Hiba and I went out for Nicole’s birthday Saturday. We got to McKibbins around 11 p.m. I thought I was super early but I wasn’t. At all. I’m starting to notice that I go out much later than other people. My bad, everyone.
Nicole was already drunk – pleasant and coherent, but drunk. I had time to enjoy one drink before she blurted out that she wanted to go to a strip club.
A strip club, eh? I wondered if I’d ever been to one. Had I? I’m still not sure. Vague memories of being in a strip joint at some point in time come to mind, but I think that may have been a dream. Sometimes I can’t remember if my adventures were dreams or real life.
Anyway, we got up and went to one of the many sketchy establishments on Ste Catherine St. Oddly enough, the doorman knew Hiba. He kept saying something like, “Habibi, you came to see me!” Apparently, she’d been to that strip club before. Perhaps she’s wilder than I thought.
So we all paid our stupid $5 admission fee, then our coat check fee, and were greeted with NO BUFFET. All strip clubs should provide their patrons with snacks, amirite? My stomach was growling!
We sat by the stage (but not directly in front of it because we’re not pathetic old men) and ordered some drinks. I asked for a vodka soda. I was given vodka water. Vodka tap water, actually. After seeing the bill (and pushing my eyeballs back into their sockets), I began sipping my disgusting drink very, very slowly; two drinks totaled $27, sans tip. Twenty-seven-fucking-dollars. Incredible.
I was bummed but hoped that boobies would cheer me up.
Every single one of the girls looked like they despised their job. They seemed depressed, disgusted and detached. I was instantly reminded of that hooker Viggo slept with in Eastern Promises.
I felt sad so I wanted to leave but Nicole was getting lap dances in a private room. So we waited.
Eventually, she came back and said she had to go to the bathroom. I said I’d join her. After all, how gross could the ladies’ stalls be? Other than the strippers, our group had the only girls in there.
Well, they were awful. There were two toilets, both of which had diarrhea and cigarette ashes on the seat. Not in the water; on the seat. We left.
We ended up on Crescent, trying to think of an acceptable place to go. Turns out there are none. We both had to pee real bad so we said, “Fuck it” and went into Thursday’s. Have you ever been to Thursday’s? The rumors are true! It’s such a cougar bar. I sneezed while getting out of the bathroom and an old lady was like, “Wow, I thought no one could sneeze as loud as my daughter!” I was like, “Lady, your daughter must be around 40.”
Nicole and her boyfriend ended up leaving soon afterwards, but Hiba and I stayed. She kept trying to order drinks (she just discovered Bloody Caesars) but no one served us because we’re not 60 years old.
So we got pizza and had a little sleepover. The next day, we ate this crazy breakfast at Hawaii and later got Portuguese chicken. I love food.
It was easily one of the best, weirdest nights I’d had in a long time. Drunk Nicole, strippers, old ladies and a comedian (I didn’t discuss him but there was in fact a comedian)? Come on! It was awesome. I think the fact that I was pretty much sober made me appreciate it even more. Thanks, Nicole!