Address: 1825 M St.

As soon as you enter Sign of the Whale, you'll feel like you've stepped into a frat house straight out of an early-2000s sex comedy—sans the entertainment. Look to the right and you'll see the dance floor, which is a dirty living room. After noticing that every single stereotype is in attendance, you'll opt for upstairs. You'll be equally disappointed when you find that the second level is a fucking attic. It's got a bar, but still. If you're fortunate, it won't be packed with undergrads and you'll be able to find one of the rare spots with discernible AC. Heat rises, you know. You'll almost feel inclined to tip the floral print shirt-wearing bartenders out of pity. If you go back downstairs, you'll have to navigate through a crowd of newly-legal '90s babies, and you'll also have to cut through the cloud of B.O. That's not teen spirit you smell, it's junior high gym class. We can see the appeal of this place (well, almost) if you're a college student who has nothing to do the next day but recover from your binge drinking, but still, even that kid can do better. At some point, you age out of guzzling liquor from a tiny plastic cup.