Note: This may be my last entry. When The Board of Directors Here at Spo-Reflections realizes this has been posted, they will be waxing wroth. Family members and Spo-fans with delicate constitutions may want to skip this one.
The Other Michael and I had a jolly Friday night. We first went to the local watering hole Kobalt (Urs Truly had some proper scotch, no rubbish) and then to FEZ, a local ‘hip’ restaurant. We both liked the waiter; he was well over four feet. TOM has been itching all week to go to a bathhouse and Friday night was do-or-die. So we went.
The Phoenix bathhouse was a new experience for me. It always takes someone from out of town to get you to visit your local attractions, hohoho. Happily TOM did all the research to its whereabouts etc. I just had to show up.
I went into this den of darkness in the spirit of a journalist writing for the NYT, or like Margaret Mead among the Bantus, observing tribal behavior for National Geographic. As I walked about the place I was taking mental notes ‘I’m blogging this”.
The spa itself resembled a motel with very good amenities or a cheap Key West Resort. It had a pool and gym (not used), a hot tub (much used), a steam room (which smelled of Vicks Vapor-rub), and a concession store. I saw the most men at the computer station. I thought it odd fellows would spend 20$ just to sit in front of a computer screen, especially if they were on-line cruising. Ohthe irony.
The Other Michael and I went about 9PM which was the equivalent to watching them set up. TOM quickly disappeared into the ether leaving me alone to fend for myself, which is quite all right: us “B” girls work best solo. I took to wandering the halls like Henrik the Ghost, looking for what may happen.
Which wasn’t much. There were about five men in various shapes and ages, who like me, were wandering about looking for something none could find. As we were parading around together we quickly got the scoop there were the five of us and nobody was interested in each other – at least about me. There was a gentleman of Indian descent who made it quite clear through shooting me malevolent looks he was uninterested. Another fellow more conventional asked me a few questions like at a game show host. Apparently I failed to give the right answers for I was not allowed to move on to next level of his personal Jeopardy.
On occasion I would bump into The Other Michael who inquired into the status of my dance card. He was dismayed I remained a wallflower. He had three encounters so far. I was amazed at his industry considering there were only about five others here to start with.
A bit bored, I kept going back to my room (the size of a very cheap bunk on a low-budget cruise line) to text Someone to give him all the non-news. Outside my door sitting in the lounge area was a new fellow. He gave off the air he thought himself a great catch given a certain attribute he was displaying to the passers-by. His resume was impressive but more in ‘oh dear” not in the ‘dear me!” way. He was certainly ‘blessed’ but alas he had a face as ugly as sin. We are supposed to wrap a towel around our torsos when out and about. I thought he would better his prospects if he wrapped his around his head.
In the end Urs Truly finally had a close encounter of the second kind, a brief interaction with a fairly attractive man of possible Central American background. It was a disappointment though. He didn’t bother to ask what I wanted. Afterwards we would see each other around the joint and he pretended like I wasn’t there.
About 10PM I noticed the halls were beginning to fill up with more randomly wandering wraiths but I had lost interest. I had been up since 5AM. I wasn’t wanting anonymous ecstasy so much as sleep. I packed up, gave the staff some tip money (for continually reminding me where my room was) and I drove home half asleep. I crawled into bed next to Harper and the sleeping Someone. He woke briefly to ask if I had had fun. In a way I had. It was a bit silly and sad and exciting all at the same time. I fell asleep.
Last night I dreamed of the waiter from FEZ. You connect the dots.
BONUS: FOR ANNE MARIE – THE WAITER AT FEZ