When La Res becomes a bar, the idiots swarm. The smug owner, a pudgy man named John G who has recently taken the helm of the family business, cannot control his staff behind the bar, or those on the door, and self described his drinking bar crowd as ""between the ages of 19 and 23.""
This is readily apparent in the clientele, who are a mix of underdressed overdrinking women, and the most flesh crawling of fratboy perverts festooned in their short shorts, visors, popped collars, and other cloyingly invidious regalia, resulting in a constant cycle of what must be considered La Res' signature dish: puke and pick up lines.
The pathetic excuses for bouncers have the keen eye of the troglodyte, and while there escorted our designated driver from the premises. This required three bouncers, which with our DD at 5'6"" and female, was more due to a need for greater aggregate intelligence necessary for these clowns to find the door, rather than any physical threats. Needless to say we will never patronize this cesspool again as no level of underage drinking, terrible pop music, or overpowering vomit aroma is worth such intense disrespect.
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