#23. Tequila Jack’s (Friday, July 8, 2016)

What was your best day…of just not caring?

It took me about a year into my first job to realize a very important truth: that just having a job (even as an economist) did not automatically equate to me being a mature person. And that it was totally okay for me to drink alcohol and have parties with my co-workers that went on past midnight.

It took me another year to realize that I didn’t have to wait for other people organize these group activities for me. If I liked that whole drinking and partying experience so much, why not do the simple thing and just go clubbing by myself?

So that’s what I decided to do on this Friday night.

However, for a city that I’d lived for most of my life, I had absolutely no idea where to even start in terms of Ottawa clubbing. So the night before, I did a little internet search and the only name that came up was the Liquor Store Party Bar. The pictures were all pretty hype, so I figured I could count on that as my go-to spot.

Friday night comes, I’m in the Byward Market (#112, #83), I’ve got my Duke shirt on, my glasses in their case, and my sunglasses hanging in front of my shirt like I’m the coolest guy ever. But it’s still early, so I go to the Lowertown Brewery (#34) and have my first of what I hope will be many drinks for the night.

After dinner (fish and chips) and a few beers there, it’s still early. So I just chill on the bench in the middle courtyard area and people-watch for an hour so. By the time it hits ten, the open time for the Liquor Store Party bar, I head on over.

There’s no line outside, and nobody around in this outside bar area which they have set up, which I find a little odd. But I just pay my cover and go inside. It’s a huge place, with a stage at the front and a bar right in the middle. And there’s literally no one in there except the bartender.

I ask him where everyone is. He says it’s still early: people here don’t start coming until eleven-thirty.

So I leave, walk around the Market (where the bars themselves all seem at least somewhat active) for an hour, then check back.

Now the crowd has increased from zero to a group of three. I ask the bartender again. He tells me that, yeah, this place is hit-or-miss. There should be some more people coming in, but tonight just doesn’t seem like one of those nights.

Then, probably noticing my disappointment, he tells me that if I want to go somewhere busier, I should go check out Tequila Jack’s. “That place always has people,” he tells me.

He gives me the directions. It’s on Clarence Street (near the U.S. Embassy) a few blocks away. And so, I’m off – while staying cautiously optimistic.

I get there. It’s around midnight now, and the music inside this Tequila Jack’s is blaring pretty loudly while it seems that a decent crowd has gathered. So I go in.

The place has this one bar on the base level, and further out there’s this small dancing stage with a pole. And beyond that, there’s a raised platform with another bar at the back, and a bunch of counters facing the dance floor. It’s not huge, but it’s a pretty cool set-up, and the crowd seems good and pretty lively. So I go to the bar at the back, ask what the special is. It’s always five-dollar Coronas, so I grab one and then lean forward on the counter facing the dance floor – observing the crowd down below that seems to slowly be getting bigger and bigger.

Soon enough, I join the throng of dancing down below. And when that happens, all hell breaks loose. The next two hours pass in a mass of loud pop music (my favorite), excited jumping up and down throughout the crowd, and people (or me, at least) loudly singing along. I get another Corona. A Budweiser. A Smirnoff Ice. This other drink they said was similar to a Jameson’s Irish whiskey (#25). I make my way from group to group, kind of joining each of them in their wild dancing. This is the dance club energy I had so desperately wanted to be part of all these years.

Finally, the party ends at two-thirty. I step out, jump into a cab, then thirty minutes later I’m at the front door of my house. All alone, ready to shower and fall into my bed after a long night of drinking and revelry, with no delusions whatsoever about my level of maturity.

Beautiful.