Saturday, 31 July 2010
I was watching a little bit of "Risky Business" with Tom Cruise recently and was reminded of a couple of Friday evenings spent with the 'Clocks. We'd go out to a little plaza, and this particular club, the Dockside, had 3 bars.
There was a downstairs bar which was a fake casino, because in those days, gambling was illegal in South Florida, then an upstairs bar playing House music, the then current flavour, and an outdoor bar which was essentially a pontoon some 30 feet by 50 feet, floating in the middle of a lake full of Alligators, nice!
There was a neon style clock with a temperature gauge beside it near the actual bar, I remember one night at midnight the temperature was 100 degrees, and in the distance, in the clouds, an electrical storm was brewing....
On the pontoon bar, they had what Bob A called "Shot Mamas", young, gorgeous looking gals, usually dressed in mini skirts and skimpy tops. They had a type of gun belt around their hips, off of which hung shot glasses, looking like bullets, and where the gun holsters were hung bottles, usually Jack Daniels and Tequila. For a Dollar the "Shot Mama" would banter and give you a shot. A great opportunity to engage with a lovely looking woman, and get wasted too!
We got back to Bob J's apartment pretty drunk and attempted to smoke our own body weight in Dirt Weed. Bob's lady must've been away visiting her parents. I can't recall her name but she worked at a big hospital in Miami, in the maternity unit, helping to care for for the epidemic of crack babies which was happening at the time.
Anyway, the subject soon got round to sex, and the Bobs suggested we call the local dial-a-hooker service. There were a ton of ads in the back of the Sun Sentinel, the local paper, tho' most claimed to be lonely hearts they were actually prostitutes who offered a visiting service, at a price.
With 2 hookers ordered, we got back down to the serious business of getting fried. And as the boys consumed more alcohol and ganja, one by one they fell asleep, cept me. And at 3 am when the hookers knocked on the door they were all pretty much out for the count. What was a poor boy to do..........?
I bottled it, that's what I did! I was savagely smashed, incapable of walking let alone a shag! So whilst the girls tried to beat the door down I kept quiet, laid low, and prayed they'd bugger off. And I certainly didn't have the several hundred Dollars to pay them!
The next morning, having spent a few uncomfortable hours on the floor, asking God for sleep or death, our motley crew regained consciousness, not a pretty sight............
Posted by Crispian Saint Boulevard at 01:09