Toronto really should have some sort of Gentleman’s Club. A place for a fellow to go when he wants to enjoy a game of chess or lively discussion. A home away from home.
I have searched this city for one and have only met with disaster. There is a place, for example, mere blocks from my house, with a bright sign that reads “Gentleman’s Club”. I thought that this would be a good place to begin my search. I was totally wrong.
I should have realized that something was amiss when I was greeted in the foyer by a burly fellow in a cheap tuxedo. Instead of asking me to go through a membership process, he ordered me to hand over my umbrella lest I bludgeon someone over the head. I assured him that my political opinions are not that strongly held but he would have none of it. Very well, I thought and handed it over. Perhaps there’s some reformers about advocating their radical neocon agenda.
But it was much worse than that.
The decorations and lighting were far from tasteful. One might even use the word garish. Furthermore, there was not a gentleman in sight. The place was populated by suspicious looking ruffians and dancing women. (That’s right, friends, there were women. In a gentleman’s club.) These oafish hooligans had gravitated to the stage, where they bluntly stared at a graceless female like one might watch a caged animal in its death throes.
I attempted to make my way to the bar to better assess the situation, but was rudely waylaid by a harlot who shoved her breasts into my face and offered to rub her well-travelled vagina all over my wool pants for an outrageous fee. I patiently explained the cost of dry cleaning and suggested that she should pay me for the privilege. Then I was inexplicably asked to leave. Even my polite suggestion that this was really more of a low-rent, knocking shop than a gentleman’s club was met with grim incomprehension by the boorish doorman.
At least my umbrella was returned to me. I suppose that is something.
3 comments
1 ping
Anonymous
May 28, 2007 at 7:00 pm (UTC -5)
Grumpy, as a woman, I feel obligated to advise you that there are not enough gentlemen in Toronto to fill a bath tub , let alone a club ..Sorry
Rob Owens
May 29, 2007 at 12:36 pm (UTC -5)
If you were rich, like Frnk Stronach (Belinda Stronach’s father and head of Magna Intl.) you could start your own gentlemen’s club, like he did.
Trouble is, in his cups one night, he propositioned a young waitress several times in the selfsame club – Frank is in his seventies – he persued her on her cell phone.
She sued him for harrassment and the case was settled out of court.
Ergo, I agree with anonymous, though I would change the bathtub for a hot tub.
Ryan Oakley
May 29, 2007 at 2:20 pm (UTC -5)
Anon – Alone I fill the average bathtube. Luckily mine is surprising big.
Rob – Here’s Frank’s mistake. He needed a butler, not a waitress. And stalking the help should have had him expelled from his own establishment.
Hitler at the Gala « The Grumpy Owl
November 27, 2007 at 8:19 am (UTC -5)
[...] reminded me of my distressing evening at a so-called gentleman’s club. Someone really has to stop the middle-classes from abusing everyone else’s expressions. It [...]