Monday, September 29, 2008

The Vampire

In he swaggered, at The End of the Line. Chaparra nudged me saying, "Look at this one." I leaned back from my bar stool to gaze down bathroom row towards the front door. All I could see was the top of his black cowboy hat. He was looking downward. Then he lifted his head and all I saw were his eyes looking at my eyes looking at him. My mind said, "Oh my god, here comes trouble," as I tried to inconspicuously disappear back into bathroom row. Definitely, he was from the Wild, Wild West. If it had been legal, he'd a been wearing a holster on each side of his hips (which, by the way, moved very well on the dance floor). And just as I had suspected, trouble came walking my way as soon as the band chose a song from their large repertoire (which undoubtedly is the reason we wait about 5 minutes between songs!?!?). How could I refuse when he, later to be called "The Vampire," held out his hand, asking me to dance. Chaparra and I smiled at each other as I walked out to the dance floor with the Vampire.
The Vampire would show up every now and then around midnight. And just like a vampire, there was some unidentifiable reason that he would make your heart jump. Just his presence gave the place excitement. He'd lure the women out to the dance floor with his eyes, which were dark, dark black, not having to say a word. Maybe both the cowboy and the vampire hold a romantic image in our psyches. Think about it, and not just with your mind. Don't both the cowboy and vampire elicit something from the body? Maybe it's their proximity to death. The vampire's proximity is obvious. Entrancing their prey in a very titillating way 'til, of course, the kill. Well, the cowboy with his gun-slinging image, saving a damsel in distress, again with a kill in the end. In a way they both evoke romantic images of the night, enveloped in a haze which brings about a surrender. Wow! How can one possibly resist?
And resist, I didn't. Many a night we waltzed, polkaed, and just plain kicked up our heels around "The End of the Line." He'd nibble at my neck while taking the lead on the dance floor. Then he'd twirl his cowboy hat in the air and grita. Your heart would be pumping and you'd feel full of life! Maybe that's what the vampires do. They get your blood rushing, making you helpless, before they move in for the kill! HHHhhhmmm! No wonder we named him "The Vampire"

Saturday, September 13, 2008

ManWoman

Then there was ManWoman. ManWoman? No, she/he is not a transvesite or transexual. She is a genuine ManWoman. What makes her a ManWoman? Where shall we start? Could it be her figure, or should we call it her build? Well, it kind of grows or fills-out as it moves upward from the ankles. The legs are solid, as can be witnessed from her mini-faldas. Then her waist expands with an ample beer belly. From there the shoulders are broad and the breasts are small as revealed by her halter tops. Then, the hair is curly and short-short. I think she even has her neck shaved. Her face is painted, being topped off with bright red lipstick on her twisted mouth. Is her mouth naturally twisted or twisted from alcohol? Who knows! But twisted it always is. Anyway, ManWoman's man, yes she actually has a steady man, which is more than some of us can say, is smaller and older, and he also is usually twisted. In no way can his walk match her strut. When ManWoman enters The End of the Line, with or without her man ('cause we think she sometimes sneaks out alone after he's passed out at home) everyone knows, because she struts straight down bathroom row smiling at all the men. Now, walking down bathroom row is what we imagine walking down death row might be. Yes, you got it. Hands jutting out from behind the bars, I mean barstools; a narrow plank-like walkway; and the women being deathly afraid of being groped by the inmates, I mean clientele , as most of us have been.
One night ManWoman arrived, belly hangin' out, with her man in tow, because, god knows, she's in charge of him! They sat at the bar along side myself, my sister and Chaparra. They were having a lovely time that night, although there are nights when it's not quite so lovely between them-she points her finger in his face, shouting (with her twisted, red mouth)about him flirting. All of it in her imagination because, first of all, no one's gonna flirt with the old man and secondly who's stupid enough to flirt with ManWoman's man. Well, they came back from the dance floor and ManWoman started yelling at some little, drunk guy standing in bathroom row. He moved on. Out ManWoman and her man went to dance. The little drunk guy returned and sat on her stool. I whispered over to my sister and Chaparra, who weren't paying any attention to me, that there was going to be a fight. When ManWoman returned and saw the little drunk one there she went into a rage! The little drunk man grabbed her man like a hostage, holding him in front as protection from ManWoman. I quickly fled. ManWoman picked up a bottle from the bar, pulled her man out of the way, and went straight for the little drunk one. Fortunately for the little drunk one, security arrived to save him. He was thrown out, but ManWoman and her man were allowed to stay. I'm not exactly sure how the judge and jury work in the Wild, Wild West, but I suppose you could consider the judgment to be fair, after all, ManWoman and her man were clearly the one's spening their money there. Maybe the little drunk one was stealing beers. But it was quite entertaining, especially for a night with no cover charge!

Sunday, September 7, 2008

Rats

As the story goes, it was rats (and ungrateful clientele) that brought the infamous "Beginning of the Line" (or la Rondalla) to it's knees. We call it the "Beginning of the Line" because that's the part of the Wild, Wild West where we'd start off our night. And what a start off too!
But, getting back to the rat. As urban Mexican-myth would have it, a rat fell through the ceiling, landing on a dinner plate of some guests. The owner told the waitress to give them half off their bill. I guess the guests were upset and filed a complaint. Obviously, they hadn't had enough margaritas. Because god knows, after two, anything can happen and it will appear to be normal to you. We had to enforce a limit amongst ourselves, Chaparra, my sister and I. That limit was a 2 drink, not minimum but, maximum. When we'd walk in the bartender would make our specials: margaritas on the rocks with herradura and grand marnier. I remember the time when the wrong bartender made the drinks. The waitress brought them to the table and we asked where our grand marnier was. She said, "Oh," and brought the bottle to the table so we could pour it in ourselves. We had a great time that night.
Chaparra was lovin' the music and the total atmosphere when something dropped from somewhere in the ornately decorated ceiling. It was a roach. Chaparra screamed, brushed it off and went on swaying to the music. If the diners who reported and closed down la Rondalla, or the "Beginning of the Line" had had at least the proper number of margaritas, they'd a taken it all in stride. Just as life should be taken.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Roaches

Next to rats and mice, cockroaches are my least favorite things in the world! Yes, roaches can be found at The End of the Line. Maybe that's why it's kept dark, with the only lights being black lights (to make the wall murals glow), Christmas lights (to make it seem like a party?), and behind the bar lights (to highlight the bartendresses assets?). Anyway, one time Chaparra and I were sitting at the bar quite comfortably after having shuffled the stools around to find ones that were not too high (like they need tall stools for their clientele, most of whom don't pass the height requirements to get on the rides at Six Flags!:)
Deciding on what to drink was our next chore because mixed drinks are outrageously priced, weak, but are made up to look exotic, probably to fool you, just like the bartendresses, whose genders can be questionable. Beer is your best bet. And if your taste runs for the exotic, painted, low-cut blouse wearing, tight jeans (without back pockets)wearing women (?), you can get quite a show as they bend over to get the beer out of the cooler. You've heard the expression, "belly-up to the bar"? Well, they "booby-up" to the bar to open the bottle of beer. And for this, they get tipped! The heftier the backside and/or topside, the heftier the tip. But, that also depends on the degree or drunkeness of the clientele.
Chaparra and I have tried many ways to drink beer, because neither of us like beer! But it's the cheapest drink and you know it hasn't been watered down as many of the liquors are suspected of being. We've had what we call a beer "cocktail" where you pour it into a glass with ice and lime juice. Not bad, and it lasts long. Then there's the bottle of beer with a clamato back . Now, the clamato juice will cost you because it's served "preparado" which means they prepare it (pepper, salt, tabasco) so, for some reason, they charge you like it's a mixed drink although there's no alcohol. But, it makes drinking the beer easier and fools your stomach into thinking you've eaten. So afterward, you don't go out for tacos.
But anyway, there we were on our hand-picked stools, drinking our beer cocktails when we were joined by a large roach. Since our boobs too, are at bar height, they must make bars with that in mind, you can imagine how we felt when the large roach, which grew larger in size at it came our way, started zig-zagging all over the bar, then darted under the bar-ledge! Obviously confused, or intoxicated, it popped back up on top of the bar. The well experienced bartendress (if it is a woman) smacked it and cleaned it off the bar. Yeah, it put a little damper on the night. So what else is new?
After a beer or two, I had to make my way down "bathroom row" (to be explained at a later date) to use the "ladies" room. The "ladies" room is a small boxlike room with a mirror (of course, to fix eye-liner, lipstick, etc. although no one looks any better coming out than when they went in!); with a sign on it that says "please do not throw toilet paper into the toilet, put it in the garbage can"; a broken down sink under which is kept a broken toilet seat and extra toilet paper, if there is any. There's also a garbage can in the corner which is frequently used as a toilet when the stall is occupied. The stall has a toilet that sometimes has a toilet seat, always has an overflowing garbage can with used toilet paper and may or may not have a roll of toilet paper in there. And the floor is definitely wet so you have to roll your pants legs up. I was so happy when I went into the "ladies" room because it was empty. I guess everyone was boogying out on the dance floor. Noticing there was no toilet paper in the stall, and knowing where the secret stash is kept, I took a fresh roll in with me. I unwrapped it and, to my horror, a roach jumped out. Screaming, I threw the roll into the air. It fell, into the toilet, naturally. And I scrambled for the door, as if the roach was chasing me! But who knows, it could have been chasing me. After all, it was Mexican and could have been a male roach! And Mexican, male roaches are quite persistent!!!

Monday, September 1, 2008

The End of the Line

The End of the Line is a virtual entertainment center. Not only do you get a live band whose repertoire is so large that they literally take more time between songs than they actually do playing music. I guess they're deciding on what song to play next and do it in a democratic way where all three musicians have a turn to present their view on what should be played next, debate it, then vote. But, the group also has a unique physical presentation. Hair is one of their trademarks, along with t-shirts tucked into jeans and belted pants that are hitched up to somewhere between the bottom of the breast bone and the natural waist. But, getting back to the hair. A woman would be proud of it's length. Sometimes it's in a pony tail, which is okay. But sometimes, it's actually parted down the middle and combed straight down the sides of their faces. Although the hair is combed straight, it's not straight hair. So it actually curls down the sides of their faces. Maybe it's to hide their faces, which is probably a good idea.
After about 40 minutes, half of which has been spent in discussion of what to play, the band will take a break and put on music which has to be played on an 8 track. Remember them? They lost the fight way back when to cassettes. But, if you're fortunate enough to be on the dance floor, you might actually be able to dance to "Jail House Rock" in Spanish. The crowd goes wild for this as everyone hits the dance floor to twist!
A couple of times the dance floor had to be evacuated. One time a putrid smell permeated the place. It's not unusual for people to pass gas when they're twisting, but this smell was horrid. Everyone ran out into the street gasping for air as someone secretly laughed at having thrown a stink bomb. Then another time a guest singer was up on stage. Everyone was boogying down when people started coughing. Before you knew it, everyone was choking and heading for the door again. The whole place emptied out due to the pepper spray (again administered anonymously) except for the guest singer. What was he on that he was able to sing right through it?
Thus you have it, another vignette from the End of the Line.