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WASHINGTON — Outside, a ribbon of lights swept up Pennsylvania Avenue toward the Capitol, and there was not a protester in sight. Inside the month-old Trump International Hotel, a Romanesque Revival structure just as grand, the second presidential debate had begun.

About 150 people — Donald Trump supporters mostly — had come Sunday night to watch the Fox News strain of the event, broadcast on four screens behind Benjamin’s Bar & Lounge, which occupies about a third of the vast lobby floor.

It was an odd assemblage of out-of-town tourists and locals out for a lark. But the Pilsner Urquell was ice-cold. A distinctive rosé from Lebanon, resembling a pinot noir, could be had for $15 a glass. To eat, there was the surprisingly good smashed avocado on toast (a happy hour bargain, $5!) the East and West Coast oysters ($38 a dozen) and the four-shrimp cocktail ($24).

All could be enjoyed while nestling in high-back bar stools of navy blue tufted velvet. Channing DeVoueroix came early to claim one, and to sip Trump sparkling wine, approvingly. Ms. DeVoueroix, a retired teacher and interior designer from Virginia, splits her time between Coronado, Calif., and the Kalorama neighborhood of Washington. Like many of the other patrons in the bar, she was not staying at the hotel but thought its bar would be a good place to watch the candidates clash.

Before that schoolyard brawl even started, she had already grown weary of the Trump campaign’s latest controversy, she said, generated by the Republican candidate’s “hot mike” moment on a bus shared with Billy Bush, who was egging him on.

“American women are far too interested in how they’re treated, and are too quick to say, ‘So and so shouldn’t have done or said that to her,”’ Ms. DeVoueroix said. “Women today are always stomping our feet. We should sit back and relax and be in our own bodies and not somebody else’s.”

Ms. DeVoueroix, who is divorced and has four children, said she counted Ronald Reagan as a friend, and met Hillary Clinton at a first ladies luncheon, when Bill Clinton occupied the Oval Office. “I hope Hillary says something different tonight, something specific, about how she’s going to deal the national debt, North Korea or the Middle East, not just those empty slogans about the environment and education,” she said.

Then, Ms. DeVoueroix turned her attention to her oysters.

Those not seated at the bar milled about, bewildered, like spectators at a rock concert in a high school gym: happy to be there, but not quite sure what to expect. Sturdy carts of cheese and charcuterie trundled past, pushed by unsure waiters making infrequent stops.

Already, the place seemed like a tourist attraction, where spectacle could be had, with two kids in tow, for the cost of a David Burke dry-aged burger. As for said burger, a bartender waved off one ordered medium-rare, mindful of out-of-town tastes, and instead it arrived medium, dry and dull.

Working on his second margarita, Steven Brignoli, a bearded former Special Forces officer, thrust his fists into the air and thundered, “Yes!” as Mr. Trump declared himself “a gentleman,” and, if elected, promised to appoint a special prosecutor to investigate Hillary Clinton’s emails. “Yes!” Mr. Brignoli yelled back at the screen.

“O.K., he’s not perfect,” Mr. Brignoli said. “But I look at this election in terms of playing a game of Russian roulette. Do we play it with a revolver or an automatic rifle? We need separation from the liberal policies we’ve been dealing with for the past 20 to 30 years. We need to recapture the American dream.”

Mr. Brignoli thumbed open his dark blue sport coat to reveal a custom T-shirt: “Trump/Brignoli.” No more Mike Pence. Asked his current occupation, Mr. Brignoli went quiet. Sporting a cashmere cape and four-inch heels that sparkled in the light cast by crystal chandeliers hung overhead, his girlfriend, who works in retail, interjected, “Just say badass.”

Nearby, Magalie Durot, a young woman originally from Metz, France, who was wearing workout gear, settled in. She said she is the owner of a Chicago-based company that imports natural hair and skin care products and was five weeks away from receiving her American citizenship. Ms. Durot said she came “more for the entertainment value than to hear any serious policy discussion.”

Her friend Stuart Levine, a real estate developer, had already shrugged off the 11-year-old tape, as Mr. Trump repeated his rare (and somewhat unconvincing, to those in the room) apology. “That thing happened in 2005, so it’s old news,” Mr. Levine said. “It won’t be a big deal tonight, and Trump will blow right through it.”

Why support Mr. Trump? “We’ve never had a businessman as president,” he said. “We need one now, and Republicans finally voted against the establishment.”

Mindful of the bizarre appearance before the debate of Mr. Trump and the women who had accused Bill Clinton of sexual assault, Ms. Durot reached for her glass of Medoc and tilted her head toward the television. “Trump is going very low,” she said. “He had to dig far down to find them. Everything he does moves further away from the real purpose of having a presidential debate. Hillary is for the smart people. Trump is for the dumb people.”

Bill McCarthy, a former union executive just in from Boston, was eager to add an Ethiopian perspective. “Obama deserted the Ethiopian people, according to my taxi driver on the way in from the airport, and Hillary didn’t support Ethiopia, either,” he said. “So, the guy said, 2,000 D.C. cabdrivers are going to vote for Trump.”

An indefatigable golfer and frequent visitor to Trump golf courses, Mr. McCarthy beamed when asked about their facilities. “There’s always an American flag flying,” he said. “Mr. Trump is a true patriot.” And, on immigration: “Hillary’s interpretation of immigration policy is too porous,” he said. “Trump is the only one who can bring back law and order.”

As has been widely reported, Mr. Trump spent $200 million transforming the building, the Old Post Office Pavilion, the city’s main post office until 1914. During the debate, very few guests checked in, and only a handful of people descended the elevators. The hotel’s steakhouse, BLT Prime by David Burke, sat virtually empty. With the exception of one man at the bar wearing a football sweatshirt, the only African-Americans were staff members.

Of the big money conversion, one of the patrons, a local publisher who declined to give his name, said, “It’s a magnificent structure, but it was going to be magnificent no matter who got it.”

His partner doesn’t mind the rooms. But, he complained, “the headboard of the bed does wiggle.”

As the debate neared its close, Mrs. Clinton talked renewable energy. “Bring back coal!” blurted out a young guy in hipster dress or something as close to that as Washington can muster, to loud applause. A middle-age woman wearing a standard Washington-issue strand of pearls said: “We’re being asked to support a liar or a rogue. Go rogue!” She drew whoops of endorsement.

“I respect the Second Amendment,” Mrs. Clinton said.

“You do not,” two young men in plaid shirts and drinking white wine hollered in unison.

Asked their main reason for supporting Mr. Trump, they demurred: “We’re individuals, and we don’t speak to the media. Have a nice night. Go away.”

When Mr. Trump said, “Hillary is the devil!” Benjamin’s Bar shuddered in agreement, and Mr. Brignoli shot his arms into the air, like a victorious prizefighter, shouting, “She is!”

Looking glum, Anderson Cooper and Martha Raddatz signed off, as the bartenders in Benjamin’s passed around free glasses of Trump sparkling wine, which were quickly drained.

Mr. Levine leaned over to his skeptical friend from France and smiled in triumph. “Magalie, my dear,” he said, “are you still sure you want to become an American citizen?”