Strange Tales from the Bar Rail

Strange Tales from the Bar Rail

The Fedora Girl and the Thespian

I went out to dinner with a girl I met while shopping for furniture.  We agreed to meet at my favorite Italian place, so I got there a little early to secure a good table.  She walked in wearing black faux leather pants, a sexy blouse, heels and a fedora.  Quite an intriguing and stylish outfit- I was impressed.  Over dinner we introduced ourselves and talked about things we like, things we do, etc.  Of course, the Old Town Ale House came up as my favorite place to hang out at in the city.  After dinner she said she wanted to have a nightcap there to see the place.  We ordered a car and headed over.  

We arrived and found some seats at the end of the bar near one of the actors that’s often there.  I usually enjoy this guy’s company, but this night he was well sauced and all over the place- verbally and physically.  Upon seeing this beautiful blond accompanying me, he lost it and kept hovering around trying to muscle into our conversation.  With some effort, we managed to shut him down.  A short time later, after I returned from a bathroom break, I found the actor in my seat leaning in and close-talking to her.  He was also constantly pawing her.  It wasn’t pretty and she clearly wasn’t into it. 

I pushed myself in between them and took my seat back.  I told the actor to back off and stop being obnoxious, to which he replied, “Mike, of course we’re going to try to steal your date.  This is the Ale House!”  He then stumbled away laughing.  I apologized and told her he’s actually not a bad guy when he isn’t rip-roaring drunk.  She laughed at this. 

After a minute, the actor came back, grabbed her fedora off the bar, put it on and started dancing around.  He then started using it as a prop to start a conversation with anyone who’d look at him.  I told her I’d be right back and got up to retrieve the hat, but she immediately said it was ok and asked me to sit back down. 

I think she was just trying to be polite (or maybe she was scared to be left alone again), but I should’ve immediately gone after the hat because after five minutes or so, it was clear that she was concerned about her missing headgear.  I then stood up, walked to the other end of the bar and took the hat back.  However, I was five minutes too late, as by now, the hat was soaked with his excessive sweat and stretched out of shape. 

I could see the disappointment in her eyes when I handed it back and again apologized and offered to have it cleaned for her.  She said it was fine, but from the way she looked it over I knew that the date went from making solid contact over dinner to

nuclear holocaust at the bar.  I didn’t realize that Ale House regulars could be such an intimidating crowd to alcoholic neophytes.  It was now past 1am and she said she had to go.  I offered to grab a cab and drop her off on the way home.  She refused.  She got her own cab, I walked her out and said goodnight.  

I went back to the bar to finish my drink in kind of a daze at how such a promising night just blew up on me.  I was bummed out.  After a few minutes, one of the bar-backs came by and abruptly dropped two handfuls of used glasses down in front of me.  I was sitting at the bar in front of the sink to wash them, so I didn’t take any offense, but they were in my way, so I started moving them to the rail. 

For some reason, this did not sit well with bar-back, who yelled, “Don’t touch the glasses- you don’t work here!”

“What?  I’m just putting them on the rail so they’re out of my way.  I don’t want them in my face.”

“Don’t touch them!” he shouted angrily again and then stormed away shaking his head in disgust.  I really had no idea what it was all about, but I could read the signs.  The winds of Fate had dramatically shifted against me and I felt more sinister tragedies were headed my way if I didn’t react.  I slammed the rest of my drink and walked out.

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Used Massage Parlor Mats for Sale

Another evening at the bar, one of the more strange guys I’ve met there walked in and grabbed the seat next to me.  After the usual pleasantries, he said,  "Hey, would you be interested in a cheap massage mat?”

“Massage mat?  I don’t think so.  Sorry.”  I answered.

“Oh, ok.  They were just offered to me.  My massage place got some new ones and asked if I wanted them.  D’you think I could flip them for some cash?"

"Old crusty mats from a seedy massage parlor?  Why’d you think someone would be interested in those?"  

"They’re not crusty!  They’re just thin mattresses and you can put ’em on the floor to sit or sleep on.  They’re comfy man.”  He was getting a bit defensive now.  I didn’t say anything, kind of shrugged and just stared vaguely down the bar.  I wanted the conversation to end.  After some silence he said, “Do you know anyone who might be interested?"

I thought about it.  "They probably have more body fluids on them than a bed at a cheap brothel- it’s a hard sell.”  I then added, “Maybe a homeless person? ” 

“Oh come off it!  I’m sure I could find someone.”

“I don’t know.  You may be right.  Good luck and keep me posted on how it goes.”  I told him.  Haven’t seen him since.    

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Want to read some more?  Another blog I wrote comprised of these types of short strange tales including "Urban Wildlife in Chicago" can be found here- keep reading!

https://libertinereflections.blogspot.com/2017/12/urban-wildlife-of-chicago-and-other.html

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When a Young Scottish Lad Falls into the Hungarian Cesspool

When a Young Scottish Lad Falls into the Hungarian Cesspool

  

I was working at an investment bank in Budapest in 1999 when my boss called and said he was sending the new Scottish sales-trader for the London office out to have me train him.  His name was Connor Stewart.  I’d already spoken to him on the phone a couple times and he seemed like a good guy.  We both shared a unique sense of humor that allowed us to make fun of ourselves or do almost anything if it brought out a good laugh.  

Connor arrived in town on a Sunday night.  I met him for dinner and gave him a rundown of the office and my thoughts on the market.  The restaurant was pretty dead, so it was easy to talk.  It was obvious that this kid was revved up and ready to attack the job with everything he had, which was a good sign.  He was still young and inexperienced and I tried my best to guide him through the most common investment banking pitfalls, namely, letting the extreme money go to his head and then becoming a pretentious prick who values people on the money they have instead of the values they exude.  I thought the discussion went well. 

After a while, Connor asked me why I wasn’t working out of London, the bank’s flagship office.  “London’s not for me.  They keep trying to get me to move there, but I enjoy being out here in the trenches.  Also, taxes and costs are much lower and my clients prefer having someone on the ground that they can talk to.”  Connor didn’t say a word as he digested what I saying.  I added, “You’ll also see that being out here has other benefits- there’s a cultural awakening unfolding across the region.  It’s fascinating to be part of it.”  We then went on to discuss the region’s history, local scene, wild nightlife and also the role of a broker to entertain visiting clients.

“I’m telling you,” I said, “some weeks I’ll have multiple clients passing through and all of them want to hit the strip clubs after running to meetings all day.  I never knew the extreme perversion of the rich until I started working at the bank…it’s crazy, but I also understand it.  These strip clubs are off the charts.  They’re full service and the girls are stunning and have an enthusiasm you wouldn’t expect.  You don’t find places like this out West.”  As I said this, Connor’s moved to the edge of his seat and was staring at me as if I was quoting verse.  He started asking all kinds of questions about how things worked at the clubs, what services, how much it cost...  He wanted a full rundown of the underbelly of Budapest society, so I filled him in without any filters. 

I had a client from New York coming through town at the end of the week who I was certain would want to take a dip in the Cesspool and told Connor that he should come along for the company meetings and dinner as part of his training.  I then offered the young Scotsman a preview of these dens of iniquity.  I wanted him to be prepared ahead of the meeting for debauchery inspired by the days of Caligula.  “That would be fantastic mate!”  He said.  We agreed to go out on Tuesday.

On Tuesday, we worked until just after 8pm and then went to dinner.  By the time we finished eating (and drinking a couple bottles of wine), it was well past 10pm.  We then went to what I considered the best club in the city, which was also the place I planned on taking the client to. 

In Eastern Europe during this time, a lot of the strip clubs offered full services and I made sure to again fill Connor in on how things worked and what he could expect.  I also told him the lingo so he would know when a girl was offering a standard full contact lap dance and when she was offering a private room to do the “hibbity-dibbity” if you know what I mean.  Connor was bouncing in his seat and shaking his head with a wide grin.  He said he had never been to any places of ill repute before.  I told him not to fret, he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to and that he should just look at the night out as a reconnaissance mission ahead of the client dinner.  “Just because the buffet is open, doesn’t mean you have to partake in its offerings,” I stressed in an effort to calm him.  

When we entered the club, we got a table in the back corner away from the stage.  I find that these out of the way tables offer the best privacy and get the best service because of it.  Of course, being a tall, handsome Scotsman in his mid-20s with highlander blue-green eyes, he was an immediate magnet to all the Hungarian and Slavic ladies.  My concern that he might feel intimidated or nervous was greatly misplaced.  He was entertaining multiple girls from the get-go.  His enthusiasm and evident joy were contagious- it spread among the girls like a virulent case of the Clap and soon all the ladies were stopping by our table.

We continued to party – drinks, shots, money and debauchery were all out in heavy force.  Late in the evening, a new stripper arrived wearing red lingerie, a garter belt and four-inch heels.  She was probably returning from a private party or something, but it didn’t matter.  She was gorgeous.  A true vision of seedy exuberance and, being the professional that she was, she immediately honed in on the new blood- this young prince from Edinburgh throwing money around like it was two day old haggis after a Burns night. 

Haggis- A Scottish classic made of sheep
heart, liver & lungs minced with onion and
spices served in sheep stomach- Yummy!

Connor was in the middle of a lap dance when she entered and once he saw her, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her despite the fact that there was another girl grinding away on him at the time.  I noticed with some concern that the kid was taking to the Cess like an alkie takes the bottle.  I could only marvel at the rapid corruption of this clean cut banker.

When “Red” arrived at our table, it was hot and heavy from the start.  I’d seen this look on clients many times before and it was clear that my job as guide was over.  I’d taken the rookie as far as I could.  He knew the terrain and the costs.  It was up to him to decide what limits he wanted to push on this particular initiation by fire and it was up to me to give him some space and anonymity to explore the moral boundaries that confronted him.  I finished my lap dance, tipped the girl, paid the bill (on the corporate credit card) and told the Scot that I was done for the night and departed.   

The next morning, I arrived at the office at 8am.  By 8:30am Connor was still MIA.  Our Hungarian traders asked where he was.  I told them we had a big night out and that he’d arrive soon.  When they asked what we did, I only mentioned the restaurant that we went to and then added vaguely that we went out for some drinks after.  This was a professional courtesy.  I wasn’t about to undermine young Connor’s standing in the office by telling the staff that we tied one on at the city’s best whorehouse to the wee hours of the morning and that I left him there drunk as a skunk to sink or swim in the deep end of the Cesspool with a hot blond in red panties and heels.  What kind of a guy would I be?  That was no one’s business but his own. 

About a half hour later just as the market was about to open the door to the trading room was kicked open with a loud bang- the Hungarian traders jumped back and I swung around to see this mad Scotsman, evidently still drunk with his arms raised above his head in victory yelling, “I SHAGGED A STRIPPER LAST NIGHT!!!”  He bellowed it so loud that the entire office, even the accounting girls way in the back heard the news.

Clearly, the girl in red left our Scottish lad feeling awfully satisfied, but still, I found this type of entrance and announcement a bit much.  I’d never seen such pride and lack of shame about whoring before.  Here I was trying to keep the night under wraps to protect his reputation and now this guy bursts in like screaming bagpipes yelling that he slept with a prostitute?  I couldn’t believe it and could only chalk it up to him being a Highlander- and that must be the way they do it up there.  

Just the way they do it up there....

   

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Speaking about other ways of doing things, have you read about the time I did laundry at a dinner party?  It didn’t go as planned- check it out by clicking the link below:

https://libertinereflections.blogspot.com/2017/12/the-pitfalls-of-doing-laundry-at-dinner.html