These next two blogs will pay humble homage to my officemate and tour guide Travis.
Part I
Travis is the man. Although this coop is the first time we’ve gotten to hang out, Travis and I have been crossing each other’s paths, unknowingly, for quite some time. We both went to Colby (okay, so I’m a little senior to Travis, I’m what you called of “advanced age” so we only overlapped by a year, but we knew a bunch of the same people). We both worked at the Colby bookstore and shared the same “best boss ever stories” (Barb is still my favorite employer of all time). Then Travis and I wound up at the same law school as Huskies. And then we both found ourselves in Hawaii on this co-op. Small world. Stop yawning. I’m working up to snark. Snark targets will involve chunky go-go dancers, so keep reading.
Anyway, Travis is from Hawaii and eventually he wants to come back here to practice, so he is my default tour guide and walking Hawaii encyclopedia. I pepper him with questions on a daily basis.
They range from the stupid: Travis, how do I pronounce ‘kapiolani’?
To the legally philosophical: Travis, how come nobody owns the land they live on?
To the irritating: Travis, where can I find a burrito?
And finally to those questions you want to ask but shouldn’t in polite company.
Me: Travis, what’s with all the streetwalkers outside Denny’s?
Travis: They’re part of the tourism industry. They have an understanding with the cops. Those ones aren’t totally trashy, they’re kind of like “on demand” hookers. They cost more than regular cable-type ones. But then, around the pro-bowl, the real talent flies in from Vegas and there are turf wars.
Me: Oh. But why are they outside Denny’s?
Travis: Bars close at 4 in Hawaii, Denny’s is open late. They know to go there for the late night crowd. (Unprompted) Wanna know what they call male transvestite hookers?
Me: (Pausing, wondering why Travis would know this, and still picturing attractive Vegas talent stepping off the plane in Hawaii come pro-bowl time. Do they all take the same flight? Would it be like migratory birds, a massive influx of streetwalkers in strange sequined plumage? And does Denny's PR department know about this? Maybe they could offer a late night special value meal like...sorry, back to Travis and his male transvestite hooker fun facts)…Umm…yes?
Travis: Mahu.
Me: “Mahu.” I repeat. (Mental note. Do not order ‘mahu’ on demand and do not go out clubbing during Pro-Bowl and wind up in the crosshairs of a hooker turf war).
Right, so back to my point that Travis is the man, and he got us in free everywhere, which makes him kinda a big deal. We went to the promotion event at Fashion 45, the Waikiki Trade Center’s newest night life addition. There was an open bar from 9-11, we showed up at 10:30 or so, bypassing the velvet rope and the 15 buck entrance fee, and then Travis and I, true to our Colby and Northeastern roots, did our schools proud. I won’t speak for Travis, but I wound up somewhere between 5-9 free drinks in the ½ hour remaining for the open bar. Ho-hum, ho-hum.
Also, and I’m sorry to say I couldn’t snap any pics of them discreetly (you’ll just have to take my word and Travis’s), but the bar hired go-go dancers (we think) to get things started. These girls ranged from the very attractive underfed low self-confidence hotties to a Yeti in a too-tight white mini with no discernible undergarments (shudder shudder). In addition to trying to get the liquored-up patrons on the dance floor, they were nice enough to grind up on each other, super nasty style. Good god. All I have to say has been best stated by the immortal movie, Dodgeball: “Usually you pay double for that kind of action, Cotton.”
I will also note that taking pictures at all or remembering one’s name after 5-9 free drinks is somewhat…challenging and I know that I haven’t previously posted any trashy going-out pics prior to this, indecently clad Europeans yes, but no messy bar scenes. Not so much here. This restraint arises out of my utmost respect for Travis. He’s a gentleman. And this has nothing do with the fact that Ms. Drunk Snarky could barely work the camera, never mind the flash. Sigh. Good times. You can at least get a feel for the tribal feel at Senor Frogs.
At some point, we moved to another bar, Senor Frogs. Again, there’s some talk at the door and the cover is waved, my hand is stamped, and someone hands me a plastic cup called “The Yard” (seen pictured as held by Travis), which bears the following inscription. “Warning: Yard consumption may enhance the appearance of others. We are not responsible.” (I didn’t know it said this at the time. I didn’t see this inscription until I woke up the next morning in bed cradling the Yard like a teddy bear. To complete the image I also had a big smeary blob of a hibiscus on my face that looked alarmingly like a bruise. I think this was the hand stamp from the first place. Otherwise, I cannot explain the appearance of this flower on wrist and cheek.)
Senor Frogs was big and flashy and loud with some sort of tribal music and packed with sweaty, tan people and it reminds me of Coyote Ugly where the bartenders (pictured below) get up on the bars and dance for your entertainment. They even find a clever way to incorporate the Yard into their routine. The best part is though, they’re dudes, not skanky anorexic chicks who can’t act (sorry, Coyote Ugly) or fat wilderbeast go-go dancers without panties, so I feel good cheering them on. These guys I did manage to get a picture of, more or less.
And the night devolved from there as people got really sloppy until I woke up sometime the next day, as previously stated, cradling the Yard in bed, smeary blob-like flower on my face. I know what you’re thinking – total overachiever. It’s okay to be jealous.
Like I said, my officemate, kinda a big deal on the Waikiki Club scene. Stay tuned for kinda a big deal – part II. My first luau. No orca-fat go-go dancers. But will involve men in sarongs with love handles, and pig parts.
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