Recently a friend set me up with a friend to go on at date. I was told, with confidence, that we had a lot in common so I naturally assumed she would be sarcastic, patronising and contentious. I was wrong, she was clumsy, chipper and bubbly (Note: anyone that describes their personality as ‘bubbly’ just means 'loud and stupid')
Having spent a good part of the morning walking around Borough market snacking on the delights on offer, we walked towards the Tate Modern. This was meant to be the 'thing we have in common'. Although, I never really liked modern art, I just don't get it but I assumed this girl thought it was brilliant so we went and I was even pretending to be interested.
But, things were about to take a turn for the worse because as we got to the river she looked out over the water and looked amazed. Now, looking out over the Thames in the right light can look amazing, but this was something else.
“Everything alright?” I asked
“They put it back!” She exclaimed excitedly
“Put what back?”
“The Water, they put it back, last time I was here it was almost empty. I am so happy they put it back, it looks loads better”
“Are you serious?” I was very concerned by this time
“Yeah, did you not see it? It looked weird”
“What? No! No one put the water back. The Thames is tidal.”
“Really? Like the Sea? So is that like once a year or month or something?”
“No. Twice a day.”
“Shut up! Really? Does all the water go? Why’s that?”
“No, all the water does not go. It tidal. It’s occurs because of the gravitational pull of the moon" She looked completely lost, like no clue at all. I genuinely feared having to explain gravity. "You know what? I can actually feel myself getting stupider just having this conversation. The Tate is over there” I pointed “The station is over there” I pointed again. “And I am going home, see ya!”
And with that, I left.
On my walk home I thought that maybe I had been a little harsh, wondered if I was too hasty and rude. Then I thought, if we stayed together I would find myself constantly explaining things. Simple things. Things that I have know for so long that I forgot when I learned them and assume I was born with the knowledge. She was the type of girl that would forget to breathe.
I didn’t want to be responsible for that!
Mission Status: Success! Brain cells retained.
Friday 14 October 2011
Tuesday 11 October 2011
Mission 2 - Me Vs The Stripper
I have never really been one of those guys that likes the idea of a strip bar. I feel they are like window shopping in Harrods, even if you wanted to buy, the price tag would mean you would regret it for a long time or simply get told to f**k off.
However, just after I was dumped, a friend of mine discovered the fact I had never even been to a strip club and in his mind, this was unacceptable. So, after much persuading and many beers, he convinced me to go to one. So we jumped in a taxi and headed for Whites of London.
As soon as we arrived we were swarmed by strippers offering private dances for about £20. “This is their trap, this is how they get you” I thought to myself as I stuck close to the bar. But, no sooner had I thought that, my friend had thrust a £20 note into the hand of the nearest stripped and insisted she take me for a private dance.
I was lead through to a curtained area out back where there were little booths, like changing rooms in a clothes shop except these we exposed, and as she led me down to the last stall I saw the demise of humanity as I passed. Middle aged men leering and drooling over women they had no chance with, that they had paid to be there. It was a depressing sight and I feared things would only get worse. I was right.
I got sat down in a booth and thought it best to make small talk, it’s what would separate me from the rest of these Neanderthals, above all it's good to remain yourself in these situations and not succumb to the depravity of your surroundings .
“Well, this is nice isn’t it? The floor’s a bit sticky though?” I said, in an upbeat manner
“What?”
“The floor” I said, pointing to the floor “It’s sticky, I hope it’s spilled drinks”
“What?”
“Nothing, I was just making conversation. So, is this your only job?”
“Look, do you want a f**king dance or not?”
“Really? No, I can’t think of anything worse, but my friend wont let me leave without one, so shall we just get this over with?”
At this point she looked shocked and confused for a second, then seemed to shake it off and proceeded to try and earn her £20.
Stripping is one of the only services where you pay in advance without any idea of quality of service. It is entirely down to the seller of the service as to what a £20 'strip' is. As I was wondering if they had a governing body or if I could take them to small claims court if I felt I had been over charged for a service which wasn’t properly explained or satisfactorily executed, she took my glasses off me and put them on a little shelf behind my head.
Disturbed by this, clearly, rookie mistake I though I would break the ‘no talking’ rule that she seemed to have implied.
“You know stripping is a service that is 100% reliant on sight, taking my glasses can only possibly detract from the overall experience. A chef, for example, wouldn’t scold a customers tongue before serving the main dish would he?”
“What? What the f**k is wrong with you? Are you f**king mental?”
“No. Quite the contrary, I just think that, other than looks, you’re not very good at this. I mean, if this was The Apprentice and I was Sir Alan Sugar I would fire you. Quite simply because of your fundamental lack of understanding of an industry you’re supposed to be an expert in”
“That’s it, f**k off!” she said, whilst waving behind her.
And, with that, a large man with a very tight t-shirt on proceeded to escort me out of the establishment. I don’t feel bad for being thrown out of my first ever strip club experience. I just wish they would employ me on a consultative basis to offer my extensive knowledge of customer satisfaction and service, admittedly, it’s not in stripping but business is business.
Mission Status: Success(ish)
However, just after I was dumped, a friend of mine discovered the fact I had never even been to a strip club and in his mind, this was unacceptable. So, after much persuading and many beers, he convinced me to go to one. So we jumped in a taxi and headed for Whites of London.
As soon as we arrived we were swarmed by strippers offering private dances for about £20. “This is their trap, this is how they get you” I thought to myself as I stuck close to the bar. But, no sooner had I thought that, my friend had thrust a £20 note into the hand of the nearest stripped and insisted she take me for a private dance.
I was lead through to a curtained area out back where there were little booths, like changing rooms in a clothes shop except these we exposed, and as she led me down to the last stall I saw the demise of humanity as I passed. Middle aged men leering and drooling over women they had no chance with, that they had paid to be there. It was a depressing sight and I feared things would only get worse. I was right.
I got sat down in a booth and thought it best to make small talk, it’s what would separate me from the rest of these Neanderthals, above all it's good to remain yourself in these situations and not succumb to the depravity of your surroundings .
“Well, this is nice isn’t it? The floor’s a bit sticky though?” I said, in an upbeat manner
“What?”
“The floor” I said, pointing to the floor “It’s sticky, I hope it’s spilled drinks”
“What?”
“Nothing, I was just making conversation. So, is this your only job?”
“Look, do you want a f**king dance or not?”
“Really? No, I can’t think of anything worse, but my friend wont let me leave without one, so shall we just get this over with?”
At this point she looked shocked and confused for a second, then seemed to shake it off and proceeded to try and earn her £20.
Stripping is one of the only services where you pay in advance without any idea of quality of service. It is entirely down to the seller of the service as to what a £20 'strip' is. As I was wondering if they had a governing body or if I could take them to small claims court if I felt I had been over charged for a service which wasn’t properly explained or satisfactorily executed, she took my glasses off me and put them on a little shelf behind my head.
Disturbed by this, clearly, rookie mistake I though I would break the ‘no talking’ rule that she seemed to have implied.
“You know stripping is a service that is 100% reliant on sight, taking my glasses can only possibly detract from the overall experience. A chef, for example, wouldn’t scold a customers tongue before serving the main dish would he?”
“What? What the f**k is wrong with you? Are you f**king mental?”
“No. Quite the contrary, I just think that, other than looks, you’re not very good at this. I mean, if this was The Apprentice and I was Sir Alan Sugar I would fire you. Quite simply because of your fundamental lack of understanding of an industry you’re supposed to be an expert in”
“That’s it, f**k off!” she said, whilst waving behind her.
And, with that, a large man with a very tight t-shirt on proceeded to escort me out of the establishment. I don’t feel bad for being thrown out of my first ever strip club experience. I just wish they would employ me on a consultative basis to offer my extensive knowledge of customer satisfaction and service, admittedly, it’s not in stripping but business is business.
Mission Status: Success(ish)
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