ALIBI AT THE LIBERTY HOTEL

215 CHARLES ST., BEACON HILL, BOSTON. 617.224.4000. LIBERTYHOTEL.COM

By CHRIS FARAONE | PHOTO BY DEREK KOUYOUMJIAN

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Having only served hard blue-collar time, I'm left to assume that a night at Alibi -- the Charles Street Jail's former drunk tank turned flagship cocktail lounge in Boston's new Liberty Hotel -- is like an evening in white-collar prison. In the several hours I spent power-sipping assorted cocktails and pedaling the NordicTrack in Alibi's lavish dungeon, the remarkably talented waitresses fanned me with leaves and fed me seedless grapes. I enjoyed myself so much, in fact, that I've arranged plans to sell my entire portfolio using insider information, start a civilian mercenary force and give my employees permission to shoot Iraqi civilians who look at them the wrong way. Lovely Meadows Penitentiary, here I come.

Drink 1: Cabana Boy ($11). My super-cute waitress explains that the drinks are named after people who tend to get you in trouble. After guzzling my first pop like Boo Radley, I tell her that the champagne mango Cabana Boy is a bit feminine for me and ask for something stronger, like a Coke Dealer. They don't have anything by that name, so I peruse the menu for more dangerous routes. I hear some old Gang Starr in the background, and I'm gelling.

Drink 2: Sam Adams Octoberfest ($4.75). Call me insecure, but I was afraid to ask if they had beer. I asked for ketchup at a fancy hotel in Philadelphia once, and they wrote me off as if I'd requested pork rinds. Still, as chic as this place is, it's still in Boston where even the most couture pseudo-elitists are generally friendly. The service is on point, and I'm enjoying their throne-like chairs so much that I ask for a turkey leg to bite on.

Drink 3: Sam Adams Octoberfest (4.75). Prison life isn't bad at Alibi. Despite its thick stone walls and the Charles Street Jail's horrific past, the air is comfortable and certifiably poltergeist-free. It's a Friday night, and the place is flustered with a commendable mix of old and young, hip and stiff, rich and wealthy. Note: If you ever come here, don't ask the girlfriend of the guy wearing the scarf with the t-shirt if she's interested in a conjugal visit.

Drink 4: Divine Brown ($13). This drink is named after that hooker who got caught blowing Hugh Grant in his BMW. Thankfully it doesn't taste like his semen, but instead like chocolate syrup, which I guess is what the brown is referencing. I don't have much of a sweet tooth, and I tend to think that men look, well, gay holding martini glasses, but this tastes a lot cleaner than any bitch I've ever picked up on the street.

Drink 5: Doing Thyme ($12). I'm polluted. But no matter how loose I get with my comments, and how many butts I flick into the courtyard, the waitstaff is still eagerly hospitable. There's a lot of construction outside, and I tell my friend that they're turning the hotel across the street into a prison. I'm definitely going to vomit in the bathroom's canvas-lined trashcan before I bounce.