Paige, Senior Content Manager A story with everything but the bathroom sink. About six years ago, I was out at Bar On A with a group of friends. Inside, I'd met a tall, dark handsome stranger who wore a suit and gave me his business card (oh, New York men). Three margaritas later, we were making out passionately in the bathroom, which happened to be one of only two in the entire joint. Needless to say, there was a huge line outside, and people were not so happy with us. They banged on the door, yelling loudly, but he didn't care at all. Instead, he hoisted me on the sink to continue our make-out session, which was incredibly hot.  Only problem was, apparently, his passion was too much for the sink to handle,as it fell out of the wall...with me in it. I hit the ground really hard and bruised my ass, and the sink cracked in two pieces. The suit started laughing hysterically. He picked me up (yes, literally) and ran out of the bar before anyone could discover what we'd done to their bathroom.

Elizabeth, Client Partnerships Manager  It was a night straight out of Girls Gone Wild. Only it was actually fun. It was the late '90s (I think)--before I lived in Manhattan and before I was 21. I was visiting my younger sister in the city and she took me to some underground club downtown, no ID required of course. We were hanging out in a packed house of people, when an MC suddenly appeared and announced that he wanted all the “real ladies” to get up on stage, get naked and dance. “No skinny bitches allowed!"  I was totally shocked and thinking, "Like hell anyone is going to do this," but next thing you know, the stage is jammed with chicks getting down in the buff. It may sound a little Girls Gone Wild but it definitely felt more like a moment female empowerment: Everyone was totally cutting loose. I thought this was just a normal night out in New York...until I moved here years later.

WD, Events Location Manager “Covered in ranch” might describe your favorite item at Applebee’s. It also describes WD’s first night in NYC. After roofing houses for a month back in Iowa, I saved enough money for a one-way ticket to NYC. I didn't have a job, had never been here before, and only knew four people. One my first night, one of the four took me to Joshua Tree in Murray Hill. I was easily the worst dressed person there. I walked up to the bar and order ordered four SoCo and limes. The bartender told me it would be $50, and I declared bullshit on him in disbelief. As I was about to get in an altercation with the BT,  I noticed my friend was gone. I went outside to call him and I was stumbling around drunk when I dropped my phone, shattering it into like, ten pieces. So then I was phoneless and clueless in the biggest city in America.    I managed to make it to a deli and found some food to hold me over. I was eating and stumbling down the street with a wrap in hand, when my friend saw me from his roof and yelled my name. I froze and started looking behind cars, under cars, in doorwells, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. He was laughing his ass off, and only after letting me look for almost 20 minutes did he shout down for me to look up.  The next day I had to piece together why my wallet was empty, my phone was broken, my shirt had a ranch dressing stain and my pants knees were filthy.

Marianne, Freelance Writer She went to Art Bar ... and encountered a real piece of work. My first NYC bar was the Art Bar…I was there with a friend and we were sitting by the fireplace, taking in the beauty of the dark room, the firelight, and all the people around us. Suddenly, some young guy who'd had more than he could handle made his way over to our table, sat down facing us and just stared. A few minutes passed and we finally asked, “Why are you there and why are you staring at us?”  Well, it  seemed that at that moment, drunken as he may have been, I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life, and he just needed to look at me. Literally. My friend and Isuggested that he move his chair just a tad further away from the fireplace, but he wouldn't hear of it. He found the glow necessary to take in my "beauty." So, you can't really blame me for the fact that he.... eventually caught his coat on fire!  At least that brought an ending to a somewhat, ah-hem, heated situation. Talk about a "flame" from my past!

Chris, CEO / Founder He started a successful company by publishing NYC nightlife guides. And he sure could’ve used one on his first night out. Some 20-plus years ago, a friend and I were apartment-sitting on Perry Street. We were both 18, and looked about 12. We decided to go out and try and get into a bar. We went out on to the street and picked the first spot we saw, named Uncle Charlie's (since reincarnated as Fiddlesticks.) People were spilling out on the street, so we instantly thought, "This must be awesome."  We were nervous but we walked right in, and no one even checked IDs. We felt like the coolest people in the world. But then I began to notice the place looked like the YMCA scene from Wayne’s World…dudes in leather, buttless chaps, you name it--and they were looking at us like we were lunch. I figured it out pretty quick and told my friend, “Let’s get the f*** out of here!" His response, “No way, dude, this is great!”, assured me that he was completely clueless as to what we'd actually gotten into. When he finally went up to try and get a beer, I literally grabbed him and had to drag him out of the place.

Jens, Nightlife Editor A trip to a punk mecca results in an encounter with...William “The Refrigerator” Perry? It was ’96 and I’d just moved to NYC from Denver, practically sight unseen. I didn’t know anyone. A friend of mine was in town for one night on a lay-over—finally a chance to go out!—so we decided to go check out CBGB.  En route, we passed The Continental on 3rd Ave., a name I’d recognized from aging-punk lore (it was still a live club then). It was early, and we were impressed with the happy hour, so we stopped in. The scene was initially underwhelming; we were the only people there other than the bartender...That is until confetti comic Rip Taylor and William “The Refrigerator” Perry came in to the bar--both dressed to the hilt asgoths! They were followed by a small group of fellow goths and two camera people, all of whom immediately took the spot in the empty floor in front of the stage. Suddenly, the house lights dimmed and Sisters of Mercy was pumped through the PA, as Rip, The Fridge and their cohorts started doing weird zombie dances. My friend and I watched, utterly speechless, like we were both having the same prolonged fever dream. There were still no other customers in the bar. Less than ten minutes later, the music stopped, the lights went back up and the whole crew was gone without a trace.  We asked the bartender what had just happened, but she was every bit as confused as us. I got my answer when watching the Conan O’Brien show about a month later, where literally less than two seconds of the footage ended up in a skit about Rip Taylor contemplating suicide by eating black confetti.

So, what's your horrifying / painful / just plain weird first bar experience? Relive that magic night in our comments section!