‘You Don’t Belong Here’: What Hides in the ‘Poletaevsky’ Shot Bar?

The shot bar in the basement of building 164 on Gagarin Street—which is also the Poletaevsky shopping center—turned out to be nothing like we had imagined. After our previous visit to another drinking den, the regulars chased us down the street screaming, “Get over here, scum!” and we had to hide from them in a church as if they were demons.

So we were expecting anything, but certainly not what happened at this “Shot Bar.”

The establishment has a rating of 3.0 on Yandex Maps, which immediately caught our attention. The most emotional review came from Arseny: “Honestly, this is a CRAPPY shot bar. Too bad you can’t give it a zero! We need to eradicate places like this.” Sounds promising.

After the trashy “Olga” shot bar, where they didn’t accept us as “one of their own,” we came up with a cover story for why we were there. Experience had shown that we’d look suspicious anyway if our limbs weren’t swollen from alcohol and we didn’t reek of booze from a mile away.

So, for the patrons of this place, we were students coming from a university exam, who decided to stop by on the way to celebrate passing the session. And, lucky for us, the first place we encountered was the “Shot Bar.”

The interior was even renovated, with some decor on the walls in the form of framed posters, and the “bar counter” was fully stocked. The overall look was decent—like a café from childhood (or any roadside diner now)!

The cashier, let’s call her Natalya, emerged from the dark back room at our call, sporting two “black eyes” underneath—either from severe sleep deprivation or something worse. She listened carefully to our story, because her first question was something like: “So, how did you end up here?”

After our explanations, the slight distrust vanished from her face, and Natalya smiled and said she understood us. But she still didn’t forget to note that girls like us usually don’t come here. “Like us”—meaning not chronic alcoholics, apparently.

— But young people do come here often, just usually boys who don’t want to dress up for a bar. They come in flip-flops and shorts, drink cheap and are happy, Natalya tells us. And we think that for such places, having visitors who aren’t in the advanced stages of alcoholism is probably a success.

Natalya, it seemed, was so surprised to see young girls that she felt like a matchmaker. She kept insisting that in the evenings there are plenty of men here who would gladly buy cocktails or beer for pretty girls. She repeated this for the entire 10 minutes we tried to place our order. You know, just in passing!

— No, really, there are good men. Almost all with some addiction, but they’ll buy you a beer, Natalya went on about the same thing.

We didn’t actually test whether we’d be treated to drinks at this shot bar in Gorroshcha. After all, besides the sweet talk, Natalya also spoke about reality. For example, there are occasionally brawls, and it’s not the best place for young women. It’s actually unsafe. But if you’re an adrenaline junkie (and love freebies)—welcome!

But being around Natalya herself is comfortable: she’s friendly, with a calm and quite polite voice. The contrast with “Olga” couldn’t be starker—there, the cashier despised us with just her squinted gaze and suspected us of who knows what.

Here, when we asked her to recommend something non-strong, she actually started thinking and offered different options. In the end, we ordered two shots of pepper vodka and sausage sandwiches. We obviously weren’t planning to get drunk, but to keep up the story, we bought what was offered. For the two of us, it cost 230 rubles (about $3 at current rates).

— The sandwiches ended up costing more, the cashier smiled. Our 50 grams of pepper vodka were just child’s play to her.

On the tables at the “Shot Bar” there were silicone placemats—which is already quite proper for such an establishment. Though our plate had yellowish stains—whether it was unwashed grease or just the patina of old dishes, it was hard to tell. But on the table sat a plastic container of salt. In very large quantities…

Besides us, there was one other customer in the hall—an ordinary man whose table was covered with snacks and drinks. He sat in silence, paying us no attention, and seemed to want only peace and quiet. We had just sat down at a far table when he got up, said goodbye to Natalya, and left. The cashier then stepped outside, leaving us completely alone—but not for long.

In that time, we checked out the restroom—it has a sign warning that it’s out of order, but the door isn’t locked. The toilet looked gloomy and untidy, but it even had a small mirror on the wall. Now that’s class!

A window that leads nowhere had been boarded up for some reason. We’re afraid to imagine why… But on the partition, someone had written some folk art in big letters: “I’m a super-general!” Should we believe it?

When Natalya returned, she sat at a table near the bar and started doing something with papers. At first, I thought she was tallying invoices. But as I got closer, I saw that this tired woman with dark circles under her eyes was sitting there connecting dots to draw a kitten.

— Do fights ever break out here? We had a bad experience before, so we’re a bit scared now.

— If someone attacks, we’ll deal with it, don’t worry, Natalya reassures me, but honestly, you don’t belong here. Only young girls who’ve been drinking all night and come to sober up stop by. The boys are okay, yes.

But you’d be better off going to the café across the street—it’s more respectable. But for now, sit here, don’t be afraid—the panic button hasn’t been cancelled. It’s just not a place for young girls, the woman repeated to fully convey the atmosphere of the “Shot Bar.”

As soon as we sat back down at our table, a man in khaki colors “flew” into the bar—he was moving a bit too briskly. Natalya returned to the counter, seemed to take his order, and then suddenly began talking to him in a loud, cocky manner, even though she had spoken to us (and the previous guest) in a completely calm, even polite tone. Apparently, she’s used to raising her voice to handle tipsy customers.

As it turned out, the man asked to use the restroom, and the cashier explained clearly that it was currently closed. But the customer was too insistent—or too desperate, we don’t know—in any case, he got permission.

— Just be careful, don’t break anything in there! — Natalya shouted after him.

Over the nearly hour we spent in the basement shot bar on Poletaeva Street, nothing happened. We just ate a few sandwiches, chatted with Natalya, and… that was it! There was no music, no crowd, an extremely calm atmosphere. Even though it was Friday.

The clock was approaching 4 PM, and the crowd wasn’t growing. The cashier explained that the number of visitors always varies. Sometimes they come right at opening—the place operates from 6 AM to 9 PM—because people drop by to sober up after a night of binge drinking.

But we didn’t find the daytime alcoholics like at “Olga.” After all, the shot bar on Krupskaya Street is a rare find, even if not particularly valuable. That’s why at the establishment on Gagarin Street we saw what we didn’t expect—sanity and a lack of danger, at least at 4 in the afternoon.

Oddly enough, we can even recommend this shot bar—if you’re a fan of unusual places, of course (or if you want to sit cheaply in flip-flops and shorts, as Natalya said). At the very least, if you behave decently, the staff will treat you kindly. And you’ll definitely feel a certain local flavor here—though you probably won’t want to come back.