It started off like a typical Friday night in the city.
While chatting over a few glasses of wine, my two friends and I were trying to decide which bar to hit up. Little did we know, this night was going to leave one of us embodying a Sean Kingston song.
Making our way down College Street, we stop in at College Street Bar. Its original name caught our eye and we couldn’t resist.
The place was dimly lit and had small candles as centrepieces on each table, which bordered the dance floor. We approved. As we sauntered in, we ordered drinks and snagged a table. A guy comes up to us and sweet talks his way into sitting down in the last empty seat. He was decent. Well… he was cute enough to prevent us relocating.
But he wasn’t hot enough to have us vying over him. After some random small talk, my two friends run off to the washroom, leaving me to man the fort and entertain our new friend. Fine, I’ll take one for the team.
The music is loud and we’re sitting across from each other. “How long have you moff shmuff?” he asked.
“WHAT WAS THAT?” I screamed over the music. I leaned forward in an attempt to hear his question.
“How long have you lived in the city?” he repeated, when suddenly his eyes darted down toward the v-neck cut-line of my shirt.
Now, realizing he’s a scumbag, I lower my head as I answer, trying to get his gaze back to eye level.
Suddenly his eyes widen, resembling a deer in the headlights. No pun intended.
I glimpse down at my chest wondering what could cause such an expression and realize that THE TIPS OF MY HAIR HAVE CAUGHT ON FIRE, thanks to the dumb candles in the middle of each table. Why put open flames in an area where people are drinking?!
Let’s just say my self-preservation instincts in that moment were not at their best since my first reaction was to try and blow it out. That only made the fire bigger and work its way up.
In my brave tipsiness, I clapped the fire out with my BARE HANDS. There’s that killer instinct of mine. Good-for-nothing-average-looking-boy just watched the entire ordeal.
Chunks of my burned hair started falling to the ground as my friends returned. When they sat beside me they started to plug their noses and gasp for clean air. A note to all – burning hair smells REALLY bad. Don’t try it at home. This officially took me off the market for the night.
The next day I talked to Val Macai, the owner from College Street Bar, and asked if this is a common occurrence. I was just curious. She said she’s never heard of any candle incidents in her 20 years in the business. “The diameter of the rim is not that big,” she said. “They’re as safe as they can be.”
It’s just me then. Great.
And yes, that night, you could say there was, “Fire burning, fire burning on the dance floor.” Literally.
~ Amanda Cupido