Chance Encounter: A Personal Memoir

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A Chance Encounter in the Temple of the Living Elvis (Las Vegas)
I stood next to the Consumer Electronics Show desk at the MGM Grand Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada. It’s the place where you stand in a (shorter) line to pick up your pass before you descend into the basement to board a monorail to the Convention Center.

There were a number of conventioneers present and a bunched delegation from Senegal were speaking loudly in French. Sadly, I do understand French, but apparently not when it’s spoken in Senegal.

She sauntered up to the Senegalese men standing near me, and spoke in passable French to them wearing a shimmering terra-cotta colored satin ‘not quite a wraparound’ dress. (It looked as if somebody TRIED to stuff bratwurst into a garden hose) What I mean by that description is that it should have wrapped around but it fastened well too short of that goal, and as a result, her breasts kept on coming out of her dress. I found the situation amusingly horrifying that she had that particular euro penchant for dispensing with cumbersome undergarments. She wore a ‘Brazilian’. The fact that I could confirm that at first glance, gives you the sense of the lady, if I can call her that. The men from Senegal will confirm my observation if they pass by this blog.
Not an actual photo, just trying to capture
the general vibe.

European women (monied and destitute alike) often come across as being filled with the pent up frustration of liberalism and the venom that can only originate in a “progressive” culture. The older they get, the more seasoned and bitter they become, much like the news hosts on MSNBC. Ignored by the Senegalese, she spoke to me, switching to English. Apparently my aging and affluent (or effluent as you prefer) tarnished looks didn’t translate into the EuroTrash model. I took it as a compliment.

“Are you staying here?” 
“Yes I am,” My hand shot out, “Jim Willoughby from New Orleans, and you are?”
“My name is Bambi.”
I had to suspend disbelief, because even though I almost used Jack’s name (Blogger WoFat) fraudulently, I knew for a fact that there was a Bambi in The Big Easy…
“Have you ever been to New Orleans?”
“No.” (what a pity, not the same Bambi) Bambi looked forty-five, real age about 30. She was just mildly unattractive in a soured vinegar and water solution kind of way. At this point she may have read my body language a bit more clearly. “Ok, my name is Melusina. I will go up to your room with you?”

I looked at the sloppy, slurring, sweat stained trout and smilingly said that I had other plans.

“For four hundred dollars?” She mentioned money and ok, I’m a whore. 
“Ok, yes, for four hundred dollars.”
She smiled for the first time and yes, the pancake make up actually did crack on one side of her face. Taking me by the hand, we walked toward the elevators. I commented, this time in French, Las Vegas est la ville des rêves, that Las Vegas truly is a city of dreams. Not only could you indulge your vices, but women come up and offer to pay you four hundred dollars to have sex with them.
She stopped, confused, breast slinging out of the loose top as she pivoted toward me, “No, you pay me four hundred dollars.”
I replied, “I don’t have four hundred dollars, I thought that you were going to pay me to have sex with you. Honestly, I need the money right now, though all you’d get for that is the opportunity to blow me with a party hat on.”
Bambi/Melusina pivoted the other way, giving me an ugly pout, her breast loosely re-seating itself in the dress, and stalked off, unfulfilled and unloved – and I didn’t make $400…

24 thoughts on “Chance Encounter: A Personal Memoir

  1. My wallet is just a little more vacant than it could have been. Obviously I didn't sell myself well enough.

  2. That sounds a lot like the General Convention of the Episcopal Church. Are you sure Bambi was a woman?

  3. The parts were all visible and I saw no "junk". It could have been a "tuck and roll" job, but she clearly wasn't a traditional chick with a stick. My sense is that the Episcopal Cannons are far more direct than she was in a similar setting. Having not experienced them first hand, I can only speculate.

  4. Hahaha! I just love your style. God, she sounds a dreadful, salloppe! I'm surprised you went as low as four hundred! Made me laugh how you turned that around. I think you handled it perfectly. I'm proud. 🙂

  5. You're a class act, LL. You should have held out for more. $450 or $475 at least. That extra bit could go a long way to settling your gambling debt.

  6. Or maybe a negotiation wherein she settled my bar tab by providing services to key hotel employees in lieu of? (soft money)

  7. I could have also agreed to donate a portion of the proceeds of our encounter to the Southern Poverty Law Center, One of Al Sharpton's many charities, the Jim Collins Foundation (providing funds for gender reassignment surgery – a favorite of the Obamas), or Reverend Wright's Black Liberation Theology Church. Hindsight is always 20-20 isn't it?

  8. Maybe someone already had used her fee to donate to the Jim Collins Foundation and she'd gotten her gender reassigned. That's the real reason s/he was so insulted. You're too much man for the likes of hir.

  9. Heh. That never happens to me! Tha' wimmins can see the chip on my shoulder a mile away, so they always do avoidance maneuvering when I am near.

  10. I'm with Brighid– The only way this story could be better is if I could have witnessed it in person! 🙂

  11. If you were there with Brig, I'd have had you both dress to the 9's and accompany me like little strumpets, warding of the Bambi/Melusinas of this world.

  12. Or we could drive up your price! Stage a little bidding war perhaps, and then you'd have Bambi paying you $800 in no time. 😉
    (We'd expect a cut of the additional profit. And dinner.)

  13. As team members, giving you a cut of the action (does it make you a pimp?) and buying dinner is the very least that I should offer.

  14. "As team members, giving you a cut…" adds a whole new perspective to "working in the teams"…

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