Monday Night Meatmarket

From the window to the wall, ACME's tight, and the Kreme clique's aiight.

Let's see if I can do justice to this mutha: Monday nights at ACME Roadhouse in Tempe are off the hook, the chain, the rope, the string, and just about anything else you can imagine. According to manager Alex Mundy, ACME, about a block south of University on Rural, serves some 800 to 1,000 people every Monday night, and as y'all might imagine, that's some serious potential for the exchange of chromosomes.

Ostensibly, it's an "industry night" for folks in the restaurant or bar biz, with drink specials up until 10 p.m., but it seems like most people get there after 10 p.m., so go figure. And though the bisexual Lindsay Lohan (a.k.a. Jett) and I did conversate with folks in the Valley's service industry at ACME, I'd guestimate that most of the peoples "in da club" were neither drink-slingers nor plate-bringers. Apparently, ACME has the rep for slammin' Monday nights, and it packs 'em in tighter than Lil' Kim's bustier.

When we roll up on the spot 'bout 10:30 p.m., the parking lot's so jammed there's not an inch of space left, and the J-girl and I have to park it at the strip mall next door. Inside, a mixed-race crowd is bumpin' elbows, with almost everyone in their early 20s. There's a big square bar in the center, pool tables in the back, and little VIP-like areas to the back right and front left of the bar. Near the entrance to the large patio is a cage where the girls can get wild, busting their best go-go moves. The patio's large enough for a game of touch football, with another bar, tables and chairs to the sides, and a big milling-about area in the center.


The party's crunk, and we're feelin' it, but it's too damn loud inside for a proper confabulation. So we grab some cocktails and head outside where it's just as crowded, but the hip-hop's thumpin' just a notch or two lower. There we rub up on four hella-fine females -- Kelsey, Ashleigh, Jessie and Brittney, all of whom are bartenderesses at other establishments, in keeping with the theme of the night.

"So what are you gals up to this evening?" asks the Jettster, who, despite her newly het-welcome status, still enjoys kickin' it with lovely ladies.

"Just drinking and hanging out," answers Kelsey, a brunette cutie with a bare midriff. "We come here every Monday. I'm a bartender at R.T. O'Sullivan's in Mesa. It's a sports bar-restaurant."

"But I don't get it, why here instead of some other bar?"

"It's a routine we're all on every week," continues Kelsey. "In Tempe and Scottsdale, there's a bar every night that everyone goes to. Monday night, it's ACME. Tuesday night it's Axis/Radius, and so on."

"As you're all bartenders, what's your favorite drink?"

"Pink pussies!" they all scream at once.

"Mmm, sounds like something I'd like," says Jett. "What's in it?"

"It's a shot," says Ashleigh, a blonde babe who also works at R.T. O'Sullivan's. "It has vodka, Malibu rum, peach sour, and pineapple."

"Are you really a heartbreaker?" Jett inquires of Brittney, who has on a tee shirt saying as much.

"I am," she admits with a sly smile. "I've broken some. I only go for older guys, though."

The others chime in: "Yeah, older, older."

"What is it about older guys?"

"They know what's goin' on, and they know how to treat you right," explains Brittney, who, along with Jessie, is a barkeep at some place called the Fox and Hound.

"Hey, what's the matter with young guys?" I ask, trying to stand up for my fellas.

"They've got nothing going on," she says. "And they're only after one thing."

"Right, like some girls I know," I crack, rolling my eyes at the Jettster. "So you mean to say that none of the guys here tonight have a chance with you ladies?"

"Nope. No way," they all say.

Dang, now that's cold. We bid the ladies adieu, and decide we'd best get the other side of the male-female divide on the record, as is only fair. Fortunately, nearby is a white dude with a light spiky 'do, suckin' on a Coors Light and staring at Jett like he can make her panties fly off with his eyes alone.

"Get a good look so you can remember me when you're pullin' taffy later," says the Ambisexual One.

"Don't mind her, mon, she's still trying to decide if she prefers Ball Park Franks or tacos this evening," I say glibly. "What's your name and where are you from, bub?"

"The name's Brian, and I'm from Ohio originally, but I live here now," he replies. "I sell life and health insurance for a living."

"Right on. So when you're out at ACME, do you like scopin' the ladies?" I query.

"Of course, who doesn't?" he shrugs, taking a hit off his beer.

"Are you gettin' any numbers?"

"Nah, you don't get numbers," he says, grinning. "You get her number the next day, afterward."

"Spoken like a true playa. So you've scored at ACME, I take it?"

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