The latter incident at christmas mansion

“The trouble with having an open mind, of course is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it.”

-Terry Pratchett

For the moment:

After Party-Koffee Brown

On Christmas eve, I was at a night club called *Heritage Mansion*.

In congruent with the previous post, I too would tag this as a semi-pseudo-glamorous joint. To illustrate, proletariats (pre-Marx definition) must pay RM100 just to enter on this special night. Special it was, I was there.

I’ve not been out at night like this for quite some time (kind of), thus I observed a great number of things. At the same time, this recently opened social institution is the current IT place in Kuala Lumpur. The place to be seen wearing your hazel contact lens. The only pretentious kind of people you don’t see here are men dressing up as woman truly thinking they are one. Women dressing up as men, the other species and the in betweens are permitted.

*That illustrates the significant impact of the whole women equality outlet.

As much as men appreciate compliments, truth of the matter is that it is not something they are used to, let alone groomed to hear. There are times, they truly rather not hear it.

I always go to night clubs with a group of friends. But once I’m in, half the time I’m minding my own business. However, tonight I learned that that solitary enjoyment can end up in awkward incidents.

There were two. I’ll narrate the latter incident, and maybe the former one in another post.

I was taking a breather just outside the club but still within its premises. Walking around the entrance area, taking my time. Within the compound of the club, there were outdoor bar top tables scattered.

Then I see this girl in a long red tube dress, probably in her late 20’s, a cross between above average and hot, gesturing me to come over. Not wanting be in a paiseh (embarrassing) situation, I walked a few steps forward and saw her finger shifted direction, while nodding and smiling at the same time. Much like how Walt would call for Mickey.

She brings me to her table nearby and introduces herself and her five friends. I shook them all with my right hand while my left is scouring in my pocket, searching for my I’m Not A Hooker card. After the standard pleasantries and me riding on their presumption that I’m a foreigner, one of them said,

We like your hair.

Really? Thank you. I think it looks shit. I’m actually gonna cut it next week. You should grow yours long like mine.

Oh no. You shouldn’t cut it. It looks good. I wouldn’t grow mine as long as yours. Any longer than it is now, I’ll look like a mthrfcker.

Ah. In that case I’ve been looking like one for six months now.

I left them very shortly after. Now that would have been a brilliant meeting. It did start off subtle at first. But then when the hair compliment came, I was somehow somewhat subconsciously alert.

First of all, the red dress girl with her post-colonial English, who was standing next to me throughout, was touching me in the wrong places. Regardless of whether or not I just met her. That kind of wrong places.

Secondly, I started to notice that while they were all decent, well dressed and groomed, the primary objective of the girl was to get me acquainted with her friends. I suppose that explains her bold move to call me over. She has the least to lose.

Thirdly, one of her five friends had a black shirt one and a burgundy red shawl (pashmina perhaps) fashionably wrapped around the shoulders.

Shawl friend was a guy. So was the other four.