When Pulling Up Your Pants
"So... Spider is a very private person."
"I like my personal space."
"You know, if you let someone in, you might be pleasantly surprised."
"By what? The chainsaw or the modified tooth drill?"
What followed was particularly good; I am constantly taken aback by
people's ability to let the most cliched and over-used phrases spew
uncensored from their mouths, while still expecting to be taken
seriously. "What are you so afraid of?" he asks me.
"I don't know... maybe it's just that I've been hurt so badly by people
in the past. Sometimes they get too close; they can take advantage of
the trust you give them."
Watch the patient concern display over his features.
"Or maybe I don't just volunteer personal information to someone who
pays me to take my clothes off."
The other winning exchange this past week was this:
"Come here for a minute, I want to talk to you before you start."
I sit, clothed, in his lap.
"I tell all the new boys three things. Three pieces of advice."
Insert dramatic, pregnant pause.
"Save you money."
"Okay."
"Get an education."
"I'll do my best."
"And read."
"... what, you mean, like, books?"
And then, after the dance, the same fellow, who could generously be
described as jolly in that (forgive me for bringing him up twice in as many posts) Santa Claus sort-of way, if Santa were a greasy, dejected sort of middle aged bloke, comes out with something different.
"Would you come back to my hotel?"
"Not likely."
"Just for an hour."
"Nope."
...
"Just out of curiosity, how much would you pay for a visit like that?"
"A hundred, a hundred fifty."
I stared at him.
"There are boys all around the city that'll do it," he says defensively.
"That's nice. You owe me $80."
Which, I'd like to point out, is what it costs for me to dance 16 minutes.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
"I like my personal space."
"You know, if you let someone in, you might be pleasantly surprised."
"By what? The chainsaw or the modified tooth drill?"
What followed was particularly good; I am constantly taken aback by
people's ability to let the most cliched and over-used phrases spew
uncensored from their mouths, while still expecting to be taken
seriously. "What are you so afraid of?" he asks me.
"I don't know... maybe it's just that I've been hurt so badly by people
in the past. Sometimes they get too close; they can take advantage of
the trust you give them."
Watch the patient concern display over his features.
"Or maybe I don't just volunteer personal information to someone who
pays me to take my clothes off."
The other winning exchange this past week was this:
"Come here for a minute, I want to talk to you before you start."
I sit, clothed, in his lap.
"I tell all the new boys three things. Three pieces of advice."
Insert dramatic, pregnant pause.
"Save you money."
"Okay."
"Get an education."
"I'll do my best."
"And read."
"... what, you mean, like, books?"
And then, after the dance, the same fellow, who could generously be
described as jolly in that (forgive me for bringing him up twice in as many posts) Santa Claus sort-of way, if Santa were a greasy, dejected sort of middle aged bloke, comes out with something different.
"Would you come back to my hotel?"
"Not likely."
"Just for an hour."
"Nope."
...
"Just out of curiosity, how much would you pay for a visit like that?"
"A hundred, a hundred fifty."
I stared at him.
"There are boys all around the city that'll do it," he says defensively.
"That's nice. You owe me $80."
Which, I'd like to point out, is what it costs for me to dance 16 minutes.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
Comments