Mike's Birdthay (or how I became a one-night "pilgrim")
Yesterday was quite the experience for me. If you have the courage to read on, you’ll surely enjoy the incredible amount of misfortune I happened to experience.
For those who don't know, it was Mike's birthday party yesterday. I had already planned to go, but he then invited me with a personalized e-mail (none of that forwarding crap) so I was then even more inclined to meet up and celebrate.
I finished work at 3:45, got downtown around 5:00, at which point I went to the arcade on St-Cath to pass the time until 8:00. At some point, I started winning a few matches, not noticing how the time was passing by, and before I know it I lose and it's already 8:00.
"No biggie", I thought, walking quickly to Guy metro with my friend. Worse case, I'll be half an hour late. I hear it's the fashionable thing to do these days anyways, right? Nonetheless, a small sense of guilt sets in. My family, especially my dad's side, is very strict about punctuality. I had no idea how worse it would get.
Now, it's important to note that I had taken down the address on a little piece of paper. Looking through my things in the metro, I absolutely couldn't find the paper. Must have fallen in the arcade or something. Once again, I brush it off, remembering that it was on Saint-Laurent and I was positive that I had written 8-7-something-something. Oh, and I forgot to mention that I had completely forgotten the name of the place. How’s that for organized? Anyways, 100 addresses is nothing to look through, so I continue my ride to Saint-Laurent metro, keeping my cool.
I get off, get on Saint-Laurent, and behold, the numbers are in the thousands! That's when I panicked and did something drastic: without even stopping to think, I hailed the first cab I saw and asked him to bring me to 8700 Saint-Laurent. He gave me a funny look and started driving.
After about 10 dollars worth, we were around 4000 and he asked me “you sure about this address? Why wouldn’t it be downtown?” Then it hit me: the only reason I’m going to 8700 is because I think I wrote an eight and a seven. Well, I don’t know if it was ego, or despair, but I forgot about that thought and just told him to continue.
20 minutes and 18 dollars worth of cab fare later, he drops me off at 8750 or so. I look around… I was in the middle of butt-f’ing nowhere! I started running around, looking for anything remotely similar to a restaurant. Of course the closest thing to a restaurant is a Burger King, so I stop and think for a second… maybe it was 8600? Already quite late, I was determined not to be any later, so I started walking back on Saint-Laurent.
Walking… walking… no restaurant is really catching my eye. By now, I realize it’s quite late and there’s no way I’ll find a place which I don’t know the name nor am I quite sure about its address. After about 15 minutes of walking, I stop by a public phone and 411 the bar we were supposed to go to afterwards: Safir. The address was 3699. This might sound like the stupidest thing I did that night, but it somehow made complete sense to me: without a second to think, I started walking.
I passed by many a bus stop and even a metro station, yet I did not have the power to stop. Something was forcing me to go on. After a while, I understood what I was doing. I felt so bad for missing the dinner, this was my punishment. This was my pilgrimage so my sins could be forgiven. I had a laugh at the incredible irony of the situation, since my destination was hardly sacred: Safir is probably the most gothic bar here in Montreal.
You’d think the story would end here, with me showing up at the bar? Hell no! My brain was in such an odd state, I forgot the address was 3699, thinking rather that it was 3399. After an hour or so of walking, I literally walked right pass Safir.
I learned something interesting on that night. At the point where Saint-Laurent and Sherbrooke cross, the numbers go from 3400 straight to about 2100. I bet you can imagine how panicky I was, looking for an inexistent 3399. I walked back and forth two or three times, and I then remembered that it was most probably 3699. God, what an idiot…
Finally, I find the bar. I gave out a big sigh of relief, and entered with a grin. My journey was finally at an end, around 9:45PM.
But look! I’m the first person to enter the bar! At this point, I was just happy to be at the right place, so I sat down at the bar and asked for a glass of water. It turns out the barmaid was so freaking nice. While waiting for Mike and the gang, I had:
- One glass of water to start (my throat was quite dry by then)
- A Bloody Ceasar (she gave me the rest of the Clamato when I was done)
- Another glass of water which I didn’t even ask for
- A Red Bull with a shot of Vodka
I’m not quite sure how long I waited at the bar, but it went by quite quickly, thanks to the barmaid. (A little side note for Tina: don’t worry, you don’t need to feel threatened by her. Goth chicks aren’t my thing. She was just real nice). I must have waited a few hours or so, no more.
Needless to say, it was nice to see Dave, Cowboy, Mike, Justin (Mike’s childhood friend) and Erkar. I got to hear some of the juicy stuff happening at Dawson, which I appreciate. I realized how much I miss you guys. I left around 1:30, taking another cab to Tina’s place. I told the driver I had only had 9 dollars left and I needed to get as close to Vendome as possible. He was so greatful that I had warned him in advance, he drove me an extra 5 blocks to where I needed to get off. It was a great way to end the night.
Well, there you have it folks. Surely that will be a day I won’t forget for a very long time, if ever. And Mike, I’d like to apologize for the lateness again. I hate being late. I hope it makes you feel special to know that some dude is true to his word and respects you enough to spend 50 dollars and an entire night making sure he can meet up with you despite knowing where and when he would show up. You’re probably the one person I respect the most from Sci-Fi, and I think this whole adventure proved it.
For those who don't know, it was Mike's birthday party yesterday. I had already planned to go, but he then invited me with a personalized e-mail (none of that forwarding crap) so I was then even more inclined to meet up and celebrate.
I finished work at 3:45, got downtown around 5:00, at which point I went to the arcade on St-Cath to pass the time until 8:00. At some point, I started winning a few matches, not noticing how the time was passing by, and before I know it I lose and it's already 8:00.
"No biggie", I thought, walking quickly to Guy metro with my friend. Worse case, I'll be half an hour late. I hear it's the fashionable thing to do these days anyways, right? Nonetheless, a small sense of guilt sets in. My family, especially my dad's side, is very strict about punctuality. I had no idea how worse it would get.
Now, it's important to note that I had taken down the address on a little piece of paper. Looking through my things in the metro, I absolutely couldn't find the paper. Must have fallen in the arcade or something. Once again, I brush it off, remembering that it was on Saint-Laurent and I was positive that I had written 8-7-something-something. Oh, and I forgot to mention that I had completely forgotten the name of the place. How’s that for organized? Anyways, 100 addresses is nothing to look through, so I continue my ride to Saint-Laurent metro, keeping my cool.
I get off, get on Saint-Laurent, and behold, the numbers are in the thousands! That's when I panicked and did something drastic: without even stopping to think, I hailed the first cab I saw and asked him to bring me to 8700 Saint-Laurent. He gave me a funny look and started driving.
After about 10 dollars worth, we were around 4000 and he asked me “you sure about this address? Why wouldn’t it be downtown?” Then it hit me: the only reason I’m going to 8700 is because I think I wrote an eight and a seven. Well, I don’t know if it was ego, or despair, but I forgot about that thought and just told him to continue.
20 minutes and 18 dollars worth of cab fare later, he drops me off at 8750 or so. I look around… I was in the middle of butt-f’ing nowhere! I started running around, looking for anything remotely similar to a restaurant. Of course the closest thing to a restaurant is a Burger King, so I stop and think for a second… maybe it was 8600? Already quite late, I was determined not to be any later, so I started walking back on Saint-Laurent.
Walking… walking… no restaurant is really catching my eye. By now, I realize it’s quite late and there’s no way I’ll find a place which I don’t know the name nor am I quite sure about its address. After about 15 minutes of walking, I stop by a public phone and 411 the bar we were supposed to go to afterwards: Safir. The address was 3699. This might sound like the stupidest thing I did that night, but it somehow made complete sense to me: without a second to think, I started walking.
I passed by many a bus stop and even a metro station, yet I did not have the power to stop. Something was forcing me to go on. After a while, I understood what I was doing. I felt so bad for missing the dinner, this was my punishment. This was my pilgrimage so my sins could be forgiven. I had a laugh at the incredible irony of the situation, since my destination was hardly sacred: Safir is probably the most gothic bar here in Montreal.
You’d think the story would end here, with me showing up at the bar? Hell no! My brain was in such an odd state, I forgot the address was 3699, thinking rather that it was 3399. After an hour or so of walking, I literally walked right pass Safir.
I learned something interesting on that night. At the point where Saint-Laurent and Sherbrooke cross, the numbers go from 3400 straight to about 2100. I bet you can imagine how panicky I was, looking for an inexistent 3399. I walked back and forth two or three times, and I then remembered that it was most probably 3699. God, what an idiot…
Finally, I find the bar. I gave out a big sigh of relief, and entered with a grin. My journey was finally at an end, around 9:45PM.
But look! I’m the first person to enter the bar! At this point, I was just happy to be at the right place, so I sat down at the bar and asked for a glass of water. It turns out the barmaid was so freaking nice. While waiting for Mike and the gang, I had:
- One glass of water to start (my throat was quite dry by then)
- A Bloody Ceasar (she gave me the rest of the Clamato when I was done)
- Another glass of water which I didn’t even ask for
- A Red Bull with a shot of Vodka
I’m not quite sure how long I waited at the bar, but it went by quite quickly, thanks to the barmaid. (A little side note for Tina: don’t worry, you don’t need to feel threatened by her. Goth chicks aren’t my thing. She was just real nice). I must have waited a few hours or so, no more.
Needless to say, it was nice to see Dave, Cowboy, Mike, Justin (Mike’s childhood friend) and Erkar. I got to hear some of the juicy stuff happening at Dawson, which I appreciate. I realized how much I miss you guys. I left around 1:30, taking another cab to Tina’s place. I told the driver I had only had 9 dollars left and I needed to get as close to Vendome as possible. He was so greatful that I had warned him in advance, he drove me an extra 5 blocks to where I needed to get off. It was a great way to end the night.
Well, there you have it folks. Surely that will be a day I won’t forget for a very long time, if ever. And Mike, I’d like to apologize for the lateness again. I hate being late. I hope it makes you feel special to know that some dude is true to his word and respects you enough to spend 50 dollars and an entire night making sure he can meet up with you despite knowing where and when he would show up. You’re probably the one person I respect the most from Sci-Fi, and I think this whole adventure proved it.