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During quiet times at Snafu, workmates lounge in plush chairs beside velvet curtains and antique mirrors then head downstairs to a low-ceilinged adjunct space for a game of Golden Tee. It’s a serene scene: Wooden floors and the bar top are rustically splintered; earthy maroon walls evoke an Anthropologie store. That’s the “situation normal” part. But when celebratory bankers from the nearby JP Morgan building arrive en masse, the “all F’d up” part comes into play: A pole holding track lights becomes a steadying device for high-heeled women dancing on the bar to Prince and Foreigner while their male counterparts do Irish car bombs off the navels of bar vixens clad in denim miniskirts. If you come on one of the latter nights, you’re going to have to shout out your order for one of the many beers on draft; if you come on one of the former types of evenings, you’ll be able to schmooze your project manager in relative peace. — Daniel Maurer