The Chefs Pub Crawl

In the category of why am I still alive stories, sub section "every good story starts with alcohol" I bring to you this memory. Filled with adventure, music, Willie Nelson, a big dog and a certain amount, OK fine, copious amounts of booze...one of those nights that I will remember on my death bed I'm sure.

I, as your main protagonist and Scott, as minor facilitator and big time wussy (sorry Scott, the story must be told), needed a guys weekend away. We even jokingly called it our "spa weekend" in slight mimicry of a woman's retreat. We had just wrapped up another season of welcoming people to the inn and we were both a tad run down. Why wouldn't we treat ourselves to, ahem, manicures and facial exfoliation...or, a hockey game, Chinese food and some libations? Seven days a week for six months, dealing with all manner of guest and the vagaries of running a tourist operation in a quaint little town, well...a break was in order. Celebrating the fact that we weren't going to be seeing or hearing anymore from the flock of Tilley hat wearing freaks that graced our town we planned our one night away.

Being guys we needed an event as the focal point to plan around. Not that we give a rats ass so much about the local junior hockey team but it's a good way to bridge the opening salvo of jocularity and the laid back late night calm. Tickets were procured for a Mooseheads game with seats a few rows back from the players bench.  As a side note I have a fear about getting a puck to the face at hockey games. I know that at a particular moment of not paying attention to the game will be when Wendel Clark winds up for a deflected shot that I'm now wearing on my forehead...like I have always suspected that cancer would get me, that puck has my name on it. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

First we checked into our hotel room and decided to unwind a bit with a beverage or two before striking out for some Chinese food. Good Chinese food...not the chicken balls kind of Chinese food. This moment in time also marks the moment I discovered Drambuie, or as I now call it, the Nectar of the Gods. I had grabbed a few bottles of booze from the inn that were half empty or so. Some single malts, some rum and the Drambuie. Those first few sips lit up my face...I was hooked. I like Scotch but this really tickled my fancy more so. So thank you Mr. Steele for the introduction. We shared a few drinks, laughed about whatever and decided that food should be our next item on our agenda.

Whilst walking to the restaurant along some side streets from the hotel we had a visit with Willie Nelson. Not the usual but something I had procured from another...and this is important I think for what would happen later. We dined on duck and drank Chinese beer. The night was starting off so well. Good food, food drink and most of all a good friend. We decided to cab it down to the Metro Centre for the game, and Willie may have visited again but I'm not entirely sure. As we arrived at the game we probably grabbed a beer to take to our seats and this is when the wheels came off, so to speak.

Now, I think Scott wasn't accustomed to a different version of Willie and this played the role of spoiler for him. We had barely sat down and he commented on how great the seats were. Next thing I knew he was looking like so much dog poo piled up. He taps me on the shoulder and says that we should go back to the hotel, that he wasn't feeling well. WTF. "Go splash some water on your face to see if it helps" was my reply. It didn't. He looked like he was going to pass out and/or lose his duck dinner. So, begrudgingly I threw him into a cab and took him back to the hotel to sleep it off...the whole ride back he kept apologizing for ruining the night. I couldn't care less about the hockey game but I do admit that I was kind of pissed that my first night to myself in forever was being wussified.

As I sat staring out the window after Scott was dumped into bed I made one of those "get out of your comfort zone" decisions. There was no fucking way I was going to let this ruin my weekend away. Come hell or high water I was going to go have some fun. In the hopes that maybe an hour or so of sleep would revive the lump formally known as Scott I ventured to the hotel bar and had a Drambuie while taking in the ambiance and making small talk with the bartender. A little while later I checked in on super wuss and he hadn't even moved. After ascertaining that he was still alive I raided his Willie Nelson and ventured out into the streets to see what I could see.

I had barely crossed the street from the hotel and drama had found me. It was right around Halloween and there were university students dressed up heading downtown to "study". Being less inebriated than they were I noticed that one man in a sort of Popeye costume had nearly been clipped by a passing car as he walked half on the sidewalk and half on the street. "Hey man....you might want to walk on the sidewalk, that K car nearly put a dent in you" was my meagre offering of advice. I wanted to throat punch him for his response..."oh, sorry sir, didn't mean to do it, sorry sir." I would have been in my mid thirties at this point and I did not like the idea of being labelled an "old fucker" by this little shit. Of course, now a days I couldn't care less...I'm an old fucker, whatever. "No sir...there is no sir, just don't want your obituary to read "He Got Smoked by a K Car". Enjoy your night man." And off I went.

I made it a whole 25 feet when I stopped to talk to some "Squeegee Kids". There was a young guy and girl and a huge dog, I want to say Rottweiler but what do I know. They were sitting on a bus stop bench in front of what used to be Queen Elizabeth high school. Already condemned to the wrecking ball, it tuns out that an alcove behind the bench was their home. I don't know their names and I had really simply stopped for a match to warm my hands, but we chit chatted for a bit. I guess when you are on God's good grace, your sense of time and place is a moveable line in the sand...they were about to retire for the night in their little alcove. Be sure to say hi they said as I wandered off down the street heading for nowhere in particular.

Joel Plaskett has a song "Nowhere with You" that speaks about it not mattering what we do as long as we do it together. That was my night to go nowhere with my favourite person....me. As I strolled down Bell road with Willie along for the ride I really didn't have a destination or a plan. Let serendipity make the call, or as Robbie Robertson sang, "I don't know, the wind just kind of pushed me this way". And my first stop was the Lord Nelson hotel, into the Arms bar. Sitting at the bar contemplating what to do I decided one could never go wrong with a drink some food. I didn't realize it at the moment but I was on the opening leg of my own one man pub crawl....FORWARD DRINK!!!

I ate some sublimely delicious calamari, probably some of the best I've ever had, to go along with my beer. I capped it with a Drambuie and set off vaguely in the downtown direction along Spring Garden road. I made it as far as the next pub. I heard music and like siren song I was drawn inside. The trio sounded decent, it wasn't country music and I had a small table to myself. While noshing on some flatbread pizza and a beer I was really enjoying the idea of doing this night on my own. No wing man and no expectations. It was a little exciting to be honest. After an hour or so I decided a change in scenery was needed so I moved on. This is where I am a little hazy. I know I stopped at two more places, one with music, but I don't remember the what's and where's of the stops. I'm sure I drank a bit and possibly had another bite to eat, but that's pretty much it.

At some point, I'd say around midnight I started making my way back to the hotel. At this point I was, to say the least, comfortably numb. I had a nice buzz going and was probably smiling from ear to ear. I didn't feel unsafe as I strolled near the Commons, despite a rash of "swarming's" that had happened recently. I guess God does protect drunks and fools, of which I was both that night. As I neared the hotel I suddenly remembered my squeegee friends invitation to say hello. So I left the safety of the sidewalk to find the alcove where they were slumbering in. Obviously my inebriated foot steps precipitated the vision of my death as that giant dog came running at me with a barking that nearly made me soil myself. I may not recall the last bar I visited but I do know I was thinking to myself, so...this is how I'm going to die. Wonderful.

A loud command from the squeegee boy halted the hound of hell in his track and I was saved, be it with rubbery legs. As we inched closer together they recognized me from earlier in the evening and I was greeted like an old friend. We chatted a bit, mourned the passing of Willie and I said my goodbyes as I went back to my walk home. A few minutes later I found myself not in the hotel but at Freemans. A Halifax institution known for being open late...very late. So late that's it's early. There I found myself at 2:00 in the morning having a beer and the hottest fucking BBQ beef sandwich I ever ate. Not spicy hot, I mean hot hot. The third degree burns on the roof of my mouth might have just healed. As I sat there licking the BBQ sauce from my lips I thought of how much fun the night was...a moveable feast with a few drinks consumed, music enjoyed and a story written. Good times.

All things must come to an end and this night was no different, so I trudged up to my room to finish the night. I had wondered what Scott would do if we awoke to find me gone, but as it turns out he had n't moved a bit. I brushed my teeth threw on my flannel nightie and settled into bed...probably around 3:30 or so. Perhaps my shuffling around had finally woken him or maybe he just came back from the dead but I hadn't been asleep more than a few minutes when Scott woke up full of energy....I nearly threw a shoe at him.

To his credit he does acknowledge his wussy ways that night and he was actually very happy that I did have myself an adventure. Of course it would have been nice to have done the night together but all was not lost because of his bad reaction and subsequent wussy act.

Not bad for an old fuck eh?

Ciao
D