Monday, June 7, 2010

Thursdays At The Mad Hatman's

It'd always be an unusual night when we'd go drink at the Mad Hatman's; strange characters were drawn to whatever crowd I'd be with, and we were all the better for it.

This time around, Mexicalex wanted to get his drinking on in ways he hadn't in a long time. His original plan was to bar-hop from downtown to my place, drink a beer in every bar on the way. I talked him out of it, even if it took all night, but it wasn't easy, and no bar was co-operating.

First we tried to hit the sports bar - The Sports Stallion - with $17 for 4-liter pitchers, but it was full. Maximum capacity reached, for reason of basketball game. Who the fuck watches the NBA playoffs in Montréal???

Upon refusing us entry, the door guy directed us across the street, to the Cock'N'Balls, saying ''it's the same concept, same owners, just less crowded''.

Yeah, I'd just spent an hour explaining to Mexicalex why the place now sucked: the previous owners had been kicked out of there by their shady landlords but hadn't copyrighted their name, and when over a year had passed that no tenant wanted to pay the extremely high rent, the landlord just re-opened the bar under new management, taking it upon himself to register the name and steal the business. And now I'd learned they also owned the sports bar with decent, affordable beer, and I was going to have to boycott that place too.

Push came to shove and stumbling became walking, and our feet led us to the Mad Hatman's, where we'd spent many a fantastic night in previous incarnations of the place, be it the one five steps down from its current location, or the one on Newhouse street. Even before that, it had been on McPeel street, but those are memories I'd rather forget. In any event, Mexicalex hadn't seen the new location, and I'd only been there thrice myself, so it seemed logical to delve into a pair of seats and experience ourselves a new past. It made sense at the time.

The first table we hit was leaking. Well, technically, it was being leaked on, from the ceiling. Or, rather, probably, from the men's room on the other side of the ceiling. So we moved two tables away.

We had a good time, as I usually do when drinking and talking with friends. Some serious subject matter, some abject, some humourous... always spontaneous. It was a great time. Then we were interrupted by an Oversized Child who seemed to want to pretend she didn't speak French, although it was clear she was fluent in it. What was also clear was that she wanted to get into Mexicalex's pants, although to his defense, as soon as he realized it, he made tremendous efforts in trying to convince her that he already had someone worthwhile in his life and didn't want to jeopardize it by engaging in anything more than discussion, which only led to more serious discussion about dark topics like The State Of the World.

Oversized Child (picture a baby, now make it 5-feet tall) had a friend, blonde, with intellectual/sexy secretary glasses who came to refill her glass at some point. Oversized Child told her: ''Kittie, come sit with us'', and Kittie glanced at the three of us and opted not to, but I said ''she'll be back, she'll sit right in that chair''. An hour later, she did. Lucky for me, Kittie was less gloomy and saw more humour in the world than her counterpart, so we soon got into our own conversation about British politics, dead baby jokes, and her boobs - she started it. All in all, for each of our interests, it was a good night. It would have been if it had ended right there.

Unfortunately, that isn't really the case. First off, Kittie told me to meet her back at the Mad Hatman's the next night, between 8 and 9. Then Mexicalex got hungry, and we went to Harvey's, the terrible hamburger place. I had the vomit burger and he had the vomit chicken burger; what fucking crap, and a terrible way to lose ten bucks. I should have eaten my money instead. Also, I went back the next night, got there at 9:15, neither of them in sight, had a pitcher of Rickard's White and a tasty burger-and-fries drenched in Louisiana hot sauce, then left as they still hadn't entered the premises. I'd been stood up.

I went home and went to bed. Unlike the eve of, this was a day to forget.

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