I recently remedied that situation (for only $10 at Diamond Jim’s on 11 Mile and I-75). I am happy to report that the addition of the wedding ring did not influence the amount of ladies looking my way on a given Friday Night bar tour. None with the naked finger and none with the ring in place. Whew!
This Friday found Tony and I venturing to the west suburbs, starting at Albert’s on the Alley, located at the northwest corner of Ford Road and Middlebelt in Garden City. Parking is a breeze in the large lot behind the bar. The parking area was lousy with cops trying to ruin my fun.
We were a bit alarmed by the lack of patrons on the outside patio and at the small bar which we could see from the front door, but love of drink kept us moving. There was no cover, and as we moved past the small bar near the entrance, we could see that the real action took place in the two larger rooms deeper inside the club. A Labatt and Miller Light cost a reasonable $6.50.
Of course, most bars are worked by cute, younger women. The theory being that younger men will spend more and tip more if they think the person serving them will go home with them at the end of the night. THEY WON’T.
Having copped to that I must mention that the ladies of Albert’s are the most striking in the area. My brother noted that one dark haired beauty behind the bar looked like the animated chick in the Roger Rabbit movie. That’s high praise indeed.
The crowd was young, Tony and I looking suspiciously like perverts or cops to all the twenty somethings (we are not cops). The concept of ethnic diversity has not yet hit this corner of Garden City, giving the room an overall pasty appearance. The split of the crowd was even between guys and gals.
A tiny dance floor in front of the DJ booth was used sporadically, with girls only dancing to 89X type rock. The patrons seemed to hang in herds, with little mingling or hooking up going on. Maybe the guy herds were hoping to get with the dazzling waitstaff, plotting the tip amount needed to do the trick. SUCKERS!
If you didn’t come to bullshit, there is plenty of sports on TV and Keno to bet on. Weirdly, there was also a large, horribly lit neon room off to one side that featured indoor horseshoes and virtual golf. I didn’t venture into that area, in fear that the extreme lighting would not jive with my mottled complexion and bloodshot eyes.
Finally, there seemed to be an air about the place that indicated that a fight would be an easy thing to find (the air equal parts smoke and testosterone). Some fucking kid pulled my brother aside and apologized for being an asshole when Tony tried to squeeze by and get a drink from the bar. He sheepishly admitted that his girlfriend made him say he was sorry. I couldn’t decide if bottling him for being a punk or a pussy was in order, so we decided to move on to other drink.
After a bit of arguing about who should have googled the next bar, we found Kickers on Plymouth Road west of Farmington. Again, parking was a snap in the huge lot next to the building. This is some sort of entertainment complex, with a comedy club and martini bar as well as the aforementioned Kickers.
Again, no cover. I must admit that the particulars of this place get a bit hazy as the night progressed, but I seem to recall that getting a beer was a cinch and that the cost was quite reasonable. Tony soon tired of beer and cleansed his palette with a Tanqueray and Tonic, again reasonable and well mixed.
There was one main room dominated by a huge rectangular bar. There were tables and bar height stools strategically placed, making walking around and seeing the sights very easy. The second much smaller room contained the dance floor and DJ, who oddly enough was perched very high in the air on a carpeted altar, looking like the great and powerful Oz ( I would have liked for Oz to spin better tunes).
The crowd was also skewed young (where the fuck do I need to go, so I don’t have to say that anymore). This bunch seemed a bit more upscale and dressed more to impress the opposite sex. There seemed to be more mingling and dancing going on, a real treat for the eyes (again, why are us guys so bad on the dance floor and when can I expect improvement?)
I do have a complaint to air, one which is not limited to Kickers. Why do we need a men’s room attendant? In between texting and yawning, he offered me a slightly wet paper towel and a crusty mint. I took the towel and passed on the mint, wondering why that kind of personal attention was worth a couple of singles. Now maybe if he gave my dick a shake or two...
Tony and I briefly looked into the martini bar, modestly named Perfect Ten. At that late hour, I didn’t have the strength or will to battle the pretension. Stick with Kickers, you might even go home with a partner who will not be rifling through your things during the night.
Cheers!
-Jim
Albert's on the Alley: 5651 Middlebelt Rd. Garden City, MI 48135
Kicker's: 36071 Plymouth Rd. Livonia, MI 48150
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