Wednesday may be October 31st,
but as far as Kyouto is concerned Saturday is Halloween. Seven,
bleeding profusely from her face, escorts me to her part-time place
of employment, a Nepalese restaurant on the fifth floor of a building
that also houses a carport and a Softbank office. Every surface is
blanketed in exotic fabrics, including the walls and ceiling, giving
the impression of being inside a fancy square pillowcase; it recalls
a Yemense bazaar I saw at Expo 2005. I meet more of her friends, a
decaying doctor duo, and we sample some Nepalese cuisine on Seven's
yen. It's basically bread made of pure cheese. It's amazing.
We'll be meeting Hyeong and 2012 at our
destination. I'd already spoken with 2012 about the club in question,
called Butterfly. After wondering if it was a gay bar, I inquired as
to its general qualities:
2012: It's practically the only club in
Kyouto.
Me: That good, eh?
2012: No, it's terrible. The drinks are
expensive, it's dirty, the music is awful...
Me: That's what a club is.
At least it has a good atmosphere, right?
2012: No, it's pretty boring most of
the time.
Me: But the girls have gotta be good.
2012: No, the girls are just plain
loose...
Me: As long as they're hot.
2012: They aren't.
I was psyched. You would never, ever
guess by looking at me, but I love clubs. I'm not going out every
weekend or anything, but I love alcohol, I love to dance, and I love
crowds.
Outside we run into Anarchy in the UK
and I'm Not Chinese, as I'd suspected we might. Luckily, they're
among the few of my roommates whom I actually like. A cold J-girl is
also there and so is Arzenchia, who speaks Spanish (the most annoying
language ever), whistles interminably (making me want to punch her in
the face), and gets pissy when stressed (because she's kind of an
idiot), but they're basically harmless, so overall it's ok.
If for any reason you're thinking that
Japan is some quaint Asian backwater without real nightlife, set
yourself straight right now. There's even legit ID and weapons
checks, a first for me in Japan, though of course both have their
workarounds, as I later confirm with a group of hot 18-year-olds. The
first thing Anarchy in the UK and I notice is the apocalyptic cloud
permeating every inch of available space, because this, as we know,
is a country whose smoking culture makes Donald Draper look a Mormon.
Even the girls, who usually restrain themselves in public, are
lighting up with abandon. In no time my hair smells like gutter and
my clothes like Death itself.
The presence of American pop is as
total as it is anticipated. There are a few things I'd hoped to
escape here, and auditory abomination abortion Call Me Maybe was one
of them. Sadly, it's as omnipresent now as ever. Know what? Giving
your number to someone you've just met is not remotely crazy;
thousands of people are doing it right now. I've
even managed it. And then I text the girl, not call her, because
nobody has said “call me” without irony since 1998. But
the selections are mostly good and hard, and best of all, they aren't
as screechingly loud as I'm used to. I mean I'm not doing my
90-year-old self any favours by being here, but outside I won't feel
like I'm underwater, either.
But the really interesting thing is an
entire wall designated “ladies' seating.” I think it should be
pretty clear what the real purpose here is, and it has nothing to do
with being courteous to the fairer sex. Yes, sitting in that spot
announces that you're on the market. It's refreshingly honest, not to
mention convenient!
Roughly two-thirds of patrons are
wearing something that could, charitably or otherwise, be called a
costume. Most so clad are of the female persuasion, the general goal
being to dress as slutty as possible. One is wearing nothing but
rabbit ears, a vest, and panties. “Now there's a girl who's had a
lot of dicks inside her,” I think admiringly, unable to tear my
eyes from her gyrations, and for the first time in my life I
understand the appeal of a strip club.
On the bus home after
seeingRurouni Kenshin (and it says a lot that Hyeong didn't give a shit
about his girlfriend seeing a movie with another man), Seven and I
had a fairly in-depth conversation about my relationship history and
prospects for this year. Problem is,
starting something now and going for the next ten months would tempt
me to rollover to a long-distance relationship, and that's just out
of the question. We concluded that maybe I should wait until my last
four or so months here (unless I find a way to stay longer), and just
have a string of one-night stands until then. Perfect, right?!
So
it's with the best intentions that she tells me, “Rude Boy. You
realise you're going hunting tonight, right? You're not allowed not
to.”
At
first the idea is laughable. Not that I haven't before, but it's so
dependent on luck that it's really not even worth trying, because I
have about as much game as a graphing calculator. But then, looking
around at all the foreplay I'm drowning in, I start getting
depressed. I've always kind of taken it as a truism that girls
don't like me, full stop, and
it's no big mystery why: Too lewd for the quiet ones, too boring for
the loud ones, too ugly for both and too weird for goddamn everybody.
My tension sinks, I lose the will to dance. I go to the wall and
sulk. I contemplate leaving.
Then I
snap out of it; my depression comes and goes of its own volition. I'm
back!
I end
up enjoying myself so much that I finally realise Seven and her group
have long since departed the premises, so I join Anarchy in the UK
and his dudes. Then I do a single circuit of the bar...and while I've
been gone they've left as well. Ok, not really a problem; they're
bicycle people and I have to take the train anyway, so I knew this
would happen at some point. I continue to swashbuckle solo.
A
group of white guys way too old to be in a nightclub sidle up and I
instantly take a powder; not just because I fear that I am eventually
going to become them, but because when in public I actively avoid
other foreigners on principle. I can be a real dick about it
sometimes, too, but I can't stand being lumped in with all those
loud, ignorant, monophonic morons. I even play keep-away on the dance
floor, lest a third party think that I sometimes associate with
people from my own country and culture.
But
tonight, I learn the value of teamwork. A pair of girls are being
simultaneously assailed by two
white hunters and I
unintentionally enter the fray. They look around them – foreigner,
foreigner, foreigner –
uwaaaa!
The Cheerleader Effect is in full bloom. And then they notice my
dancing. I can't spiral a football or perform parkour, but you know
what, I can dance. They like it. White Guy #1 gets grabby with one of
the girls. She likes it.
You
know what, fuck it.
I take
the other one around the waist.
Kyaaaaaa!
She
goes for it.
It
doesn't last...a third friend materialises with a matter-of-fact
reminder. The one I've acquired glances at me. Discussion is had and
further regretful looks are sent my way. I get it. They have to go.
「行って来る」
Translation:
We will never see each other again.
「ありがとう」
Translation:
Sorry.
Frustrating.
Butterfly
closes at 2, so I still have four hours. I find another group of
girls and we go to Te Amo (again, not a gay bar), a smaller, less
interesting venue just around the corner and three floors above
street level. They try to disarm the doorman with girliness, but he's
unmoved. “Frankly, the girls in there right now are much
better-looking than you.” What the hell, doorman? But they don't
blink, and manage to talk him down to half-price. Eh, not bad.
Reminder: Bar staff are people too.
I
almost immediately half-abandon the girls I'm with to look for hotter
ones. One likes my dancing – see, I told
you there's something to it. But somehow I lose her interest. What
am I doing wrong? Later yet
another girl pulls me away from my spot and we start dancing,
eh, pretty intimately. Then she tries on my hat, gives it back, and
finally spins me away. I try to go back and she turns me around
again.
Club girls are weird.
I like them.
I have no desire to wrap up, but around
six the place is dead, so I formally reconnect with the ones that
brought me. They're going to nabe. They ask if I'm coming. I say I
will if it's ok with them. They laugh and decide it's a joshikai, and
once again I'm alone.
Some nights things don't work out.
I feel bad the whole way home.