Northern Exposure, Day One: It's the Little Things

As Americans it seems that we take little things for granted. For the college student the most prominent of these things is cheap beer. That's right, in Canada they don't have cheap beer. Being under the assumption that beer flowed from hydrants like water, our party was somewhat taken aback when we were told by the upstanding foreign man at the local conveinent mart that alcohol can only be sold at state licensed liquor stores. Upon making the trek through the friendly streets of Windsor, which can only be described as "Detroit Light," we arrived at a fine establishment known as The Beer Store. Things were looking up as we were certain this wasn't a ladies boutique. Searching through the rows of wall-mounted cans that the store offered the first thing that caught our was the price. A 24 pack of Coors Light was set at the reasonable amount of $42.50. After we stopped laughing we approached the clerk and inquired. This conversation ensued.

Thirsty American: "Are these prices the norm?"
Canuck Wearing Hockey Helmet: "Yeah, we have a 50 percent tax on alcohol."
Thirsty American: "Wow. That's coconuts.*"
Canuck Wearing Hockey Helmet: "Yeah, but we get free healthcare."
American Who is Now Both Thirsty And Slightly Miffed: "Fuck that."

After finangling a deal for a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon for $28 dollars, we left with our tails between our legs and our wallets crying a veritable river of tears. This 50% tax is an insult to everything drunken. Cigars are sold by small children on street corners and no one seems to care. Afterall, if they get cancer they'll be taken care of so I'm pretty sure that families still smoke like chimneys on Canadian sitcoms. Condoms don't seem to be a big deal either as any presence of AIDS is knocked out by the "Magic Johnson Pills" that are distributed by Canada's version of Uncle Sam. Probably Uncle Bruce. I've met a lot of Bruces here. However I think that if the Republicans wanted to squash the push for socialized medicine they need only show the public the beer prices in Canada. I guarantee Karl Rove is thinking of this right now. Because he's both an evil genius and one of my most loyal readers. Shout out to Karl in the diamond district.

After a heavy amount of drinking in the hotel room we came to the realization that we had been outed for keeping 13 people in a set of rooms that we paid to have 4 in. The lady at the desk, a young person herself, was quite helpful in offering that she wouldn't give us any trouble if each extra person pay 30 dollars. Bribes are great and I hope that "Misty," if that is actually her name, enjoys the dinners we all just bought her. God bless, Misty.

After this small altercation we jumped on a shuttle that is nothing more than a drunk tank with a bunch of other Ohio folk. As it turns out the three major colleges in the Buckeye state are all on spring break at the same time and things definitely have a midwestern feel around this joint. We sang Hang On Sloopy at the strip club last night. No joke.

Getting dropped off...God knows where, we were immediately hounded by people planted on the street by various clubs and served as carnival barkers. The first place, Club Voodoo, was touted by a guy in his twenties and a girl who hung on his arm and pretended to be his girlfriend. Everything was cool until we got to the door and the two of them asked to see our IDs. If you've ever seen the movie Hostel, then you might understand why I suddenly got the feeling that we were all about to be sold as pet projects to struggling surgeons and freelance masochists. Worse than that though was the fact that the club was empty just our group, a lonely man playing video poker to forget about the drulls of his life, and giant tiki masks on the wall the reminded most everyone of Legends of the Hidden Temple. Weak.

Promptly getting the fuck out of there we were again told by a man, this time in a yellow jacket reading "STAFF," that his club was going to the hottest spot of the evening. Not one to be fooled twice I asked him how many people he thought were in there right now. To which he replied, "Umm. Well...."

By the time he had got to "well" I was already 10 yards away on a bee line for the strip club.

Never shying away from a good time, the college-attending masses laughed in the face of a 6 dollar cover and two drink minimum. It also might have had something to do with the fact that a chesty woman inside was willing to snatch a dollar bill out of your mouth with her boobs. It makes no matter.

Three drinks and one lowered self-esteem later we emerged feeling as though we really helped our new friend, "Hollywood," make enough money to pay this year's student loans for med school.

Luckily enough, as you leave the bar you're slapped in the face with the bright lights of Casino Windsor as they seem to beckon you to enter. So we did, intent on making back that night's bar tab.

Sitting down at a blackjack table with Josh Viox, Timmy Thompson, and Stephen Evancho we decided that the effects of 12 beers and the possibility of bankruptcy was not going to stop us from having a good time.

"We're the most fun table you're going to have all night," I told the dealer whose name was Luna and appeared to have been one of the first to jump out of East Berlin when the wall came down.

"I don't know about that," she replied.

With her steely eyes and straitlaced demeanor, she was the Ivan Drago of blackjack dealers. Calming myself with a few deep breaths I started to focus. Timmy, on the other hand, had lost 40 dollars before he figured out that tapping the table meant she was going to give him another card. Waging war on Luna made it clear to me how people could eventually become addicted to gambling. She was that much of a bitch. I felt I Robin Hood as I slowly mounted a chip stack. This wasn't for me. It was for all of us.

At some point I felt as though I was victorious, meaning I had made back my enormous bar tab, and left the table feeling like the POWs on Hogan's Heroes everytime they topped Colonel Klink.

It was at this point I was with a inebriated and disoriented Jess East and decided to walk back to our hotel, whose location was very much unknown at this point. Stumbling and looking for food we passed up what seemed like 14 Lebanese restaurants to check out a pizza joint....which just happened to be operated by a Lebanese couple.

They were extremely helpful and even took the time to explain to us the complicated Canadian currency system. Desperately trying to learn about loonies, toonies, and several other strangely-named coins left us believing that the only other places that accepted Canadian dollars are the Keebler Elf tree and below Mt. Crumpet in Whoville.

Anyone planning to make the trip should understand that Canada is like bizarro America. The money resembles grade school fingerpaintings, the beer is expensive, and people love to let you cross the street while they're driving. Tonight I fully expect to see a man that looks exactly like me walking down the street and wearing a Toronto Maple Leafs jersey. I'm pretty sure that the two of us would run the world.

If I'm functional tomorrow I'll talk to you then. Until that time comes, keep your stick on the ice.

*(The term "coconuts" has been officially started by Mike Repasky and is being touted as the new "bananas." Tell your friends, this is gonna be big.)