There were originally five of us headed out - and the names have been changed to protect the innocent. ST, the touring jazz musician, Karstar, the talented photographer, and me, the suit. It was a foggy Friday night in the city, and a couple of chicks from back home made the last minute trip down to the city to experience the nightlife. Karstar had spots on the list, so Guv it was. Once the broads eventually got themselves primped and preened, we headed off to the club.
We immediately lost track of the chicks, who bailed to head out to the Brant House... which, if you're not familiar is a place where bankers, lawyers and 'roid monkeys go to use their money to impress trashy orange girls from the suburbs. I'm sure they fit right in.
The night was a pretty standard night out. A few drinks, the DJ was playing a solid set in the main room, and Asian people were piling up in drifts on the floor. It didn't stay standard for long though. The inevitable result of a few beers is that they'll need to be let out at some later point, and I took my leave to do just that. Popped into the first stall that became available, and I was, for lack of a better term, taking one of the leaks of my life, when what I can best describe as a gigantic, black-clad gorilla burst into the stall.
"Alright" quoth the gorilla, "you've got two options. Either I drag you outside and tell the cops I caught you doing drugs in here, or we can come to some sort of arrangement."
Keep in mind, I'm still peeing as this is happening.
"You can't be serious."
"Alright, you want to do this the hard way?" the gorilla stepped closer. Am I about to be beaten, mugged or raped here? Jesus. "How much is it worth to you."
I'd heard about shit like this before at clubs and raves, but never had I experienced it in 14 odd years of late night adventuring. Bouncers supplementing their incomes. The cops outside don't care - they'll just sit there, watch the bouncer eject some dude on the pavement, then book him for the drugs the bouncer claims to have flushed. No investigation, just taking the word of the employee over the patron.
"Dude, I've got like $20 left." Done peeing by this point, so at least I don't have my dick in my hand while I'm being mugged anymore.
"Give me your watch."
"Seriously dude? Seriously? You're rolling me for my watch?"
"Give me your fucking watch, or you might just slip on some water and hurt yourself."
Watch and last $20 surrendered. I go free.
But wait, isn't this "It's all good?" Shouldn't there be a happy ending, like the massages on Soi 7 in Bangkok? Read on, reader.
So I link back up with the boys, and tell them the story. They've both heard of it happening before, but never known who it happens to. We curse bouncers, Karstar buys a round of sympathy drinks, and we retire to the patio to see what we can salvage of the night. Out on the patio, we tell a few other people the story. Shock on everyone's part. Feeling a little better about it, and determined not to let it ruin my Friday, we head back inside to make some new friends.
About 10 minutes later, Karstar finds me.
"Dude, remember that guy I got the smoke from on the patio? He found your watch."
No fucking way.
Way.
We fight our way through the crowd, link up with the random dude from the patio, who takes us to the front door to the head bouncer. The bouncer asks me to describe my watch, and the guy that rolled me for it, then goes outside.
Random patio dude explains that right after I'd told the story on the patio, he'd gone in to the washroom, and the guy did the same thing to him. Unfortunately for the gorilla, random patio dude went to school with the head bouncer. The head bouncer returns with my watch, and a genuine apology.
"You should've told someone right away man. We don't tolerate that kind of shit here."
The only downside is that I missed the part where the two head bouncers took this guy off-shift, fired him, and reported him to the cops for theft. That, Ms. Morissette, is ironic.
There was much rejoicing. Cool people met. Night saved. It's all good.
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