For one reason or another, I was tied up indoors all day. I settled down to planning out a story, and made some progress. So i've been racking my brains for something clever to say, but everything has been eclipsed by the events ...
... later that night. I went round to the naked ladies bar. (I used to have a latin teacher who was wont to accuse anyone removing their blazer, even on the hottest days, of being "nude":"Why are you nude, boy?" I try to wonder what he would make of this place, but my mind just boggles. It would certainly test our latin vocabulary) The place was packed. It's usually fairly empty.
Now, I swear I didn't know this was happening, but it turns out the poor serving girls are putting on a beauty contest, rumoured to involve bikinis. The place is full of gentlemen (not very many of them 'ageing') all pretending they come here often, and trying not to look at each other. I get the feeling I'm about to experience something deeply, deeply sub cultural.
The show starts with all the girls fully dressed. That's more than they wear at work, normally. But they're mostly those tight little dresses held under the bottom with an elastic band. They twirl and flash their American teeth. There is much cheering. There are clearly claques in the hall.
Then the moment we've (oops, 'they've') all been waiting for. Out they parade, one-at-time, in the skimpiest bikinis. Now they are wearing even less than they do at work. I spare a thought for my poor latin master. The cheering gets just a bit more croaky. One of them, no doubt in my honour, is wearing a tartan bikini. She passes quite close to me, but there is not enough material to identify her clan.
I talk to the young under-manager who was kind enough, a few nights ago, to rescue me from someone who was clearly unwell, and had stopped taking his medication. I ask him if this parade is some sort of job interview. To my surprise, he takes the question seriously. "This end of the job market's pretty tough, you know," he says.
My mind boggles again: surely no culture is quite as 'sub' as that. Anyway, everybody, including the girls, appeared to enjoy themselves. Oh, and when it was over, the place emptied pretty quick.
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3 comments:
If you had been required to explain to your Latin teacher why you stayed until the place had emptied and the girls had put their (metaphorical) blazers back on, I suppose you could always have claimed the necessity for the writer, in the name of objective reporting, to see events through to the bitter end. How otherwise could Pliny have completed his work all those years ago?
Unable to resist smart-arsed remark, I just have to say "did Pliny complete his work?"
Well, you are right of course. Poor old Pliny(the elder) hung around a little too long for his own good observing the eruption of Versuvius to the bitter end and it was left to others (including Pliny the younger) to write about the circumstances of his death.
But you knew all that from your Latin course all those years ago!
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