Posts
Actually, my brother is thousands of miles away and I don't think he has any firearms (I wouldn't put it past him though) so I went with a friend to Maid Date in Causeway Bay.
Maid Date is a cosplay bar: the idea is beautiful in its simplicity. You rent a bar, like any other, but then you get all your staff to dress up like some stereotyped notion of French maids, in tiny little skirts and aprons, and then serve booze to hormone-addled sybarites.
Except, this being Hong Kong, we arrived at 10pm to find a couple of middle aged office ladies having a cup of tea, two men playing with a Rubik's Cube, and a waitress trying to sell us Japanese style fried octopus rings, along with happy hour Heineken at one for the price of two. Hardly the dream world of a million otaku.
The waitress must have taken pity on is and brought an unrequested, free bowl of fried potato snacks to our table, which we declined. This is the second time in two days that somebody has tried to give me potato-based products for free. Yesterday it was crisps in Pret A Manger, "on the house", today it's cheesy-unidentifiable-shapes.
It must be a sign. A sign that all my walking up and down stairs is giving me the look of a crackhouse charity case, and ladies in the catering trade all feel desperately sorry for me.
After half an hour in this caricature of fetishised sexual desire, I could take no more. Well, we had to stay half an hour to be sure. We paid up and left, while the proprietor wished us a good day. A good day? It was half past ten and we were heading to a karaoke receptacle - surely this was just going to be a night, or at least an evening, of some description.
Years later, when people ask me about my life in Hong Kong, I'll tell them this: I got married, then I went to a bar where women tried to wear soft-porn uniforms, and then I went to the top of an office building to massacre Supertramp songs in a room the size of the average American bathroom.
It was bliss.
0 comments:
Post a Comment