The latest installment in my dairy spans both Hamilton and Toronto. I never thought I’d have one foot in Hamilton and the other in Toronto, and the entire golden horseshoe in between. Which really is not that much, considering the great geographical spans I’ve done in the past.
Last Friday night I headed down to the Vapour Lounge, the place one can go to smoke weed and see entertainment including comedy. What I didn’t know is that there are a lot of places that start with Vapour - and I was at the wrong one. And, not only the wrong place, but also the wrong place with comedy on Friday nights as well.
My first observance about stoners is that they are all so mellow and nice. Without realizing it I completely conned my way in. Feeling assertive, I arrived at the window feeling only a slight feeling of being cool. “I’m here with one of the comics.”
The lovely blond-haired woman compted me in, and then gave me a nice little tour. When I said the place reminded me of being in Amsterdam (a city which for a few years was my second home), I learned this is the ultimate form of flattery in a “Vapour” establishment.
While waiting for my friend in the haze of all the “vapour” in the room, I started to figure out I’m in the wrong place. When someone texts me and says they are just parking the car outside and then still hasn’t arrived 30 minutes later, I know something is up. Either I’m in the wrong place, or I’ve picked up a second-hand vapour high.
These guys and gals must be so high all the time, that they can’t remember that guys like me, who burned out all our brain cells by the 11th grade, can’t remember anything more than one word. It’s such a stoner kind of confusion. It took two of us to figure it out.
Once the dots were connected, I kind of felt badly as this really nice woman got me in free and did all these nice things, and now it turns out I’m not with any of the comics.
The right place was the “Vapour Social Club” which has, on the last Friday night of the month, their Mary Jane Comedy Night, with an all female comic line up.
A cab ride later I arrive to what appears from the street to be a head shop. In the back, however, they have a large room set up for smoking/vapour and a make-shift stage.
This place, even though it's not a basement room, feels like it. I felt I was in some straight guy’s basement, all painted a heavy hue of green, with art work hung on the walls in groupings like my grandmother does. The furniture seems like it got lost on its way to Goodwill, with a wide array of chairs, reclining lounges and there may have been the odd TV table.
My friend and I joked about what it would be like getting up to do a routine stoned. I wondered if the audience would all just catatonically look at you as the jokes flew by them, as if they were on a five-minute delay. Who would know if they are laughing at the opening part of the set or the end?
There was one great dry and very dark joke that was simply the reiteration of what she had just said, but so dead pan that nobody got how fracking funny it was except my friend, myself, and one or two others in the back. It was great.
My friend rocked her set, and the other women up were great. Turns out the blondes were the ones I like the most. It was raw, I "don’t give a fuck what you think" kind of humour and I loved it. Burn the sacred cows.
This was just the beginning of my weekend. In only 24 hours from the Vapour Social Club moments I’d be on a stage in Woody’s taking on my greatest fear and experiencing the most liberating moments in a very long time, which included mooning the Woody’s crowd.