At five minutes before 11 p.m. on Wednesday night, four vivacious Fish Co. bartenders poured red drinks for four eager Fish Co. bouncers. Then the eight young employees raised their plastic cups in a toast to impending debauchery.
Though the bar at 515 S. Water St. had been open since 3:30 p.m., it was virtually deserted. Twenty early birds, mostly male, pocketed billiards at a corner table or puffed cigarettes outside on the waterfront deck.
Next to the dance floor, DJ Meatball warmed up for the evening with a downbeat techno mix. It was the calm before the storm.
As if by consensus, the party started at 11:20 p.m. College-age partiers converged on Fish Co. from all directions, some arriving on foot, some in cabs and some in overloaded cars. Many came armed with drinks to down as they shivered in the line outside the door.
Among the first to show up were eight girls sharing one plastic water bottle.
"Is it done?" one girl asked, of the bottle.
"Yeah, it's done," her friend replied, tossing it aside.
As ever, Brown Night at College Hill's bar down by the river had attracted droves of first-year students looking for a break from unit gab sessions and Wriston basements.
"I don't plan on going to Fish Co., but I usually end up here," said Malcolm Burnley '12 as he waited to get inside. "I usually don't think I'm gonna have a good time, but surprisingly I do."
Albert Llobet Portel, a RISD student from Barcelona, Spain, was in line with his teammates from the Brown club soccer team. It was his second trip to Fish Co., which he called a bad American bar.
But Avery Houser '12 was more enthusiastic. He said he has been to Fish Co. every Wednesday of the semester "except the first one."
"All the freshmen go," Houser said. "I didn't fight the wave."
Unlike campus fraternity parties, Houser said, Fish Co. always has shown him a good time. "There will be people dancing and there will be alcohol - that reliability is what's important to me," he said, adding that the fun times compensated for the "sticky floor."
As the line grew, a Providence Police officer drove by, slowing his cruiser as he dragged on his stogie, surveying the scene and continuing on his way.
By the time Houser passed the bouncer and paid the $6 cover charge, the sidewalk outside Fish Co. was littered with plastic cups and beer cans. In half an hour, the bouncers had turned no one away.
Inside, it was a steamy, pulsating dance party. Patrons piled their coats on the benches against the bar's back wall and elbowed their way to the sprawling central bar.
"Give me beer," a student said. Expecting an onslaught, bartenders had already poured plastic cups of domestic beer, which sell for $2 apiece. More economical drinkers paid $6 to sip 28-ouncers from yard-long incandescent tubes. Though the booze comes cheap at Fish Co., failing to tip will earn you a scolding. As the party picked up, bartenders served from satellite bars outside and on the covered porch.
Fish Co.'s decor vaguely alludes to its name: in one corner of the ceiling, a plastic shark swims through a hula-hoop of neon light. But it looks more the part of "RI's premier nightclub destination" - as described by its Web site - than the "Bar and Grill" its signs advertise. Cookouts are sometimes held at Fish Co. during the summer, but there is no regular food service.
And while there are beautiful views of the harbor, the Providence skyline and the former South Street Power Plant from its outdoor deck, few nonsmokers step outside to take in the scenery. One couple sat by themselves to reflect on the evening in the chilly October air.
"What drunk level are you?" the young woman asked her friend.
"Seven," her companion replied.
Back inside, a group of machos took swings at a computerized boxing game between slugs of beer. As they pummeled the punching bag and cheered their digital damage reports, a young man and woman made out a few feet away.
But most people either crowded the dance floor on one end of the building or walked in an endless circle around the bar. Females wandered in packs of three to five, while males stood and socialized together or walked around alone. Guys slapped shoulders, girls gave hugs and Fish Co. smelled like a Macy's perfume counter.
Then, at 11:50 p.m., DJ Meatball put on Flo Rida's "Low" and the dance party reached a new level. While students grinded on the dance floor, girls jumped on the platform behind the dancers and twisted around brass poles.
The last hour of the night revealed DJ Meatball's variety: "In the Ayer," "Drop It Like It's Hot" and "Lollipop" gave way to "Wannabe" and "Sweet Caroline." The lights came up at 1 a.m. on the dot, right in the middle of "Your Love."
DJ Meatball, a Bermuda native whose real name is Jose, has been living in Providence for 30 years and spinning at Fish Co. for five. He called the crowd "energetic," "open-minded" and "very eclectic," adding that Wednesday is "definitely college night."
"If I had to play polka to get people to dance, I would play polka music," Meatball said. "Understand your crowd and they'll keep coming back."
Houser said he would keep coming back, too - for a while.
"I can't wait until my junior or senior year when I have friends with houses off campus," he said. "But now that's not an option, so I'm going with (Fish Co.)"
