Once the kegs are tapped and the booze begins to flow, a select group of bar hoppers head out for a Saturday night pub crawl that is anything but average.

The Star tagged along with AGCO inspectors J. Leadbetter and N. Fernando on a recent December evening to learn what it’s like to make a living by keeping the city’s nightclubs and bars in line with the law.

This interview has been condensed and edited.

10:15 p.m. — the first stop

“Stay behind us if a fight breaks out, we’re your muscle,” says Fernando jokingly, as the inspectors approach their first stop of the night. In reality, AGCO inspectors educate first, enforce second. This can range from fines to licence suspension and even revocation.

Showing off their badge to the doormen, the pair enters the hall with notebooks in hand. An electric remix of Duke Lake’s “Do You” echoes off the walls as performers wrapped in Mylar survival sheets twist and turn on the dance floor (yeah, it’s that kind of party). The scene doesn’t distract Leadbetter as she scans the group of twentysomethings for underage drinking, overcrowding and disorderly behaviour (such as drug use and fighting).

11 p.m.

Leadbetter carefully sidesteps splashes of vomit on the pathway to a Parkdale-based tavern. “You should have seen some sidewalks last night,” she says. “We called it the American Gladiator gantlet of puke.”

After ensuring the venue’s liquor licence is posted publicly, Leadbetter sifts through liquor receipts while Fernando strikes up a conversation with an older patron. It’s his birthday, the man reveals, kick-starting a friendly chat in which the two guess each other’s ages. Unbeknown to him, Fernando is gauging the man’s level of drunkenness.

“We look for any obvious signs to assess someone’s level of intoxication, like inappropriate sweating, glossy red eyes, vomiting and slurred speech,” she says. “But you don’t assume someone is drunk based purely on physical observation. That’s why we talk to them.”

11:25 p.m.

A hipster hangout complete with pinball and arcade machines marks the next stop on the booze patrol tour. Heading into the basement bar, the inspectors equip their mechanical counters to do a head count check for overcrowding.

Leadbetter moseys her way up to the edge of the subterranean saloon’s bar, and the walk-through begins. Like most pubs, it’s loud and stuffy but not cramped enough to make her uncomfortable.

“If we feel at any point our safety is in jeopardy, whether it’s due to severe overcrowding or a large fight, we’ll remove ourselves from that situation,” she says. After comparing notes, the inspectors conclude the place is a little bit too crowded. Leadbetter steps outside to explain the violation to a manager as a patron serenades the group in the background with a drunken rendition of Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel.”

11:59 p.m.

The twosome swings by what looks like an office party with a special-occasion permit. Just as the inspectors arrive, a young woman swings open the entrance door and prances down the street with an open Stiegl tallboy in hand.

Strike one: You can’t leave the party with alcohol. But other than that, the place appears to be in tip-top shape. For Leadbetter, temporary permit check-ins are another notch in a long list of to-do’s. The downtown beat she is responsible for contains 500 to 600 liquor-licensed businesses alone.

“We try to visit as many as we can,” she says, explaining the AGCO’s “risk-based enforcement” philosophy. The protocol helps determine which venue is due for an inspection based on several factors, such as the business type, location and past infractions. Think more nightclubs, fewer Swiss Chalets, Fernando adds.

12:38 a.m.

No door remains locked for an AGCO inspector, not even those into intimate booths at a strip club. “We go anywhere there is a liquor licence,” Fernando says while stepping into an adult hot spot. “We can’t pick or choose.”

Legislation grants inspectors the authority to inspect every inch of a licensed area, not excluding private lounges filled with naked women and gyrating bodies.

1:02 a.m.

Loading... Loading... Loading... Loading... Loading... Loading...

It may be early Sunday morning, but the night is still young on King St. West. Bypassing a 30-person queue — and attracting more than a few unsavoury stares in the process — it takes the inspectors less than 10 seconds to enter one of the Entertainment District’s more popular nightclubs.

Inside, Leadbetter glides in and around the jam-packed crowd. Some partygoers try to dance with her, others attempt a high-five, but her focus is fixed on the club’s sofas. They’re a haven for those who have passed out.

“If we observe someone who has consumed too much and bring it to the attention of staff members or tell their friends . . . we may have actually saved someone’s life,” Fernando says.