Paddy's Pub, Philadelphia: 2 Stars.

I went looking for an authentic Philly dive bar and somehow ended up in what felt like a labor dispute, an insurance scam, and the opening scene of a true crime documentary. Paddy’s Pub: two stars, obviously.

★★☆☆☆

Not a bar. A liability with a jukebox.

Yelp Elite ’17, ’19, ’21 to present · 341 reviews · 1,204 “Helpful” votes

I don’t give two stars lightly. In 341 reviews, I have handed out four one-stars, each after a documented attempt to reach management. I attempted to reach management at Paddy’s. Management was the man holding the gun.

My husband and I arrived at 4:30 on a Thursday, on the recommendation of a bartender who I now believe wanted us gone. The bar was empty except for five employees, none of whom looked up for three minutes because they were arguing about whether Philadelphia has maritime law. (It does. There is a port.) I ordered a vodka soda. The blond woman said, “We have vodka.” That was the drink.

My husband’s beer was warm. Dennis, the man in the button-down, said Europeans drink it that way, and we were experiencing “a more sophisticated beer.” We had asked for a Yuengling. A Yuengling is not a sophisticated beer, which is why we asked for it. There is no menu, only a whiteboard that says FOOD. When I asked what that meant, Dee said, “It’s more of a mission statement.”

Safety Concerns

Safety concerns I documented on my phone: a hammer behind the bar, not mounted, just available. Extension cords running behind a door marked PRIVATE. A stool with what I was told was “probably cranberry juice.” They do not serve cranberry juice. The restroom had no soap, and the man who came out of it, Mac, had no shirt. He went in with one. Nobody discussed it.

At 4:45, an older man named Frank came out of the back office with a handgun and a rotisserie chicken. Nobody reacted to the gun. Everyone reacted to the chicken, which belonged to a man named Charlie. Charlie arrived in a jacket in 78-degree weather, smelling of paint or gasoline, and asked whether we had ever seen what happens to a rat when it loses hope. I said no. He said, “Yeah.” I have worked in customer service, and that is not a conversation.

Mac asked my husband if he works out. My husband said he runs. Mac said running isn’t “real strength” and that he is “cultivating mass.” He did not say for what.

Dennis asked where we were staying. I lied faster than I have ever lied, including to my mother-in-law about the lasagna. He then told us he “has a system.” If you are a woman, you will understand within six seconds.

The Paddy’s Experience

At 6:00, we were informed we had been “selected” for The Paddy’s Experience: one drink, a commemorative photo, “access to historic areas of the bar,” and a “Philly survival challenge.” The cost was $80, payable in “Paddy’s Dollars,” which I am fairly sure they made up. When I said I had not consented, Dennis said consent was “built into the experience.” They charged us anyway. When my husband disputed the $80, Frank offered him $40 in real money to drop it, and he took it. We are homeowners. We have a mortgage to think about.

Dee asked if I was an influencer. I said I am an Elite Yelper with 212 followers. She said, “Jesus Christ,” and walked away.

At 6:30, a man set a duffel bag on the bar, whispered to Frank, and left. Frank announced they were closing and everyone began moving furniture. I asked what was happening. Dee said, “This happens.” I asked what happens. She said, “Exactly.”