Page 15 of Hat Trick Daddies

It’s been years since I’ve driven these streets, and the city feels both familiar and foreign at the same time.

The last time I was in Minneapolis, I was barely eighteen, still figuring out who I was and getting ready to head off to Notre Dame. I wasn’t even old enough to drink, so it’s no surprise I don’t remember a bar like Surf’s Up.

As I approach downtown, my GPS chimes, directing me to a smaller side street just off the main drag. I feel a flicker of curiosity, and maybe a little apprehension, about what Kenzie has dragged me into.

When I pull up to Surf’s Up, I have to blink to make sure I’m in the right place.

The bar looks like a fever dream come to life, a cross between a cheesy Vegas lounge and a Florida dive bar.

The exterior is painted in bright pastel colors, pink, turquoise, and yellow, with fake palm trees flanking the entrance. A massive, neon sign juts out over the sidewalk, flashing “SURF’S UP” in alternating waves of hot pink and electric blue. Beneath it, a cheeky slogan reads, “Where the drinks are strong, and the vibes are stronger!”

The campiness doesn’t stop there. The front windows are plastered with posters advertising karaoke nights, drag shows, and drink specials like “Mai Tai Madness Mondays” and “Tiki Tequila Thursdays”.

Rainbow flags hang proudly alongside surfboards mounted to the walls, and a giant plastic flamingo stands sentinel near the entrance, its wings outstretched as if it’s welcoming everyone inside.

For a moment, I wonder if Kenzie is pranking me. The place looks so outlandish, so unapologetically over-the-top, that I can’t imagine her taking me here in earnest.

But then again, Kenzie did say it was fun. With a sigh, I grab my bag and step out of the car.

The tiki theme hits me full force as I step inside. Surf’s Up looks like it was decorated by someone with a deep love for tropical kitsch and absolutely no restraint.

Bamboo-lined walls are hung with fake ivy and strings of colorful lights shaped like pineapples and flamingos. Thebar itself is a carved wooden structure with a thatched roof, complete with tiny plastic hula dancers twirling along the edges.

Tiki torches glow softly in the corners of the room, their flames thankfully fake, and paper lanterns dangle from the ceiling. The air smells of coconut, rum, and something citrusy, like a permanent happy hour in paradise.

Despite the kitschy decor, the place is surprisingly clean and well-kept.

The polished floors gleam underfoot, and the bartenders behind the counter are dressed in matching Hawaiian shirts, their movements efficient as they mix drinks and chat with patrons.

The crowd is a mix of people, some in business casual attire, clearly stopping by after work, and others who have fully embraced the theme, wearing Hawaiian print clothing and leis.

I walk up to the bar, scanning the cocktail menu written on a chalkboard shaped like a surfboard.

After a moment, I order a piña colada. It feels like the most appropriate choice. The bartender gives me a cheerful smile as he sets to work.

“First time here?” he asks, pouring the drink into a tiki-shaped glass.

“Is it that obvious?” I reply with a laugh.

“Naw,” he says immediately, then he glances up at me as he dumps ice into a glass. “Yeah,” he says with a laugh. “We get a lot of regulars. I would have remembered someone as pretty as you.”

“Don’t even think about it,” I say with a laugh, shaking my head. “I’m not here for a hook-up.”

He laughs with me and holds up a hand in surrender. “Hey, had to shoot my shot right?” he says ruefully.

I giggle and nod. “Sure, why not.”

“Let me know if you need anything else,” he says to me and moves to the other side of the bar to work on more drink orders.

I watch him go, taking a sip of my drink. Is every guy around here desperate to get laid?

Who knew that I just needed to move back to my hometown to find love? It seems like I could have unlimited options here, not that I’m looking for that kind of thing.

“Hey!” Kenzie says as she chucks herself into the bar stool next to me with a cute little flounce. “Sorry I’m late. Life of a veterinarian and all.”

“From one doctor to another, I get it,” I say with a smile.

“Piña colada?” she asks me, eyeing my colorful drink.

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