As I approached the bar, I placed my order - one beer, please - and found an empty spot at the bar - an elevated zig zagging table with wicker-backed chairs on either side. I plopped myself down in the middle of some empty seats, but shortly thereafter was joined on the other side by a familiar face. The deaf girl. Sweet. Oh, she's alright, but I come to relax not to ask how are you via hand gestures, not to look at pictures of her in her bra and not to get a gentle foot to the nuts from under the table. I don't know sign language so some of the conversation is painful, but most of her sign language I understand since it mostly consists of pressing her tongue against her cheek or putting her finger through a hole, repeatedly. I get it, she likes the boom boom.
I tried to hail a passing waitress to get another beer. Oun. Oun! She didn't hear me. Oun oi! Som bia mooy teeit. In Khmer, that's one more beer, please. Again, she didn't hear me and kept walking as if in her own little world. I gave one last try, but not entirely in desperation as this bar is not exactly lacking in waitresses. Like finding a yellow cab in New York City, you don't have to wait long before you see another. Oun!! She kept going and I shook my head and laughed as I turned back around and said deaf! And of course, I found myself staring into the eyes of the deaf girl who looked at my like huh? Oops.
Later, I found myself staring off into the abyss, listening to random conversations. Not intentionally, but perhaps because this one guy was talking louder than others. His ladyboy girlfriend had left and motioned in the direction of the club. It was dancing time so he got up and prepared to leave as well. Not the oddest couple I've ever seen, but certainly a mismatch made in heaven. The only way he could get a girl who looked like that was if she was a ladyboy. More power to him. Some guys really dig the ladyboy and apparently he was one of them.
Her name is Kiki. Sounding a bit strange I let him continue. Not like I would have let on that I was eavesdropping from five seats away. Well, it's her nickname. They all have nicknames. Of course, they do. Most foreigners probably can't pronounce her real name. Her real name is probably Bill. Or the closest Khmer equivalent. Sometimes I wonder how a relationship with a ladyboy works. I can understand getting caught up in a situation once with the same woman. But when you are aware the clitoris is excessively long and you are putting yourself in that same situation repeatedly, well I just wonder what's the thrill in that? Not going to seek the answer to that question, this week anyway.
As I was paying my bill, one of the waitresses said another waitress wanted to try Jagermeister. Neither of them had ever tried it. Seeing how it was usually only a dollar for a shot and I was feeling generous, I offered to buy them some. If you work in a restaurant you ought to know what the food tastes like. Same goes for the bar, I thought. The bill came. It was $6. Considering my bill for three beers, a shot of tequila and a bottle of water was only $3.30, it seemed a bit outrageous.
I laughed a worried laugh and suggested that this wasn't happening tonight. The waitress went back to the bar, but returned saying she was unable to do anything. With that, I was up and out of my seat, walking towards the bar hoping that the Jager had yet to be poured and preparing for the possibility of walking out if they refused my refusal. The bartender explained that it wasn't on special tonight and that I needn't worry. I was happy to save some cash, but unhappy to know I probably came across as a cheapskate instead of a gentleman. Next time, I promised.
I tried to hail a passing waitress to get another beer. Oun. Oun! She didn't hear me. Oun oi! Som bia mooy teeit. In Khmer, that's one more beer, please. Again, she didn't hear me and kept walking as if in her own little world. I gave one last try, but not entirely in desperation as this bar is not exactly lacking in waitresses. Like finding a yellow cab in New York City, you don't have to wait long before you see another. Oun!! She kept going and I shook my head and laughed as I turned back around and said deaf! And of course, I found myself staring into the eyes of the deaf girl who looked at my like huh? Oops.
Later, I found myself staring off into the abyss, listening to random conversations. Not intentionally, but perhaps because this one guy was talking louder than others. His ladyboy girlfriend had left and motioned in the direction of the club. It was dancing time so he got up and prepared to leave as well. Not the oddest couple I've ever seen, but certainly a mismatch made in heaven. The only way he could get a girl who looked like that was if she was a ladyboy. More power to him. Some guys really dig the ladyboy and apparently he was one of them.
Her name is Kiki. Sounding a bit strange I let him continue. Not like I would have let on that I was eavesdropping from five seats away. Well, it's her nickname. They all have nicknames. Of course, they do. Most foreigners probably can't pronounce her real name. Her real name is probably Bill. Or the closest Khmer equivalent. Sometimes I wonder how a relationship with a ladyboy works. I can understand getting caught up in a situation once with the same woman. But when you are aware the clitoris is excessively long and you are putting yourself in that same situation repeatedly, well I just wonder what's the thrill in that? Not going to seek the answer to that question, this week anyway.
As I was paying my bill, one of the waitresses said another waitress wanted to try Jagermeister. Neither of them had ever tried it. Seeing how it was usually only a dollar for a shot and I was feeling generous, I offered to buy them some. If you work in a restaurant you ought to know what the food tastes like. Same goes for the bar, I thought. The bill came. It was $6. Considering my bill for three beers, a shot of tequila and a bottle of water was only $3.30, it seemed a bit outrageous.
I laughed a worried laugh and suggested that this wasn't happening tonight. The waitress went back to the bar, but returned saying she was unable to do anything. With that, I was up and out of my seat, walking towards the bar hoping that the Jager had yet to be poured and preparing for the possibility of walking out if they refused my refusal. The bartender explained that it wasn't on special tonight and that I needn't worry. I was happy to save some cash, but unhappy to know I probably came across as a cheapskate instead of a gentleman. Next time, I promised.
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