I worked as a bartender for a number of years in my early twenties and, when the hotel I worked for closed down, I applied for a job at The Roxy, a now-defunct venue that used to showcase some fantastic bands. I was excited because I would, hopefully, see some bands that I adored. On my first night, Australia’s “The Cruel Sea” was playing and I was over the moon. I trotted into work and was told I would be working upstairs instead of the main room. I glumly trudged upstairs and opened the door into a roomful of pain. Like, an actual room filled with pain. It was the Hellfire Club, a once a month night when people who loved bondage and discipline got together to whip each other with various implements. The first thing I saw was a masked 6ft tall lady wearing a G-string and thigh-high boots with 2 men walking behind her like dogs, wearing leashes. One of them was even barking. I took up my position at the bar and tried to avoid watching a portly naked man being spun around on a wheel-like device while a lady belted him with a whip. About halfway through the night, a semi-nude man with perfect hair, wearing what appeared to be 3 leather belts tied strategically about his person, sidled up to the bar.
Can I help you?
Yeah, can I have a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks with a twist of lemon and you?
Um. You can have all of those things except one.
Okay, hold the lemon.
Well played, weirdo. Well played