Vancity Vibes | DAY 15: Purple Retouch + After Party Club Cafe

With my days on the West Coast withering away, it was only fitting to maximize the remainder of my unsalted butter for another batch of cookies.

My fundamental array of tools were kept consistent: A weighted tumbler as a rolling pin and a dull knife for cookie separation. This time around, I took to toothed depressions along across the surfaces in addition docking the pieces with chopsticks, Lego-style. They were unequivocally as delicious as the variation with expired matcha. 

Aside from clearing out the fridge, I had another mission to tend to - an undertaking normally reserved for locals.

The province imposing recycling deposit fees for all packaged beverages in an attempt to encourage sustainable living (read that carefully: it is merely an attempt and no more) had angered me greatly. For the first few days of my stay, I had left our plastic water bottles in the hotel room. They had been too great of a hassle to lug though about. Since having accumulated quite a number of return-able items over the course of my stay though, efforts to recover the sum were now warranted.

After conducting some research, I learned of the designated return locations, as well as any independent features (ie. no alcohol, etc.) While I admit that I found it odd to have non-alcoholic and alcoholic bottle deposits retrieved at the same facility, I wasn't about to complain about the convenience; no additional run was needed.

​The trek to OK Bottle was surprisingly quick. It also felt more enjoyable given the breezier - yet still sunny - conditions. Within seventeen minutes, I arrived at the storefront. Meandering through the rows of vehicles, I realized that I had found myself facing the end-of-day rush.

My arrival had coincided with their last hour of operation, for they were slated to close at 5 PM. The lineup was long and traffic was high, yet many people continued to haul bags brimming with empty containers from the asphalt lot.

Within the facility were trays for sorting: they were grimy, just like The Beer Store, but noticeably filthier with black patches along the blue plastic crates. Slipping into the queue, I observed a very local experience. One tray had been sufficient for my needs, for I was only returning six bottles: 5 standard beverages and 1 beer can.

The lineup moved quickly despite limited staff behind the counter. Constantly heard echoing throughout the space was the shattering of glass, likely from haphazard tosses of returns. These sounds were less frequent at The Beer Store, for sorting compartments were hidden from view in a separate room, dissimilar to OK Bottle Depot's open concept with high ceilings.

I received sixty cents back - the lowest amount for anyone there. It seemed that most people visiting at the time were elderly, which made sense given that most adults would be working (or leaving work) around 4 PM on a Monday.

After another visit to Richmond Centre (and two Canada Posts), I headed back to So'o via the 414. It was a small-format shuttle operating between Richmond-Brighouse and the Richmond Olympic Oval. Only a handful of high school students were aboard the bus, which led to me to conclude residential proximity to the Oval or attendance in extracurricular activities nearby.
The driver actually departed the terminal earlier than scheduled, zipped through the local streets aggressively, then came to a screeching halt just before the Elmbridge Way/Minoru Blvd stop - requested by both myself and a teenager with lash extensions.

Following the pricey partial dye job, I had been made aware of the salon's one-week colour guarantee. Within this period, I could return for remediation services, should the colour exhibit fading and deviations from the intended result.

My stylist was advised of brassy around the left ear and general loss of saturation. I also expressed concerns over the dryness of my strands, which occasionally felt crunchy and rested uneasily atop my shoulders instead cascading smoothly. He listened and assured me that hair would undergo a natural "restructuring" after bleaching, and hold off on any moisturizing treatments until one month later. In the case of Olaplex, he suggested isolating for use on the bleached sections ("Do not waste on black hair").

In regards to hairwashing frequency, I was shocked to learn that most girls would wash their hair every 2-3 days, with his wife estimating a wash every 5 days to maintain vibrancy in her purple-green do. Washing every other way was less common, he noted, but also advised that one should not be altering their lifestyle strictly for the preservation of hair colour: "You gotta do what you gotta do and hair is just hair!" It was amusing to hear this from the stylist directly, as I am often scolded for lack of upkeep. The service was great and friendly as always, but hearing this humorously human side of conversation made it even more memorable.

Instead of reducing hairwashing frequency, I was simply urged to start using the purple shampoo sooner, ideally every 3-4 washes.

​Our conversation transitioned into hair dryer discussions, where I was recommended a more budget-friendly alternative of $200 (vs. the $500 dyson), and even locations for cute postcards. The stylist even asked for my departure date and messaged his coworker on the spot for recommendations!

Instead of the luscious curls I had been given on my first day, I departed the salon with a long, straight mane. The coif was styled by a mix of hand- and brush-drying techniques, as opposed to a flat iron. In fact, he advised against using styling tools, as the heat would act as a catalyst for colour fading.

​With the conclusion of my colour retouch appointment, I made correspondence with another member of 2020's Van Nam Nation. Her physio appointment had conveniently terminated at the same time as mine! We opted to pool an Uber to After Party, her suggestion for supper.

​Located in an established (read: dated) section of Richmond, After Party Club Cafe was barely visible when the plaza entrance. The interior was dimly lit for a lounge-type ambiance. Rows of unfamiliar board games lined the walls, along with empty sake bottles.

As it turned out, the cafe did not offer sake, but only basic varieties of beer. Not even cocktails had made their menu. Bubble tea concoctions with eyebrow-raising prices were shown to us instead.

​A small bowl filled cherry tomatoes and a single slice of lemon was delivered to our table. This appetizer was on the house. Each cherry tomato had been carefully peeled to reveal smooth, supple flesh. Its innate sweetness had been complemented with a sweet emulsion of sorts - likely based of simple syrup. The lemon slice had seemingly also been submerged in the brine, for it was only mildly acidic and mostly ingestible with a light tang.

​We browsed the menu, fitted with anime-like images of the items for visual appeal. My dining partner, who was substantially more ravenous than I, took to one of the Rice Combos and a platter of gold flake-topped pork bely. Both dishes boasted incredible aromatics and presentation. The Sizzling Pot, in particular, was interesting in its combination of diced carrot, pesto-like dollops, and basil garnish.

​My own Beef Salad was, frankly, too pricey for its constituents. Despite the combination being greater than the sum of its parts, the eighteen-dollar price tag felt extravagant. Service had been prompt and attentive though, earning the server a generous tip.

The stark differences in our meals did not detract from our conversations. Opinions were exchanged on recent happenings, the inflation of bubble tea, and general lack of infrastructure investment in the city. At long last, I would meet my match in topics such as faulty drainage facilities and objective evaluation of bubble tea franchises across the coasts.

​This chatter would pave the way for the summoning of Dirty Fries, which I cannot recall taking part in the consumption of.

Hazy is my recollection of this evening beyond the atmosphere of the eatery. The overall aura was quite cozy, though there left much to be desired in terms of menu assortment. Despite being branded as a "late-night" spot, they only operated until 10 PM, with last call being thirty minutes before. Boasting a password-secured Wi-Fi network, private rooms, and a plethora of English and Chinese board games was typical of such an establishment, though food quality and cocktail variety - or rather, lack thereof - was truly disappointing.

As we entered back into the outside world, "billowy" trees beckoned for rain. I would board my second (!) Tesla Uber of the trip to avoid droplets on the return route home.