by ALICE AND YANKA

Dans la vie, a bag of eggs on a greasy counter screams louder than a gout outburst. Un régime de bananes parmis les patates coupées, voilà une vision plus réconfortante qu’un gars qui s’fait frire les paupières dans la poêle. These are the thoughts we think as we peep into a generic diner at 3:40 p.m. It’s not particularly enticing. It’s not particularly repulsive.

Inside, there are no customers save for 10 zombies having fun at the VLTs, the menu’s as plain as a banker’s suit, happy hour starts at 8 p.m. and the huge TV is on. Encore un désastre en perspective... Anyways, there’s no way out: le deadline nous colle aux fesses et nos doigts d’pieds sont congelés.

Heureusement, the year-round daily specials save the trip: a pitcher for $8.75, a pint for $3.75. Criss, we cry blood it’s so beautiful. Ça fait changement des ostie d’pintes à $7 du Barouf, entoucas. A pitcher is best, chirps the young waitress, it’s waaaay better than two pints. Vu qu’on a pas d’tête, ben come five o’clock, on est sul cul, saoûles comme des marins. We call the big boss to tell him we’re drunk on the job and must be eradicated from the masthead immediately. Supressez-nous, bosse, silplait. Ôtez-nous la tête du mastic, on vous prie. It’s the answering machine. Lucky bastard, va.

As the radio blasts classic rock puke, gamblers come and go from cash-gobbling machine to cash-spitting machine. It’s a beautiful scene to watch. A little granny says she’s spent $300 so far but knows she’s going to win the $800 she needs for the landlord and new dentures. A young man with crevices under his eyes spits at the ATM. In a booth, Dad congratulates his newly pregnant teenage daughter with a cheque and a trip to the back room. For the next four hours, they play side by side. Daddy drinks a lot of beer. Daughter spends a lot of money. Ça nous inspire yeink l’idée noire et la soif intarissable.

On est chaudes comme des mamelles engorgées alors on oublie tout. By chance, we take some pretty eloquent notes, which we find 12 days later in a dirty sock: “Une banderole de whatever flotte. Cheery pour un endroit qui vit des MLVs (sic) et des stoners. Stoners = endrogués. Grande murale colorée—on dirait Nixon en suit. Nixon? Les toilettes sont au diable vert. C’est le bordel dans le corridor. Le staff c’est comme maman. Les Rice Krispies me collent dans face."

We order 20 wings ($15.95) because we don’t feel like eating cheeseburgers or spaghetti. Cela s’avère être un excellent choix. The musky rock of animalistic masculinity in the kitchen connait ses wings. They are chubby, crispy and burning hot. Et y’en a 24. Twenty-four beautiful wings of desire. The french fries are cold but we’re too busy ravaging the chicken to care. Ah oui, et ici, on dip car les sauces viennent à côté. Y’a BBQ—thick, brown paste courtesy of Krap—and spicy, pristine, unabashed Tabasco. Ça brûle, ça dégouline partout, c’est réussi.

A few hours later, some evil thing that infiltrated our brain speaks the word “pizza” straight into the waitress’s ears. Pittssa haldresste, plize. From our trusty notes: “La pizza ($7.99) est huge. Ordinaire. Ça goûte vrai. Pas trop d’sauce. Full cheese. Je n’aime pas qu’on voit le pepperoni, faudrait le cacher."

Le plus beau dans tout ça, c’est les deux amis qu’on se fait dans nos têtes croches. Le premier, c’est Jack Kramer, a lumberjacketed hunk who delivers wings to those who can’t make it to the diner. He’s poised like we’ll never be. Then there’s the lovely old man sporting an orange tuque and a yellow shirt. Il mange du macaroni, comme tous les mardis. C’est des vrais. Et on les aime vraiment beaucoup.

SOMBRE BOUSE... cheapmotel@hotmail.com

Jour & Nuit
ADDRESS: 2071 Ste-Catherine W.
TEL: 846-1919
HOURS: 24 hours.
CARDS: Oui. ATM for the gamblers.
HAPPY HOUR: 8—11 p.m.
POOL TABLE: Oui
BOOZE: Beer, wine, some drinks.
WHEELCHAIR ACCESS: Yes. Small bathrooms, though.
VEGETARIAN FRIENDLY: Not too bad for a diner.
WORST FEATURE: Les machines loto vidéo. À mort, toutes.
BEST FEATURES: C’est un joyeux trou. Les wings.
BEST GRAFFITI: "You’re supposed to look good?
Start by pick your eyebrow."
GRADE: B