i was talking to someone earlier and the subject of administering and receiving bitchslaps came up. after more discussion and clarification, it turns out i
HAVE been bitchslapped.
a long while ago, i mentioned
how i was so not a playa in the bar scene. i think that applies to anyplace, actually.
wake's wife's brother John and i were roommates many years ago. peas in a pod, two idiots with substance abuse problems...but we were reasonably competent pool players at the time and so would be able to get drunk for the price of a game (winners stay on, losers buy drinks) or pocket a little cash. Occassionally John would drag me along on the way home to
Baby Dolls near the DFW airport. we lived in Euless, so this place was just down the road. Well before the advent of upscale gentleman's entertainment venues, this was more of the traditional tittie bar. beat-up pick-up trucks, two-tone cars in various stages of decline or restoration, salesmen's Oldsmobiles and motorcycles littered the parking lot. There is an amazing diversity of our population inside those establishments. Funny how the chance to view nearly naked women will eliminate temporarily major sociological and economic differences.
I have always had a problem with the whole concept of watching women dance while they are nearly naked. it just bothers me. first of all, i am a sucker for eyes. i love to look into women's eyes. eyes and a smile and i am putty, ask my wife. so i get stuck looking into their eyes and the rest is sort of lost on me. becuz those women are the best salespeople in the world and they sell with those eyes. they are working to sell the idea you could fall in love with them, that gets them more money....
so anyway, one night John and I venture into Baby Dolls with some money to spend. we wind up sitting at a table that is right behind the row of chairs that face the stage, so we are close. i think i had ordered our second or third round. by this time i am bored with not being able to look at the semi-cute girls dancing and have shifted my attention and priorities to the beer. a reasonably cute girl is working the stage now, and she happens to be in front of us, i was told later. but i am watching our waitress load our beer on her tray - one Bud for John, one Miller High Life for me. I see her shoulder the tray from across the room, so I reach into my pocket and remove my wallet. meanwhile, the dancer is really working it now. john is rapt. waitress arrives and i pay for the round and give her a tip. then i put my wallet away and turn my attention to what John has been going on about. except the dancer is making her way to the far end of the stage now. as far as she can get from where we are sitting.
soon the music ends, the girls are rotating positions and i am draining my beer. john is seated on my left; we are talking of something inane when i am tapped on my right shoulder. turning my head in that direction, my world exploded. stars like i have never seen fill my vision, the most intense sound fills my ears and my head rocks back so much i nearly tumble over. milliseconds later, my world starts to return to focus and i see an ass storming away from me - left, right, up, down. it seems as though all action in the place has stopped and everyone is staring at me while some 80s hair band blares in the background. the bouncer at the door motions me to come talk to him.
"what was that about?" he wants to know.
having no idea, i told him so. he accepted my explaination and i was dismissed. i told john i needed to use the men's room. he made me wait until he was pretty certain it was empty. he promised to come get me if anyone went in after me with bad intentions.
a short time later, the dancer came over and apologized. she said something about having a tough night and not many tips available.
when it came time to leave, john went through the waiting exercise again. then, once we cleared the door, john sought out the off-duty cop working the parking lot for conversation as we mader our way to his truck. you would have to know john to know how unusual this move was, but trust me. cops were never high on his list of desireable company. that was my last time in Baby Dolls, 26 years ago.
in between my trip to the bathroom and our leaving shortly thereafter, john figured out that the dancer probably thought i was reaching for cash for her when i took out my wallet. so she worked it hard. then it seemed as though i reneged on the deal when i failed to deliver. that pissed her off. and i got bitchslapped.
