When I first heard about the “Jerk Store” from Jason (Callan), I was intrigued. As a woman, I have read many things about the Mars/Venus thing, and I wasn’t really convinced that it could be true, until I experienced the Jerk Store.

Jason told me that it was a basement that had been transformed into the ultimate male bonding pad (or shall I call it the cave). The conversation piece was the working toilet in the middle of the room. The Jerk Store was a place where the crowd would hang out until the wee hours on a Friday night (or Saturday night or Sunday night . . . ). I knew at once that I would have to visit this mystical place as soon as possible.

Finally, the day came. I entered through Ed and Slav’s living space on the top floor and took the back stairs down, past the kegerator, until I finally arrived. The basement was a man’s paradise equipped with a pool table, bar, and dart board. I don’t want to forget to mention the television that is artfully strung from the ceiling by various cables and bungee cords. (Editor's Note - the television is actually secured by metal brackets attached to the wall by 600 pound-rated masonary screws) The bar, rickety as it is, is a great spot to rest your drink and use the large ashtrays. Festive Christmas lights dress the ceiling twinkling their lights on the activity below. A box fan also adorns the bar area, hanging precariously by yet another bungee cord, twisting and turning in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Several times, I noticed different people mesmerized by its ebb and flow.

It seems as if there are constantly simultaneous games of darts and pool going on complete with the expected touching of fists in recognition of a finished round. The music flows throughout the room just as the cigarette smoke floats upward creating an air of masculine contentment.

One would think that there should be a “No Girls Allowed” sign plastered to the door, but the girls are welcome if they choose to join in the fun. (Editor's note - women are actually encouraged to visit) One would also think that the boys might refrain from using the public toilet (did I mention that it was located in the middle of the room?) only partially hidden by a flimsy screen, but that didn’t seem to bother most of them. They weren’t at all embarrassed and, although the girls turned their heads to the event, it was impossible to ignore the sound of the steady beer-induced stream of urine striking the porcelain.

Ah, yes, a man’s paradise it is. I am just grateful that the manfolk were gracious enough to welcome me into this space. I feel as if I have had a glimmer into the male psyche that most women do not have the opportunity to see. As I emerged from the basement that night, stumbling up the stairs after a few beers, I stepped outside and took a deep breath. I reflected on the evening, what I had seen and learned, and found myself anticipating the next visit to the Jerk Store.