The bathroom attendant is wearing a red bow tie. When I walk in he bows, and not just a little bow, a big one. I consider urinals and opt for the one in its own private little nook. I unzip and I’m about to begin.
That’s when the shoulder massage starts.
What the @#$@#%!! If there is one rule that I’ve strictly maintained my entire life it’s that I don’t urinate if someone is touching me. Especially if that someone is giving me a shoulder massage. And most especially if he is wearing a red bow tie.
I look over my shoulder, the left one, as he kneads away. My face is twisted with violation. I shake my head no and then nod for him to back off, not that I would be able to do anything if he didn’t. I’m kind of in a vulnerable position.
He gets the hint.
The really freaky part is that beyond the walls of the Golden Boss’s bathroom, the scene is just as weird.
Chinese business men hire girls to dance with them. Chinese business men dance. Planets hang from the ceiling. Laser lights beam onto the floor. The singing is at such a high pitch and amplified at such a level that people dance with their hands over their ears and still manage to stay on beat.
Everybody that is, except for the Chinese business men.
The Gold Boss nightclub, it’s a name that makes no sense. It’s fitting. It purveys the perfect amount of unintended overdoneness. This place, a sort of writing fodder paradise, is a full-on assault of the senses and has complete disregard for everything that is tasteful.
It was marvelous. Except the shoulder massage. That really freaked me out.