Groupon. You Bastard!

It’s been a long, frickin’ week and I had been looking forward to seeing my sister for a while. Her and her firefighter lady friends always come down for a cruise on Halloween weekend. Last night our plan was to meet up and hit South Beach with a Groupon one of her buddies purchased online.

Warning: If you don’t know a city, check references  before buying a Groupon. Trust me. Sh*t gets ugly real quick!

I took the Tri-Rail ( our commuter train system) from my house in North Lauderdale to Miami Airport. It was a long trip and my phone was dying. Of course my baby sister didn’t know that I lived so far away. Plus, I never really take the train so it was kind of an adventure for me. My mom in law dropped me off and told me to be careful. I had to smile. Even at 42, it’s good to know that you’re still a kid to someone.

About an hour later, I’m at my train stop. Knowing my sister is often on CPT (Colored Peoples Time), I’d called her about fifteen minutes before I had to disembark.

Of course, she was still at the hotel when I called back from the station. Baby sisters. You gotta love’em, right?

I don’t know how many of you have every been to Miami on foot at night. Let me just tell you, the walking dead aren’t just on tv anymore. No ma’am. I sat under the brightest street light around…and kept one eye on the security guard.

Baby Sis finally arrived with her five woman crew. We started out on our way…but then there was some mention of avoiding toll roads.

Again, I’m not sure how many of you have ever driven through Miami at night. Honey, all I have to say is STICK TO THE HIGHWAY. We ended up driving through Historic Overtown aka Cracktown. Honey…the street was thick with the addicted, unwanted and unloved last night. I’ve never seen anything like it. Again…the walking dead are real and living in Miami.

So, we finally make it to the place. As we’re driving up, my sister and her friends were like, “This can’t be it”.  Oh, it was it…and it was not a restaurant or a bar. IT was a hostel…with a bar. “A hostel with a bar?”, one might ask. Yes. A rundown hostel with a bar. We looked at the picture. It had nothing to do with the place…but the night was paid for and we took a chance.

We pull up to park. Parking was an experience. I won’t even get into that part. We go to the bar and a lovely young, Scandinavian girl in a bikini greeted us. She was nice. The bar was dirty. The man peeking around the corner was dirty. He was also the chef. The hookahs were nice though. I think that’s where they spent all of the supply money. We ordered our food, drinks and hookahs, then sat at one of the dirty benches.

It’s a hostel so there were lots of questionably clean, young travelers hanging out. Some of them were dressed quite nicely. Some of them were dressed like hookers. Man hookers, Woman hookers, unidentified flying hookers, hookers in wigs, hipster hookers…the place should be named Hookahs and Hookers.

I get my drink, Sprite and vodka…which is usually my go to drink. I forgot that I usually go to classier places. Even the dive bars I’ve frequented have been classier places. I am currently regretting that decision. I woke up with a headache that was just painful enough to be completely annoying. Rot Gut will do it to ya.

As I was saying, my sister had to go to the loo. She was standing in the lounge for a while so, I went to check on her. I go inside and it’s full of more questionably clean, european travelers watching a football game or something…and my poor sister is standing in a corner, traumatized. Apparently the only bathroom available is also the shower room for the ‘guests’. After a girl in booty shorts and a crop top comes out with a towel over her shoulder, my sister looks at me and goes in. I wait. When she walks towards me, she doesn’t seem sick to her stomach so I guess the bathroom wasn’t too bad. I declined to use the facilities.

We get to the table and eat our chicken wings (deep fried food is safer) and sip our hookahs while trying to relax into our situation. Some hipster hookers sit behind my sister’s friend and begin having a loud conversation in their hipster tongue. Now all of these guys, about six or seven of them, are really animated…until a girl in a pink wig walks up to them. Then they begin to disappear. Some with other guests, some just walk away. Maybe she’s the pimp?

Any way, we finished our meal (yuck), our drinks (oy!) and our hookahs, tally up our tip total and prepare to leave. Baby sis hands the Bikini Bartender her tip and she says, “Oh…what’s this?” Apparently she’s never gotten a tip before. Wow. Somebody’s been taking her tips or nobody’s been tipping. Either way, now she knows there should be money for service. We think the dirty chef has been taking her tips. Maybe he’s the pimp?

Anyway, it’s always fun to hang out with my baby sis. If nothing else, we shared another adventure which I’m sure we’ll be talking about when we’re old. Like all of our stories, this one won’t need too much embellishment to be funny. But right now, it’s Halloween and I gotta Mama Up. Lil Dude wants his candy!

But that rot gut hurts so bad…