Becoming Montreal: Adult Things
Kris and I met on the job in the San Francisco; he as Actuary and me Tech Support Manager. For a reason that eludes me some 13 years later, we kept our budding romance on the down-low for quite some time, or so we thought, but when the two of you are the only ones left at the end of every Happy Hour there’s really no mystery – we were totally boning.
It was November, probably 2001, and one of us had a work trip in Montreal so the other flew out to join afterwards and together we had what can appropriately be called a rendez-vous.
We stayed in a hostel in Old Montreal and had the good sense to book one of the two private rooms available. Not that it mattered because everything was available; it was November in Montreal. We left the bed and braved the cold for just two reasons: food and entertainment. The two awkwardly combined one evening when dining with a work acquaintance and his wife. We met at one of those hot-pot places, maybe Korean? It was one of those restaurants where you basically cook your own food. A restaurant where you cook your own meal then pay for that privilege. The only thing worse than a hot-pot restaurant is a salad bar. I digress.
What made this meal awkward was that this work acquaintance gave Kris recommendations for Montreal’s best strip club. His tip was not delivered during the meal – it was not an open discussion between us four adults – so it was just hanging there, the knowing of it and his wife not knowing of it, limp and obvious like another raw slice of questionably-sourced pork needing to be boiled clean. The whole scene left a bad taste in my mouth that would only be sweetened by the tonic of a dozen white russians later that night. Mmmmmm…tonic.
Kris and I went to that strip club and a few others besides. We met a dancer with a butterfly tattoo and I kept slurring “pappeeyown” with every sway of her very expensive hips. It’s possible we even made it to the casino at some point. I’m sure we grabbed a late-night slice of pie (or was it a toasted bagel?) We were the only ones left at the end of those happy hours, pockets lighter and brain cells fewer, but brimming with carnal satisfaction.
Five years later and by no coincidence, we would marry in Montreal.
More soon on Becoming Montreal …