I PUSH IN YOUR STOOL?|
five or six years of getting drunk on the grassy slopes of Sepang, me and Paul
resolved to chill out at one of the many F1-related events in town. Somehow, we
ended up inebriated at our favourite spot along the Asian Heritage Row. There
was F1 action all right.
group of Ah Bengs were beating the shit out of some cocky Mat Sallehs outside
the club next door. The thing about these Mats - who claim to circumnavigate the
world, follow every race, visit every bar - is that they are apparently not street
smart. You don't mess around with stoned Ah Bengs. One phone call from one of
them and half of Pandan Indah, Pandan Perdana, Pandan Utama, will be there faster
than Alex Yoong.
of a sudden, our club decides to close at 3:30 am, leaving us high and dry (literally).
I remember our friend, Wak, telling us about a club that closes at 7:00 am, somewhere
along the Ampang diplomatic row. You see, Wak is no ordinary drunk like us. He
is the tireless ADC (Aide-de-Camp) to the party princes and princesses. He settles
their fights, keeps track of their bar tabs, liaises with car jockeys, keeps the
leeches at bay and leads them out through the backdoors whenever there is a raid.
I'm surprised he is not already a Datuk by now.
we don't have an ADC, we summoned our own cab and Muthu arrived at the scene promptly.
Going home so early Macha?
Me: We're going to party in Jalan Ampang.
I know that place, they play house music.
Me: Wah Muthu, you know your music.
Muthu: House music my house also got Macha.
were greeted by a long line at the door, on arrival at 4:00 am. Another boozer
Sharizal previously observed that
me and Paul kena every bouncer in town. Unfortunately, this time the burly
face at the door was as familiar as my MP. Fortunately, good old Wak was there
and he waved us through.
Even though the place was dark and packed like
a lucky draw hamper, it took us only 1.7 seconds to realise we were in a Malay
gay club. The homophobic Mentri Besar is going to get another heart attack if
he ever steps in here. The bad news is that even gay clubs are racially polarised
these days. Gone are the gay muhibbah days of (now defunct) Blue Boy, Back
Room and Carbon. I have not been to Liquid, Velvet or
Frangi recently to ascertain if they have also gone the way of local universities.
owner turned out to be a friend of Paul and he shoved four free jugs of beers
in our face. The nice thing about this club is that the clientele and atmosphere
is very egalitarian. Eveybody was drinking either bottle stouts or draft beers.
No premium whisky bottle one-upmanship as seen at the many bars in town these
days. Everyone was friendly and the the music ranged from classic house
to garage. The poorly designed bar occupied half the place but it is an unavoidable
consequence of its previous emergency room days.
we were well stocked up for the night, we decided not to be fishes out of water
and went with the flow (literally again). Woohoo! The only babe in the house was
sitting right next to us, lucky us! I dutifully chat her up and fifteen minutes
into it, she excused herself to go poo poo. It was only then that Paul slapped
me on the shoulder and told me she's a bloke. Damn, if only I knew earlier I would
have used the titular pickup line. Shit!
5:33 am sharp, the club's AWACS (Aman Warning And Control System) received signals
of an impending raid. The lights came up and the music went down. Nervous patrons
streamed out obediently and the boss gave air kisses to every guy at the door.
Me and Paul made up our minds to grab more beers at the Seven Eleven outside.
To our surprise, we found Muthu sprawled in the back seat of his cab, surrounded
by empty cans of stout. He must have waited for us, and it took a few hard slaps
to wake him.
How you gonna drive Muthu?©
2005 TV SMITH
Muthu: I cannot Boss...
Me: Never mind Muthu,
you sleep here and we take another cab.
Muthu: No No! Here's the keys. You
drive me home please Macha...
Link to this article: http://www.tvsmith.net.my/duasen/200305_stool.html