Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad

Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad

The last time I’d been to the Griffin I had met a woman who began the evening telling me she was in fact God, but over the course of the following hours had actually turned out to be Satan. Once this bombshell exploded I slapped my head and exclaimed “That’s where I know you from! We went out for like a year…” The Princess of Darkness was not impressed.

Returning to the scene of the crime some two and a half years later, I’d discovered they’d done some severe reno. Even with the new fascia, there’s still the things I remember; stern eastern European owners running around yelling at people, beer that doesn’t quite taste right, and a dinner bill that has all the detailed information of a dollar store receipt. The bathrooms are now equipped with a timer that will shut off the light after 2, 5, 10, or 15 minutes depending upon the time selected. I’d heard tell that if you selected the 15 minute duration, the owner would come by and chew you out like Frau Farbissina angry from having to clean up after a not-quite-housebroken Mini Me. I found this funny since the bathroom’s so small that standing in front of the toilet has the not-quite-energy-efficient hand dryer triggered by your ass. Ahhh, consistency.

Oh, the show was fine. Second-last on the bill, Rankin and I hit the stage with two sketches and a scene we tried to improv on a stage the size of two placemats. Did a decent job for the first time we’d put this together. Even the Humber students laughed. You should all try to make the trip to the Griff, if for no other reason, to see the regular attendee who camps himself close to the stage and laughs with all the abandon of 18 hyenas with their tails trapped under a rocking chair. Incredible.

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