A drunk gets viciously bounced and I make a $100 mistake
On Wednesday night, I was on a mission to find a bar. My Lonely Planet Buenos Aires guide listed an Irish bar called “The Shamrock” that was in my neighborhood, so I left my apartment at about midnight in search of Guinness.
After wandering around for about an hour, I had worked up an appetite and stopped at a restaurant for some pizza. They had two choices of sizes--- grande y chica. The “chica” was obviously smaller, so that’s what I ordered, although it didn’t make me feel muy masculino (“chica” does mean little girl, yes?). I ordered una cerveza to try to make up for it. Though, I felt even less masculino when I was only able to eat ¾ of the pie.
I was lost, and had given up on finding the Shamrock until I saw it on my way back home. The bar is actually pretty cool--- the bartenders understand English, and the patrons are a mix of about 25% foreigners and 75% locals.
So, I was drinking at the bar when this really drunk British guy appeared and started talking to a guy from Manchester that I had briefly met a few minutes before. The bartenders yelled at him for something (I think he had brought in a bottle of liquor and was drinking it) and everything was cool for a few minutes until there was a loud crash against the window about 10 feet away. Then a pretty Argentinean girl hurried out of the bar with her hand holding her head, and every one was trying to figure out what had happened. The bartender even asked me “Que paso?!?” and I said “I don’t know! No se!”.
Fairly quickly, the staff figured out that the drunk Brit had thrown a bottle that bounced off of the window, and the bouncer came over and grabbed him and forcefully had to take him out of the bar. But that wasn’t the end of it. The drunk Brit wasn’t happy about leaving, and he and the bouncer scuffled outside, while a lot of the people in the bar pressed up against the window to watch.
The bouncer and the drunk were separated, and people returned to drinking, when the Brit came back and threw a punch at the bouncer. Right in front of the window--- and the bouncer, who was just a small scrappy little guy, punched him a couple of times, knocked him down, and then just started kicking the crap out of him…. he must have kicked him six or seven times before another person who worked at the bar pulled him away. The drunk guy was all bloody and someone helped him up and down the street.
So that was kind of exciting.
I stayed at the bar for a couple more hours, mainly talking to an Argentinean guy that I had met, Alvaro. The bar closed at about 5am, and Alvaro and I walked back together for about 6 blocks until our paths diverged.
So then, I was just at the door of my apartment building, when this guy came up and told me about this bar that was open that was just next door called “What’s Up?” and gave me a little promotional card and led me inside.
This is kind of where alcohol started clouding some of my decisions. The bar was nice and modern looking, and I didn’t really notice that most of the people there were women. Of course, I noticed that there were a lot of pretty women, I just didn’t notice that there was only about a 1:5 man-to-woman ratio. I ordered a gin and tonic, and a girl sat down on my left and started talking to me. The bartender gave me the drink and told me “Treinta pesos.” Treinta pesos is about U$S 10 dollars--- so, not overly expensive for a drink in NYC or San Francisco, but crazy expensive in Buenos Aires. The Shamrock was expensive, and Sapphire tonics were only 8 pesos!
I said “Treinta pesos!?!”, and paid her, but left no tip. I made a silent resolution to drink my drink and leave as quickly as possible. Another girl sat down on my right, and they wondered if I might like to sit at a comfy booth with them (all of this in a very broken English/Spanish dialogue).
I began to realize where I was.
So I talked to the girls for a bit at the booth while trying to finish my drink, with both of them hanging off either arm, which made it more difficult for me to drink quickly. The bartender came over twice and asked if I would like to buy drinks for them, and what could I say? So in the course of only 20 minutes, they both had 2 drinks. They also let me know that I could have sex with them for $150 each, $300 for both of them (about U$S 100 total).
It was actually a very good deal. In Las Vegas, you can’t even get a massage with a happy ending for less that $100 (I don’t know these figures from personal experience, seriously, it’s just general knowledge that you acquire when you work the casinos), and these were two beautiful young Argentinean women (20 and 26 years old) offering full service.
Now-- the male fantasy of having a threesome with two women is sooo cliché, BUT, it’s just one of those things. I have to admit that, theoretically, it sounds pretty good. However, I’m always reminded by a scene from Seinfeld, where, given the opportunity, Jerry turns the offer down.
I feel the same way. It seems like a fairly big life decision.
There are some important questions to ask, for which I have no answers. Are orgy clothes comfortable? Are they dry-clean only? What kind of people are orgy friends? Can you trust them around your girlfriend/wife?
BUT, being a prostitute-guy!!! I can’t even imagine all the complications… and all the anxiety afterwards--- I’d probably check myself into a hospital and think I was dying from some STD at the first sign of a cold.
So no--- my U$S 100 mistake wasn’t purchasing the services of these two girls. I had to decline.
I always feel bad when I say no to a prostitute though. I mean, there were prostitutes in Oakland, San Francisco, Las Vegas-- now Buenos Aires-- that I’ve said no to. So I should be getting used to it. I always feel bad though-- like I have to apologize. “Oh, you’re both so pretty, but…” “You’re very sweet, and I appreciate the offer, but…”…
I don’t know. Maybe it would be easier to be a prostitute-guy…. especially with a legal brothel next door to my apartment.
Oh… so my U$S 100 mistake--- I was charged $200 for the girls drinks, plus my $30 drink, plus they all wanted tips (bartender included), and I already felt bad about turning them down and just kind of wanted to get out of there, so I didn’t object. Total cost, around $300, or approximately U$S 100.
What I find ironic is that these girls were selling themselves, and I’m the one that is left feeling used.
After wandering around for about an hour, I had worked up an appetite and stopped at a restaurant for some pizza. They had two choices of sizes--- grande y chica. The “chica” was obviously smaller, so that’s what I ordered, although it didn’t make me feel muy masculino (“chica” does mean little girl, yes?). I ordered una cerveza to try to make up for it. Though, I felt even less masculino when I was only able to eat ¾ of the pie.
I was lost, and had given up on finding the Shamrock until I saw it on my way back home. The bar is actually pretty cool--- the bartenders understand English, and the patrons are a mix of about 25% foreigners and 75% locals.
So, I was drinking at the bar when this really drunk British guy appeared and started talking to a guy from Manchester that I had briefly met a few minutes before. The bartenders yelled at him for something (I think he had brought in a bottle of liquor and was drinking it) and everything was cool for a few minutes until there was a loud crash against the window about 10 feet away. Then a pretty Argentinean girl hurried out of the bar with her hand holding her head, and every one was trying to figure out what had happened. The bartender even asked me “Que paso?!?” and I said “I don’t know! No se!”.
Fairly quickly, the staff figured out that the drunk Brit had thrown a bottle that bounced off of the window, and the bouncer came over and grabbed him and forcefully had to take him out of the bar. But that wasn’t the end of it. The drunk Brit wasn’t happy about leaving, and he and the bouncer scuffled outside, while a lot of the people in the bar pressed up against the window to watch.
The bouncer and the drunk were separated, and people returned to drinking, when the Brit came back and threw a punch at the bouncer. Right in front of the window--- and the bouncer, who was just a small scrappy little guy, punched him a couple of times, knocked him down, and then just started kicking the crap out of him…. he must have kicked him six or seven times before another person who worked at the bar pulled him away. The drunk guy was all bloody and someone helped him up and down the street.
So that was kind of exciting.
I stayed at the bar for a couple more hours, mainly talking to an Argentinean guy that I had met, Alvaro. The bar closed at about 5am, and Alvaro and I walked back together for about 6 blocks until our paths diverged.
So then, I was just at the door of my apartment building, when this guy came up and told me about this bar that was open that was just next door called “What’s Up?” and gave me a little promotional card and led me inside.
This is kind of where alcohol started clouding some of my decisions. The bar was nice and modern looking, and I didn’t really notice that most of the people there were women. Of course, I noticed that there were a lot of pretty women, I just didn’t notice that there was only about a 1:5 man-to-woman ratio. I ordered a gin and tonic, and a girl sat down on my left and started talking to me. The bartender gave me the drink and told me “Treinta pesos.” Treinta pesos is about U$S 10 dollars--- so, not overly expensive for a drink in NYC or San Francisco, but crazy expensive in Buenos Aires. The Shamrock was expensive, and Sapphire tonics were only 8 pesos!
I said “Treinta pesos!?!”, and paid her, but left no tip. I made a silent resolution to drink my drink and leave as quickly as possible. Another girl sat down on my right, and they wondered if I might like to sit at a comfy booth with them (all of this in a very broken English/Spanish dialogue).
I began to realize where I was.
So I talked to the girls for a bit at the booth while trying to finish my drink, with both of them hanging off either arm, which made it more difficult for me to drink quickly. The bartender came over twice and asked if I would like to buy drinks for them, and what could I say? So in the course of only 20 minutes, they both had 2 drinks. They also let me know that I could have sex with them for $150 each, $300 for both of them (about U$S 100 total).
It was actually a very good deal. In Las Vegas, you can’t even get a massage with a happy ending for less that $100 (I don’t know these figures from personal experience, seriously, it’s just general knowledge that you acquire when you work the casinos), and these were two beautiful young Argentinean women (20 and 26 years old) offering full service.
Now-- the male fantasy of having a threesome with two women is sooo cliché, BUT, it’s just one of those things. I have to admit that, theoretically, it sounds pretty good. However, I’m always reminded by a scene from Seinfeld, where, given the opportunity, Jerry turns the offer down.
"I can't. I'm not an orgy guy."
"Are you crazy? This is like discovering Plutonium ... by accident."
"Don't you know what it means to become an orgy guy? It changes everything. I'd have to dress different. I'd have to act different. I'd have to grow a moustache and get all kinds of robes and lotions and I'd need a new bedspread and new curtains I'd have to get thick carpeting and weirdo lighting. I'd have to get new friends. I'd have to get orgy friends. ... Naw, I'm not ready for it."
"If only something like that could happen to me."
"Oh, shut up you couldn't do it either."
"I know."
- George and Jerry, "The Switch"
I feel the same way. It seems like a fairly big life decision.
There are some important questions to ask, for which I have no answers. Are orgy clothes comfortable? Are they dry-clean only? What kind of people are orgy friends? Can you trust them around your girlfriend/wife?
BUT, being a prostitute-guy!!! I can’t even imagine all the complications… and all the anxiety afterwards--- I’d probably check myself into a hospital and think I was dying from some STD at the first sign of a cold.
So no--- my U$S 100 mistake wasn’t purchasing the services of these two girls. I had to decline.
I always feel bad when I say no to a prostitute though. I mean, there were prostitutes in Oakland, San Francisco, Las Vegas-- now Buenos Aires-- that I’ve said no to. So I should be getting used to it. I always feel bad though-- like I have to apologize. “Oh, you’re both so pretty, but…” “You’re very sweet, and I appreciate the offer, but…”…
I don’t know. Maybe it would be easier to be a prostitute-guy…. especially with a legal brothel next door to my apartment.
Oh… so my U$S 100 mistake--- I was charged $200 for the girls drinks, plus my $30 drink, plus they all wanted tips (bartender included), and I already felt bad about turning them down and just kind of wanted to get out of there, so I didn’t object. Total cost, around $300, or approximately U$S 100.
What I find ironic is that these girls were selling themselves, and I’m the one that is left feeling used.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home