GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #401: VILLA PARK'S SLEAZE STRIP

So if you head west down North Ave. from Rt. 83, you'll reach a block that is probably ground zero of all crime in the suburbs, and it's about to get grimier.

You'll see Strat's, which looks like a very nice place, and it is. They have a decent burger, and the decor is straight out of the 'Fifties. But they have these car shows where macho bullshit reigns supreme. Every youth with a hotrod thinks he's James Dean on PCP, so they get a lot of fights there. They sometimes got so bad that Strat's stopped serving beer, hoping to cut down on the violence. It worked. A little. I remember being there for one of them, and when all the cops showed up, it made me very nervous about having a flask on me. Luckily for me my driver's license was suspended at the time because I didn't blow when arrested for DUI (and years after I got my license back, I was found not guilty). As such, I'd taken a taxi, so I got the fuck out of Dodge while the gettin' was good.

Then you'll see the OTB bar. Because gambling and alcohol go so well together, as anyone who has been to Vegas will attest. I haven't gone in there often, but when I have been there, there has been violence.

And then my favorite place on this sleaze strip: the best no-tell in the area, the Brer Rabbit Motel. I cannot tell you how many sordid nights I spent in this place, usually drunk and covered in the stink of sex. If you're looking for drugs or prostitutes, this is the place for you. If you get to your room after registering without someone asking if you want crack or meth, you probably look like a cop.

And you know what? I'll up the ante on this place. I'm sure many people have died there, through their own excesses or someone else's taste for death, but I know for sure that at least one murder happened there. It was a while back, and I'm too lazy and high to look up names right now, but there were a couple of guys who used to live there. They liked to dig up corpses and fuck them and leave them dismembered somewhere. Then they moved on to the living. They kidnapped a young woman and brought her to this motel, where they raped and tortured and killed her. If memory serves correctly, they dumped the body out behind the place. One grim detail remains prominent in my mind, though. They cut off one of her breasts and played Soggy Biscuit with it. If you don't know what that game is, it's when a bunch of dudes get together and jerk off onto a biscuit (UK) or cookie (US) or some kind of food. Whoever cums on it last has to eat it.

How's that for a fuckin' image? I hope you weren't eating anything while reading this one tonight. Reader discretion is advised . . .

But now there's a new addition to this sleaze strip. I just noticed it today. It's not open yet, and I think it is a tremendously horrible idea to open this place at that specific location.

The new business? A gun range. I'm not sure if they sell guns, too, but I'll bet they do.

Yeah, things have always been weird on that block between Villa and Ardmore, and I suspect it's going to get a lot weirder soon.

"I don't know how many years on this earth I have left, but I'm gonna get real weird with it."

THE DUI DIARY: Chapter 8 (Interlude)

Last night, I went to Strat’s in Villa Park to meet with a friend of mine. She’s putting together an art book, and she wanted my help to edit and format it.


I should explain that Strat’s is basically a hangout for teenagers, and it’s ‘Fifties-themed, so when I’m there, it feels like I’m living out an episode of HAPPY DAYS. However, most of the action takes place in the parking lot behind the restaurant. This is where everyone likes to party and show off their cars and act like alpha males. The only time they actually walk into the restaurant is when they need another drink.


So, Mari and I were sitting at a table, eating cheese fries and drinking a bunch of Schlitz, talking about the project at hand. Because I knew Strat’s didn’t serve hard liquor, I had a flask in my pocket filled with Stillbrook, and every once in a while I’d sneak off to the bathroom to take a snort. What did I care? It wasn’t like I was driving anywhere. We were going to share a cab back to our respective homes.


Well, at one point Mari pointed behind me and said, “Holy shit!” I turned to see a metric shit-ton of cops outside. Flashing lights and flashlights, everywhere. As it turned out, the idiot alpha males out back decided to figure out who the alpha-alpha male was, and they got into a huge fight. The cops were called, and they came out in force. I had no idea that Villa Park had this many police officers. People were being led away in cuffs.


It was 1:30 at this point. We had called our cab and were just waiting, because Strat’s closes at 2:00. However, the counter girls decided to close up early, and they said we had to leave. I guzzled the remainder of my beer, and we started heading out the door.

Well, there were still cops roaming around all over the place, and that never makes me feel comfortable. That many authority figures in one place makes me nervous, especially since I had a flask in my pocket, and it was at least a quarter-full. If they decided, for shits and giggles, to search us, they would have definitely found it, and it wouldn’t have been very good for my DUI case.


They watched as we stepped out of the restaurant. The manager of the place was about to lock up when, in my desperation to be away from these officers, I said, “Is there anyplace where we can wait around here? A cab’s on its way to pick us up.”


My request must have sounded very reasonable. The manager said, “Well, you can’t sit around out here. The cops’ll ask you to leave. I guess you can wait in here.”


She left the door open and locked the inner door to the restaurant. I’m not sure what the place where we waited is called. It might just be a foyer. I guess people in medieval times would have called it an antechamber. Whatever it’s called, they allowed us to wait between the inner and outer doors. Occasionally the cops would throw us a glance, but they must have deemed us insignificant, as they never approached us.


“I hope the flashing lights don’t scare our cab away,” I said.


Luckily, the cops had arrested everyone they wanted to, and they drove everyone else off the property. Five minutes later, our cab showed up and drove us home, where I finished off my flask and dropped into bed, full of relief.


TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW!

STRAT’S: WHERE NOSTALGIA ACTUALLY MEANS SOMETHING

Even from outside, Strat’s looks like it was lost in a time warp. One would expect the parking lot to be filled with vintage cars and teenagers with DA haircuts and cigarette packs rolled up in the short sleeve of their white t-shirts. Everything is done up in neon, and golden oldies blare from the speakers outside. Sometimes, you can hear some classic rock, but more often than not, you’re listening to Elvis, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly, and their likes as you approach the front door.



Inside, there is a counter running along the back wall, and all the tables have Formica tops. Around the ceiling hangs a train set, and sometimes, you can see the train circling above everyone’s heads. Along with the train tracks is a series of Illinois license plates, dating back to the ‘Fifties, as well as old advertisements for local car dealerships that have long since gone out of business.


There is a cigarette machine in the corner—for display purposes only—which seems to be filled with packs that might have been cellophane wrapped in 1966. There is a coin slot higher up on the machine, declaring that for a penny, you can get a match. On top of the machine is a collection of old beer cans, some recognizable, others not. Who out there remembers the Falstaff brand? On the wall next to the cans is an astray with a hot tip in the middle, long condemned as a fire hazard.


On the opposite side of the room is an antique Coke machine, again for display purposes only. On top is a crate of old fashioned Coke bottles, and nearby is a Coke cooler which has a door in the side, rather than on the top.


On the walls are pictures of Marilyn Monroe, the Three Stooges, the Beatles, and others, side by side with vintage beer advertisements. The most recent of them declares that Schlitz can be bought here in bottles, and surely enough, this is true.

Sounds like a lot of places around here, doesn’t it? Well, there’s a difference: Strat’s actually was here in the olden times of the ‘Fifties. It looks practically the same now as it did back then. There was no tear down and build up. Hell, there haven’t even been renovations. It’s the same as it ever has been.


The atmosphere isn’t the only draw; the food is damned good, too. The hot dogs might not be the best in town, but they’re still pretty good, and the burger will kick the shit out of any other charburger in the ‘burbs, even Portillo’s. The fries are a bit on the soggy side, though, so you might as well order them with cheese on them. That way, you’ll get a fork to go with it.


On Wednesday nights in the summer, they have a car show in their parking lot, which attracts quite the crowd. Sometimes, they also attract the police, as fights tend to break out often at these shows, but people very rarely come into the restaurant, so you don’t have to worry about long service times or finding a place to sit and enjoy your meal.


Overall, you will have a much better dining experience at Strat’s than you would at any other similarly themed restaurants, both in the aesthetic sense and in the quality of food.

Strat’s

231 E. North Ave
Villa Park, IL 60181