I'll start this post out with my caveat regarding confidentiality about people I blog about. At least six months or more will have elapsed and I'll remove any specific information that might identify them. Not that anything really bad happened, but its a little embarrassing.
It was really slow Sunday at the club. As per usual I was sitting in a corner, hoping to mitigate the DJ's audio assault on my ears. I'll spare you my usual rant about DJs that crank the music when nobody is in the club. Yes, there is nobody in the place and you are doing your best to make sure it stays that way. OK, that was a little rant.
What few people that were in the club were at the bar. On stage the dancers were more interested in either practicing pole moves or sending text messages. It was as subdued as you could get in a strip club and still be open for business. None of my favorite dancers were there, but I decided to hang out a bit to see if any would show up. After few drinks I needed to use the restroom. To get the restroom I had to walk along the bar. This can sometimes be a little hazardous, since the folks at the bar usually have their backs to you, your drink is at risk getting knocked out of your hand.
On the way back to me seat I'm walking along the bar. One dancer sitting at the bar facing away with her back to the bar, elbows on the counter looking away from me. I'm not sure is she was demonstrating her latest pole trick, had an involuntary muscle spasm, or reenacting her favorite scene from Kung Fu Panda but as I walked by her leg shot out and kick me below the belt. A direct hit. When you see a flash a light as your nerves are overloaded.
When ever I get hurt like that my first instinct is not to react. I grew up with three older brothers that were inflicting pain in one form or another, I never wanted to give them the satisfaction that they hurt me. Nothing good ever really came of this, except the ability to take a punch with out reacting. This only resulted in getting hit again. I didn't react much she kicked me. I just hesitated for a second then headed for a chair, the nearest chair. The dancer followed me, asking if I was OK. Yes, squeaked back in a falsetto voice. Your voice doesn't really go up, but taking a deep breath is really out of the question at that moment. At best you can chirp out short replies.
Despite my answer it was readily apparent I wasn't since I was inexorably and involuntarily slowly curling into the fetal position. The bartender quickly arrived with a glass of water. I appreciated the thought, but considering the section of my anatomy that had suffered a severe trauma, drinking water didn't seem like a good idea.
After a minute or so I began to recover. the dancer was really apologetic and offered to by me a drink. Again, nice thought, but not really desirable. We chatted for a little bit, trading assorted trauma stories. Then she ask me if I wanted to buy some dances. Uhm, no. Call me petty, but if you try to neuter me with a six inch clear platform heel I'm going to hold a grudge.
No comments:
Post a Comment