Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Monday night, stalker fright
After having turned our noses up at the offer time and time again, the Monday Night Liquid Dining Crew (names withheld here to protect the flagrantly culpable) finally deigned to grace the shitely-named "Bar Hemp" in Moriguchi.
Our first visit, I fear, may well prove to be our last.
When we arrived, the bar housed a bunch of take-or-leave gaijin and a couple of workmates that I can't be bothered to satirise. We sat down.
A few minutes later, in walked the stalker.
Fortunately, I already had half a disguise in my recent growth of facial hair. I borrowed a hat off one of my companions and spent the next ten minutes with my head about five inches from the table, mumbling in what I hoped sounded like a Dutch accent.
The arrival of further deadbeat gaijin, including erstwhile (tor)mentor KC, failed to provoke me. I kept my head down and kept pounding my beers, whilst most of my earthly nemeses occupied the space between me and the toilet. The one time I went for a pee, I left the bar and went to the station rather than trying to navigate across enemy territory. I think the stalker ultimately realised who the mumbling Dutchman at the adjacent table was, but the memory of our last chance encounter (the Man in the High Castle shouted drunkenly at her and made her cry) was probably still in her mind, so she didn't try any of her psychotic delusional shenanigans.
I served out my time in the bar and went on to further tomfoolery in Kyobashi. I owed it to myself.
***
Incidentally, the Man in the High Castle wasn't on hand to protect me last night, but it seems that he received a somewhat embellished version of events from one of my companions. After several rather cryptic mails he told me he'd heard that I'd had sex with the stalker in the toilet and hadn't used a condom.
Even my Tuesdays are Mondays.
Our first visit, I fear, may well prove to be our last.
When we arrived, the bar housed a bunch of take-or-leave gaijin and a couple of workmates that I can't be bothered to satirise. We sat down.
A few minutes later, in walked the stalker.
Fortunately, I already had half a disguise in my recent growth of facial hair. I borrowed a hat off one of my companions and spent the next ten minutes with my head about five inches from the table, mumbling in what I hoped sounded like a Dutch accent.
The arrival of further deadbeat gaijin, including erstwhile (tor)mentor KC, failed to provoke me. I kept my head down and kept pounding my beers, whilst most of my earthly nemeses occupied the space between me and the toilet. The one time I went for a pee, I left the bar and went to the station rather than trying to navigate across enemy territory. I think the stalker ultimately realised who the mumbling Dutchman at the adjacent table was, but the memory of our last chance encounter (the Man in the High Castle shouted drunkenly at her and made her cry) was probably still in her mind, so she didn't try any of her psychotic delusional shenanigans.
I served out my time in the bar and went on to further tomfoolery in Kyobashi. I owed it to myself.
***
Incidentally, the Man in the High Castle wasn't on hand to protect me last night, but it seems that he received a somewhat embellished version of events from one of my companions. After several rather cryptic mails he told me he'd heard that I'd had sex with the stalker in the toilet and hadn't used a condom.
Even my Tuesdays are Mondays.
Labels: COMRADES, DULLARDS, MISDEEDS
