization on behalf of which the bras are donated. The Salvation Army?

Now a Coyote is poised over the edge of the bar, pouring "Sex on the Beach" into the mouth of a publisher who is leaning back with her face aimed at the ceiling. She definitely does not want her name in the paper.

"Don't put me in there, I'll get in trouble with my job," says another woman, a lawyer, who has no intention of getting up on the bar. "You got a good job in town, and you come in here and dance on the bar -- you'll look like an idiot."

This has never been a Coyote Ugly sort of city. It's a martini lounge town, a hotel lobby-bar town, a warehouse-size dance club town, but not an in-your-face bartop-babe whiskey-saloon town. This is not a city where you go to work in the morning and say, "Sorry I'm late, got totally trashed last night at the Ugly and danced on the bar."

There's a wildly successful Coyote Ugly at the New York New York casino in Las Vegas, but Vegas is a city that boasts, "What happens here, stays here." The slogan in Washington is more like: "What happens here may be grounds for a special prosecutor."

The federal government is the official schoolmarm of America, constantly holding hearings to fret about a problem, citing folks for regulatory violations, imposing sanctions. The Democrats disapprove of the Republicans and the Republicans disapprove of the Democrats. Everyone disapproves of the Super Bowl halftime show. Disapproval is an industry here. Untoward nocturnal behavior is fodder for scandal, and thousand-page reports with footnotes. The rule here: Cover your butt. Don't shake it on top of the bar.

That's the theory that Coyote Ugly wants to debunk.

"I had no idea what I looked like," a petite data analyst says after she dismounts the bar, "but I had a great time."

What did she think about up there?

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It's a two page article so if you want to read the second page click the link.


I wish our business would be more like this. Instead of selling the sizzle you have a ton of places that want to give em nothing but the steak.

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