Last night, I went to a bar. Figured I’d check out their No Cover Salsa night. I got there and heard the DJ say that it was going to be a 100% bachata night.
Damn. I must’ve not paid attention to the IG post. Fuck this. I started walking out–was looking forward to salsa, or at least a 50/50 night.
Anyway, before I got out the door, I realized what a great opportunity it could be. Dancing my favorite fast salsas doesn’t really allow any room for extracurriculars. But during bachata, music tends to be slower, men tend to force you closer all creep-like–so why shouldn’t I take advantage of the gross proximity to them and get something out of it?
I put my coat and bag down on some seats up against the wall only a little distance from the dance floor, then did my best “I’m so insecure” pose, and waited almost zero minutes to get asked to dance. Jackals.
Predictably, the over-eager men would pull me too close, attempt moves they were nowhere near suave, skilled, or attractive enough to do. All grotesque patterns that I would normally rebuff, or walk away from–embarassing the creeps to any spectators.
But, I let them. And I hammed up my own performance. Got close to them. My hands at times even touching their chests, their waists, and the extra grodes got a little tease: my fingers trailing toward their belts at their sides. Maybe I’d go further down their thighs, they fantasized. You know, the typical things they think they deserve. The excitement in their faces made me want to puke, But I had a job to do.
Some of them bought me drinks. I pretended to drink them, The more I “drank,” the more a few of them seemed supremely confident that they’d be able to kidnap me home. I mean, drunk girls paw at you, act playful, tease. All the signs were there. They’d be idiots not to read the situation correctly.
I was ready to leave after 2 hours of that game, Getting home to a nice triumph smoke sounded divine.
But to reward myself after such an odious evening, I asked a couple of decent guys to dance so that I at least could have some musical fun before I ended the night for good. Those guys didn’t suffer my malice as I had bestowed it on the others.
Had fun to a couple of my favorite Romeo Santos songs, then went to collect my things and head to my car.
Once I sat down ready to drive away, I took everything I had grabbed off my person, and dumped it in the passenger seat next to me along with the emptied contents of my purse. Ready to admire my haul:
9 wallets
4 phones
3 key fobs
I reached for the three fobs and clicked each of them to see if any of the cars were parked nearby. 2 out of 3. Wasn’t going to bother looking for the 3rd. I took photos of the 2 cars (well, their license plates) whose lights had turned on. You never know, maybe I’ll need cars to commandeer some time. And once I looked up the registration, it was highly likely that I’d also get the billing zip codes for any credit cards I may have acquired.
I drove off, planning to check the contents of the wallets once I was safely back home.
Once I arrived, I showered the filth off, and sat down with a joint. Click, flame.
The wait was worth it:
9 IDs (that I could sell)
2 future getaway cars (now that I had addresses etc)
4 phones I could jailbreak to sell (or use as burners)
22 credit/debit cards (I could spend them, or copy them, or whatever)
And close to $1,100 in cash
I sat back and admired my souvenirs. Lifted my the joint as if to toast those 2 hours of hard work. It was awful doing business with those…fools.
