Precursor to a Typhoon
Two days till all H*ll breaks loose.
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
So here I sit at 3:37 in the morning at my sister's house waiting for a flight that I really don't look forward to. Thanks to choices that I've made to "better my future," I’m forced to leave the familiar and normal (a good job in DC, a slightly dysfunctional family, and an awesome girlfriend) behind and head off to a place that very few will ever hear of and even fewer will ever see.
So what in the world would a Sailor do while on leave in this kind of situation? Well, spend some time watching TV, sow on some long needed rank patches on his uniform and then head out to the most interesting strip club in the area. I chose this little joint in a near-by town that came highly recommended via the Internet. Maybe I should have stuck with ones that people in this town go to. It was okay. The drinks were overpriced, the smoking section closed before I could finish my first (and last) beer and then the bar closed just before I could spend $20 in ones. I guess that's the price of heading out a little late 23:00. My thought was, if I'm about to go to the second most Isolated place on Earth and my girlfriend has already caught her flight down to Florida for her next assignment, then I might as well see some T and A before I go to a place that I don't want / can't get anything that I would spend good money to see. I think I should have ordered a pay-per-view instead. Too bad my sister doesn't get cable.
So there I was, in my van (97 Astro) that I'm about to give up forever (so it really wasn't mine, but I was reluctant to give it back to my sister), (hey car's are expensive and the Navy doesn't pay me enough money to afford life in Washington DC and a car) (and besides, who would turn down a vehicle that wasn't going to cost them more than gas and an oil change) cruising down this very lonely road toward this club that I was looking forward to enjoying until it closed. Having last been in the town six years ago and only looking at a map once, I barely had a clue where I was going. The place wasn't too hard to find, it was the only place open, with five cars in the spacious lot and two cop cars waiting for people to leave. I should have taken that as a hint and kept driving, but I was bound and determinaned to see this place that was e-raved about. As I walked into the joint I notice something slightly amiss, the bounce/doorman wasn't at his post to take my money and glare at my completely strange military ID. So like any good Sailor, I strolled on in, paused for a moment looking for the doorman and not laying eyes on him went straight for the head (men's room). Brushing past the doorman after he finished splashing his boot, I knew that I was good for the rest of the night. After quick wetting of the porcelain I wandered over to the bar to pickup a barely pop and watch the show. On my way from the bar to the smoking section I passed the doorman and offered to pay (decided I didn't want to get rolled) but upon looking at the fresh Genius in one hand and ID in the other he waved me past (something about his bother who was on the Connie before she decomed).
First dancer up, something that should have never made it up onto any stage due to building codes and weight limits on load bearing surfaces. I would have left right then and there but I couldn't let a good beer go undrank, so I shot gunned it and set my timer. One beer at 5% with my body weight, under state laws should let be go home in 45 mins with a BAC of no more than 0.03. Know your body and your alcohol, I always say.
Well, the nigh progressed and soon I found my wallet a little lighter and my life a little easier to live. After a little encouragement from the staff I decided to take in a private dance. (Now being a Sailor for six years and doing what Sailors do, I've been to every gent's club from the greater DC area to Perth, AU, and I have seen the setup before but somehow I forgot the golden rule: know the pricing before the services are rendered.) So I sat down in the open-air booth (being a fairly conservative state the laws are fairly strict, so I was a good boy and kept my hands to myself) and preceded to get ripped off. Seven ticks of the big hand on the clock and I somehow owed $80. Somewhere in the back of my mind some nagging little question popped up as I was pulling out my very hard earned cash, "was seven minutes of anything really worth $80, especially if all it included was a little fantasy clouded with a lot of thoughts about a good woman who was far far away?"
That's when I realized that I was getting old.
Four years ago my two buddies and I racked up a $5000.00 tab in a Japanese club without a thought. We had just gotten back from a six-month deployment that had been accidentally turned into eight months in the Gulf. Eight months of not being able to spend money really does make one want to spend it all in one night.
So I packet it up for the night and went home thinking, $80 would have bought the attention of a head turner in Thailand for five days. Too bad I just spent it on a local girl that could have used a shower, braces and a face-lift. And it's a shame that she was the best looking one of the bunch. But worst than that, I'm going somewhere nowhere near Thailand, and even if I was, I know that I couldn't betray my girlfriend like that. Sad but true, I'm just getting old, or maybe she was just that good.
Six days and a wakeup and I'll be standing on a beautiful, unspoiled white beach, with deep blue water thinking to myself, I should have spent that extra $20 and gotten the next dance. But for now I'm just disgusted my local selection of adult entertainment.
So what in the world would a Sailor do while on leave in this kind of situation? Well, spend some time watching TV, sow on some long needed rank patches on his uniform and then head out to the most interesting strip club in the area. I chose this little joint in a near-by town that came highly recommended via the Internet. Maybe I should have stuck with ones that people in this town go to. It was okay. The drinks were overpriced, the smoking section closed before I could finish my first (and last) beer and then the bar closed just before I could spend $20 in ones. I guess that's the price of heading out a little late 23:00. My thought was, if I'm about to go to the second most Isolated place on Earth and my girlfriend has already caught her flight down to Florida for her next assignment, then I might as well see some T and A before I go to a place that I don't want / can't get anything that I would spend good money to see. I think I should have ordered a pay-per-view instead. Too bad my sister doesn't get cable.
So there I was, in my van (97 Astro) that I'm about to give up forever (so it really wasn't mine, but I was reluctant to give it back to my sister), (hey car's are expensive and the Navy doesn't pay me enough money to afford life in Washington DC and a car) (and besides, who would turn down a vehicle that wasn't going to cost them more than gas and an oil change) cruising down this very lonely road toward this club that I was looking forward to enjoying until it closed. Having last been in the town six years ago and only looking at a map once, I barely had a clue where I was going. The place wasn't too hard to find, it was the only place open, with five cars in the spacious lot and two cop cars waiting for people to leave. I should have taken that as a hint and kept driving, but I was bound and determinaned to see this place that was e-raved about. As I walked into the joint I notice something slightly amiss, the bounce/doorman wasn't at his post to take my money and glare at my completely strange military ID. So like any good Sailor, I strolled on in, paused for a moment looking for the doorman and not laying eyes on him went straight for the head (men's room). Brushing past the doorman after he finished splashing his boot, I knew that I was good for the rest of the night. After quick wetting of the porcelain I wandered over to the bar to pickup a barely pop and watch the show. On my way from the bar to the smoking section I passed the doorman and offered to pay (decided I didn't want to get rolled) but upon looking at the fresh Genius in one hand and ID in the other he waved me past (something about his bother who was on the Connie before she decomed).
First dancer up, something that should have never made it up onto any stage due to building codes and weight limits on load bearing surfaces. I would have left right then and there but I couldn't let a good beer go undrank, so I shot gunned it and set my timer. One beer at 5% with my body weight, under state laws should let be go home in 45 mins with a BAC of no more than 0.03. Know your body and your alcohol, I always say.
Well, the nigh progressed and soon I found my wallet a little lighter and my life a little easier to live. After a little encouragement from the staff I decided to take in a private dance. (Now being a Sailor for six years and doing what Sailors do, I've been to every gent's club from the greater DC area to Perth, AU, and I have seen the setup before but somehow I forgot the golden rule: know the pricing before the services are rendered.) So I sat down in the open-air booth (being a fairly conservative state the laws are fairly strict, so I was a good boy and kept my hands to myself) and preceded to get ripped off. Seven ticks of the big hand on the clock and I somehow owed $80. Somewhere in the back of my mind some nagging little question popped up as I was pulling out my very hard earned cash, "was seven minutes of anything really worth $80, especially if all it included was a little fantasy clouded with a lot of thoughts about a good woman who was far far away?"
That's when I realized that I was getting old.
Four years ago my two buddies and I racked up a $5000.00 tab in a Japanese club without a thought. We had just gotten back from a six-month deployment that had been accidentally turned into eight months in the Gulf. Eight months of not being able to spend money really does make one want to spend it all in one night.
So I packet it up for the night and went home thinking, $80 would have bought the attention of a head turner in Thailand for five days. Too bad I just spent it on a local girl that could have used a shower, braces and a face-lift. And it's a shame that she was the best looking one of the bunch. But worst than that, I'm going somewhere nowhere near Thailand, and even if I was, I know that I couldn't betray my girlfriend like that. Sad but true, I'm just getting old, or maybe she was just that good.
Six days and a wakeup and I'll be standing on a beautiful, unspoiled white beach, with deep blue water thinking to myself, I should have spent that extra $20 and gotten the next dance. But for now I'm just disgusted my local selection of adult entertainment.