Last weekend a few girlfriends and I took one of their mothers to the bar for her birthday as that was what she wanted us to do for her. Seen as how all of us hate the bars we chose a bar that was apparently a little classier than the usuals, but plans changed last minute and I was told we were going to a different bar instead. To my astonishment the second choice bar was one I had avoided for a year with very good reason. I assume this had slipped my friends mind when plans changed. But I refused to mention anything because it was her moms birthday and I didn't want to be the party pooper. The second we stepped into the bar I felt weak and my face turned a pale white, I got goosebumps and I must have rubbed up against my friend because she apologized immediately for us going there and said we could leave, but I refused. I think secretly a part of me had wanted to walk through that building so that everything I had pictured over the past year could finally be viewed from where it all happened. Although the bar has been completely renovated and is a brand new establishment, anyone who had stepped foot in the bar that occupied that space previously could picture everything as it was perfectly. Unfortunately I was no stranger to that bar when I was underage, so everything looked the same to me.

After putting our coats in coat check, which conveniently happens to be in the basement where everything took place, we made our way upstairs to the dancefloor. My mind couldn't have been farther away and it was obvious to all that were with us. I often made my way to the washroom by myself as I didn't want company on my ventures. Again, this was conveniently located in the basement. I found myself just standing and watching the people and traffic coming through that area of the bar, picturing everything I knew in the exact place it had all happened. I stood in the exact spot someone was stabbed and died. I looked at the floor where there were remnants of bolts that once held down a metal bar, the metal bar that had my brothers finger prints on placing him in the area of the stabbing. I stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at where my brother had run to get his friend, and I stared at all of the people that occupied the space this horrific incident took place. Had I been drunk I probably would have started crying and possibly vomitting on the spot. Being as sober as I was, I was completely numb, compelled with deep sadness. As much as everything had changed, absolutely everything was the same. Same crowd, same security, same establishment. We left shortly after because my friend noticed I couldn't really be there anymore.

Other factors that make me hate the bar(these are things that only happened in that one night):

*first 10 minutes being there a man is seizuring on the ground, security doesn't know how to handle it, thinks this man is just drunk so they pick him up and literally chuck his convulsing body into the snow outside down a flight of stairs on the patio. An ambulance had to come get him.....eventually.

*the disgusting piggish men approach our group of girls and start trying to grind up against my friend, she shows her engagement ring, he says "what's that supposed to mean?" I say, Fuck off. This conversation goes on for a while before he gets the point which is more than annoying when you're out with your girls trying to have fun.

*more than half of the bathroom stalls are covered in vomit, and I literally mean COVERED. You can't even walk on the floor without almost slipping or ruining your shoes.

*Sticky drinks getting spilt on you as you try to walk past people.

*the bouncers ever so nicely kicking people out, by that I mean almost kicking the shit out of them while the cops stand right there and watch with smiles on their faces.

*I warned a very intoxicated man to stop running his mouth to the bouncers as they will seriously hurt him. He approaches me and calls me a bitch, luckily for me the cops thought it was funny and figured they'd scare him and take him to the drunk tank for that one.

*As we sit at a red light a few blocks past the bar after leaving, my friend's mom say's "I don't know why you hate staying at the bars until the end, that's when all the fun happens" before anyone can say anything the truck right next to us gets SMOKED by a car going at least 100km/h. I assume the guy in the truck and the girl in the car were both drunk as the truck driver took off with his back end dragging, and the girl in the car proceeded to drive her car almost hitting us.


I seriously give credit to those of you who can have fun at bars and ignore all of these amazingly traumatizing events. You all have guts for putting yourselves in that position every weekend. Bravo.