The Transfer

Closed???
Hmmm, is it a coincidence that they closed within a month of our having moved out of the neighborhood?
Some may credit the disappointing loss of Frisco Disco at this venue (due to their own poor management/​relationship with the Disco team) as the source of their downfall, but I think their may be other considerations afoot!

Frisco Disco is no more!
I repeat… Frisco Disco is no more.
They stopped doing it.
And so I am going to stop going to The Transfer.
Which is nothing more than a broken-​down club across from Safeway at the end of the day. Have you seen this place when the lights come on? Ungh…

Sure it kind of smells like stale urine and you have to give your eyes a minute to adjust in order to avoid the gollum-​like permanent locals but it’s home. And like ring worm, it will grow on you.
I started going here when I first moved to the hood and wanted to get out of the house for a beer. The staff was chatty and approachable; I appreciated the comfort I found here.
It’s not perfect. They got rid of Frisco Disco which was a great release on Saturdays. They did start Chilidog Tuesdays which is nearly as good a substitute. Old funk, some disco and little bit of house gets everybody grooving on a school night.
The drinks are standard fare and reasonably priced. I know some people say it’s not as ‘authentically divey’ as it used to be but I think the smell from the bathrooms alone should count toward its divey street cred.

Good Music
Good People
Good Times
Whenever I go, there’s always sidewalk sale drama with one of my friends… ALWAYS. I blame the the cheap drinks. The bartenders aren’t stingy with their alcohol, which I love.
+4.5 because I know they recently added the smoke machines on Saturday nights. It’s already so stuffy inside and now your adding the smoke? Remind me to bring my inhaler next Saturday.
I wonder if this place will still be the spot after Jet reopens…

It was one of those nights where its half rainy, half cold and everyone just wants to sit on their asses and complain that its too cold to go out. Friends and I went to the transfer because it was close to the apartment. It was really empty but they had a rope and bouncers to let in about 6 people. I thought the bartender was adorable and very quick. Cash only bar and they have a cute photobooth in the back (always gets a star for that). I was the ONLY woman in the whole place and didnt get a second glance. Stayed here for one extremely strong drink that nearly put me over the edge before we went on to the next destination.
Tip: Remember to bring cash and remember to be gay.

We needed to figure out what places were having something interesting on a Monday. Our first stop was here. It was about 9pm and the place was nearly empty. We were surprised because Unilocal had even suggested it for a Monday. The bartender joked around with us that he didn’t know if he could serve us because he was so busy, as we could see. He told us the place picks up around 11:30, so we headed over to The Mint.
After a couple hours of karaōke we headed back over to The Transfer and were surprised by how much the party had picked up. The dance floor was packed and they had a DJ spinning some top 40s, a bit of reggae, hyphy and all that jazz. We had a pretty good time. I wouldn’t call this my favorite place, but I enjoyed the laid back attitude of the people.

This is a great spot for those conflicted. Whether you’re confused about your identity, your sexuality, or what you want to do for the evening you can always have a fun night at the transfer for a couple of hours.
I think the name automatically induces an evening of non-​commitment — I’ve never spent more than an hour there.
It’s an in between destination and with lots of different kinds of folks.

There are many reasons why Frisco Disco at The Transfer (Saturday night) epitomizes San Francisco. The cavalcade of hetero– homo-​bi-​omni-​pansexuality, the spirit of spilled alcohol and sticky floors, the musky hipster secretions that smell like bitterness lightened by the cloying sweet perfume of desperation, the makeshift dance platforms of planks on the pool table, the divey charm of the repugnant restrooms, the incomparably righteous DJs Jeffrey Paradise and Richie Panic, the crowd there not to judge outfits or throw shade or bitch but to dance and come together until every single patron is doused in the sweat of glory and good cheer.
But it holds a special place in my heart as one of the first places I hung out with Patrick M. — he in his graphic tee and sneaks, I in my skinny jeans and moustache (REMEMBAH?
) — and watched a swarm of gay men try to finger his ass and slip him the tongue while I danced on a pool table and laughed at him dodging their advances like a virginal schoolgirl. Oops! Sorry for not coming to your rescue, BRO!

Look, I harbor no ill-​will towards straight people — if I did, I wouldn’t be on Unilocal!OH, SNAP! But I can’t say I have many straight male friends — probably ’cause most of them think I’m going to roofie and blow them, I mean, we usually don’t have much in common.
Well, most of you know Patrick is like the Japo brother I never had. And our friendship is based on complementarity, not similarity. He’s more fluent in Japanese, I’m more fluent in French; he’s more Brothers Karamazov, I’m more family Golovlyov; he likes to eat pussy, I like to suck dick — SEE! Complementarity!
In a very short while he’ll be moving to Japan, a move that bears the bittersweet stamp of finality: a new chapter begins, a new life beckons. And so a group of us – Berna, MJ, Patrick, and I – met up at Frisco Disco this past Saturday for one last shout.
I downed my heartily poured cuba libres and proceeded to SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE to a mash-​up of Chromeo, Crystal Castles, and a bunch of other shit I’m not cool enough to recognize. When «Tenderness» by General Public came on I wiggled my ass and raised the roof and subsequently THREW OUT MY MOTHERFUCKING HIP! — but did that stop me, FUCK NO, you know the party never ends with this bitch, I shrugged it off and basically danced in a fucking circle while Patrick ducked into the shit stained restroom where a tranny offered to give him a blow job.
Then, while «Close To Me» by The Cure was on and I continued to move as if my left foot were nailed to the floor, this fucking asshole who thought he was in a mosh pit slam danced and flailed his arms and jumped up and LANDED ON MY RIGHT FOOT! AAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!! YOU JUST STOMPED MY FOOT WITH YOUR JACK PURCELLS, DICKHEAD! And when I crumpled to the floor as if someone snatched my walker away, the douchebag uttered a half-​hearted «Ooops, I’m sorry! Heeee-​heee-​hee!» which of course only flipped the crazy switch, pissed me the fuck off and sent me rushing for a Mai Tai swizzle stick from the bar so I could gore out his eyes like Gloucester in King Lear, and Berna and MJ had to restrain me.
Outside, after the lights came on for last call and the crowd dispersed, Patrick said:
Patrick: I would have LOVED to see you go after that guy! What a fucktard.
Me: I KNOW! I was seriously gonna rip that motherfucker’s dick off.
Patrick: That would have been hilarious ’cause you’re such a tiny bitch.
Me: Yeah, whatever, I have an advantage — I’m crazy.
Patrick: Hahahaha!
Me: No, you know I wouldn’t have done any of that shit, I was just playing.
Patrick: Yeah, well, if you did you know I got your back, I would have been right there to back your shit up.
I can think of very few people — gay or straight, man or woman — who would do that.
We said our farewells. MJ and I split a cab — she was heading to a party around 10 blocks away from my apartment. While driving through the anonymous night — while the somnolence of inebriation set in – «Because You Loved Me» came over the cab radio. I felt sick, not because I hate Celine Dion (which, by the way, I totally do, I’d rather fuck John McCain’s mom with the Bush twins than listen to Celine), but because this saccharine song started to move me.
My jaw began to quiver — I had to cup it and hold it in place.
When the cab dropped MJ off I got out with her. The night was inviting. I said goodbye and with my bum hip and bruised foot hobbled back to my apartment. I felt the cool humid breeze of the evening sweep through my hair and streak the tears I could no longer restrain across my face.
Thank you, Transfer, for the memories.
Thank you, Patrick, for being my friend (
). Kimi no koto wasurenai. Kiotsuketene.

The Transfer has a truly mixed crowd… Gay, Straight, Lesbian, Locals, Transplants, Tourist… Pretty much everybody! The music is always a pretty good mix of hip hop, house and electronic. The bartenders and other employees are friendly and you generally see them all over the mission/​Castro so they remember you.
I normally come here on Saturdays for Frisco Disco… but recently discovered Monday nights here are pretty hott too.

Please forgive any typos as my vision is still blurred and my fingers a bit shaky from the hangover I’m nursing after good good times at the Transfer last night.
Frisco Disco didn’t fail to deliver. It took it until about midnight for things to really get started but once they did it was nothing but fun. The DJ was banging and everyone was feeling groovy. I wouldn’t have minded a few more cute indie-​rocker gay boys to dance with – overall it was a cool, mixed crowd of laid-​back people looking to have a good time.
I have to echo others who noted that the bartenders are great there. The service was fast and friendly and the drinks are indeed cheap. At one point I sidled up to the bar just a moment before a friend of the bartender’s arrived – I didn’t even think she saw me as she said hey to her friend, but then she gave him the «one second» sign and turned to me to take my drink order. In other bars with other bartenders that friend would have totally been served ahead of me, but that didn’t happen at the Transfer. For that, the bartender got an extra tip and the Transfer gets five stars!
Yeah, I know, I’m easy to please.

Nothing starts your day off better than the enticing smells of last night’s alcohol and stale puke, coupled, of course, with posters of busted up bloody noses and scenesters. At least that’s what I think about every morning when I walk by here on my way to work.
Last night, I finally decided to check this place out and it was packed with… you guessed it… scenesters. I wondered where they all congregated when they weren’t at Casanova on Valencia and here they are. Awesome.
I ordered a Snakebite and was kinda surprised that they charge an additional dollar to open each bottle of Guinness and Cider. Really? Two dollars to open a bottle, plus the price of admission. Hmmm, okay. It also cost us $ 5 to get in and I guess there was some DJ or something. I just sat at the bar and people watched.
Can’t say I would rush back here on a weekend. Maybe weeknights are less scenesteriffic or maybe I’m just getting old. I’ll go with the latter.

The poster says it all, «Good times at The Transfer.»
It’s hard to go wrong at the Transfer. Even if it seems slow, give it time — the post-​midnight crowd picks up the slack. Almost any night of the week you’re guaranteed a good time, Saturday [Frisco Disco (minus one star for using the word Frisco… sigh)] and Monday (Suckerpunch) are personal favorites of mine. I recommend wearing as little clothing as possible on those nights, because the room quickly resembles a disco sauna.
Like I said, with cheap drinks, a hot-​albeit-​drugged-​out-​crowd, and good tunes, it’s hard to go wrong. The east bay invasion is beginning, but it’s still a great get-​down spot for fab 20somethings the city.
Oh, and the Happy Hour deals are almost too good to believe.

I spend an ungodly amount of time at this bar, & for good reason.
True, you do have to wade through a sea of drug-​addicted, hipster-​trash alcoholics AND a shitload of bikes worth more than most of them pay in rent to even make it to the front door… but hey, sometimes you end up riding home on the handle bars of one of those bikes, & yeah, you’d secretly (or not so secretly) love to liquor up one of those young art-​school drop-​outs & do terrible, terrible things to them in the bathroom.
But in all seriousness:
The doormen are lovely — professional, charming, & polite.
The bar staff are THE BEST: I have never waited more than a few minutes for a drink, bartenders are polite & respectful — which is practically unheard of in this city. On top of that, they are ridiculously attractive & personable. These people deserve some sort of award (er, tips maybe?). The cocktails are always on point & obscenely affordable ($ 2 well on Tuesdays), & their beer is dirt cheap ($ 1 hamms on Mondays).
Monday here is one of my favourite nights in this city — Suckerpunch. Cheap beer, dirty hip hop, & dirtier dancing. The DJs spin some of the best nostalgic & top 40 I’ve heard from a pair of white kids, plus they’re rather dashing… Monday is the new Friday.
4^th Sundays is Big Top — aptly described as a «Big Gay Circus,» Lots of hot, sweaty party animals, eclectic & very danceable tunes, & an assortment of greased up boy dancers beautifying the bar. The tranny action is TOP NOTCH.
Saturdays is the SF mainstay — Frisco Disco. Love it or hate it, the people here are hotter than anyone who every came to your lame party & almost certainly on a shit ton more drugs than most people who go to ANY party. The music is bangin’, the DJs are bangin’, & it is always a sweaty mess of american apparel, asymmetrical haircuts, & indefinite sexuality. Not for the faint of heart — your tired ass should head to amber to chill & discuss novels you haven’t read. & to think… they things you could have done to that hot tranny mess dancing on the bar.

Frisco Disco. Wear whatever you want — whatever you wish you wore in 3^rd grade, what you wore to work, dinner, gardening, your sister’s wedding — and you’ll be a ok. The crowd’s a mix of ppl tired of dancing alone in their underwear at home.
Stiff drinks, electro/​indie, b&w photobooth, dirty bathroom, small but sufficient dance floor, nobody cares, nobody’s trying to take you home, just get drunk and dance.
Understandable if it’s not your thing.

I’m not sure I can review this place with any sort of accuracy, I was so amazingly drunk while there. I danced. A lot. It was sweaty, crowded, and the music was… eh. But when there’s a hot (and occasionally) shirtless man dancing with you… well, the whole experience seems much better. 5 stars for hot shirtless guys.
Oh, but I’m so hungover today…

I think this place is called The Transfer, because you can Transfer sexual orientation here.
I have pink fingernails almost every day. These match my pink purses, pink lip gloss, pink sparkly eyeshadow, and pink beverage choices. Everywhere I go, this gives off a girly-​girl image. Everywhere, except for The Transfer.
You see, I entered this place of ambiguous androgyny and my former girly-​girl title sorta turned into a lipstick lesbian or bi-​sexual babe image.
Ravena F. and her husband, Daryl, believe that’s what’s cool about this place.
Conversation:
Me: Ooh, that boy is cute.
Daryl: Gay.
Me: What?! No way!
Daryl: Yeah.
Me: How about that one?
Daryl: *pauses* You know, he might be straight. Maybe.
Me: Perfect.
You see… I’m the lame kind of girl who isn’t looking for somebody to take home for a night of meaningless impulsive drunken booty groping that neither of us will remember the next day.
And a land of mysterious attractive men that may or may not be gay is perfect for me. If the guy isn’t interested, I can say that he must be gay. If he is interested, and this scares me, then I can smile and grab a girl’s hand. Which will help him not take it personally, because I like girls.
See, it’s impossible to feel rejected here. Genius!
Instead of «he’s not that into you.»
It becomes: «he’s not that into girls. probably.»
Great place for my self-​esteem and fickle bar-​flirting behavior. Next to the MUNI, which is a definite plus. Sit at the bar and you can sneak olives when no one is looking. Bowls of peanuts provided, not too creeped out by the germs, because everyone in this place has very soft, clean hands.

I’ve been to The Transfer a couple of times usually on MONDAY nights for SUCKERPUNCH, the DJ’s RULE. They play dirty raps, bay slaps, and great dance music. I heard it was a gay bar but the crowd was really mixed. A super fun spot with a killer dance floor.
GO TO SUCKERPUNCH MONDAY NIGHTS!

So I have this dumb habit of wearing sweaters out — with just a sports bras underneath. And it may seem like TMI, but there is a point to this disclosure.
This annoying habit has ruined many a dance night.
Cause a girl can’t get down, when she’s sweating her butt off, trying to pull sweater lint off her sticky skin.
And so this is why the Transfer is magic.
Because in such scenario awhile back, I had no qualms about taking off said sweater — and making it happen, in a sports bra, because there were a number. Yes a number. Of shirtless grinding bodies in the place. Getting down to Prince. With attitude.
I plan on coming here again, but will be sure to leave the sweater at home.

(opening one eye) I’m alive! (opening other eye) Ohhhhhhh… but I WISH I was dead! WHO is jamming that ice pick in my head?! Please, please stop. (blowing nose) Goddammit! (plugging bleeding nose with tissue) Columbian sniffles are the WORST. How did a Sunday night coke explosion happen?
I dimly recall starting at Kezar, moving on to Amber and ending up at the Transfer. The Transfer is hipster central. Don’t try and deny it; it’s like that and that’s the way it is. I really didn’t need more coke. Wait… YES I did! What I REALLY didn’t need was that double Maker’s and Ginger Ale. Goddamn the Transfer with all your adorable little gay boys that feed my fag hag needs as well as my coke habits. Did that adorable little gay Joel Madden look-​alike really shake my boobs out of my bra? He did. Then I licked his nipple.
Oh. My. God.

This Thursday April 10^th, 2008 at the Transfer is Drift’s one year anniversary. Drift is a monthly house party for lesbians, trannies, queers and their friends. They play house music and stuff like that.
I love this bar. Awesome bartenders. Nice customers. Good drinks. I had lemon drops there, vodka-​cran, some sort of shots of something… who knows what else. Been to this place about 7 times and I always enjoy it. Cool hole in the wall. Super close to the Church MUNI station and Safeway.