Week Five

It’s come to my attention that there exists a camp among my readers that question the amount of time I spend at the hot tub. Perhaps it’s all six of you. Regardless, I’ve decided to address this head on. Such is my habit. When I receive “constructive feedback” or whatever you might call it to desaturate the searing pain in such aggressive criticism, remedying the issue becomes of the utmost importance to me. For example, someone once told me that V-Necks don’t really work for someone with a concave pectoral area. I took the note. And I’m a better person because of it.

So when it comes to my attention that my fans have feedback to offer about how much time I spend in the hot tub, I must address. There are two reasons I go to the hot tub as often as I do. First: Be the first person to tell me bubble baths are not a small slice of what Heaven will be like. Go on. I dare you. But it’s California and it’s drought season. Despite my ongoing feud with seagulls and roots that make sidewalks uneven, I care about this Earth. And I don’t want to see it get dried up like that wart I had to have removed. So, in the same way I could use community transportation to diminish my personal carbon footprint, I soak in the community jacuzzi after work. When my backne flares up because I’m soaking in warm, green, recycled water with post-workout bros and drunk aspiring actors; it’s the same as the way I’d get bird flu every time I took the Rapid 3 Bus to school. These are the sacrifices we make to save our Earth. You can thank me later.

Second: Would you ask a Cop why he or she spends much of their time cruising a notoriously violent or drug-populated area of town? Would you ask a political reporter why they set up shop in DC directly across from the Capitol? Would you ask people that have too many small pieces of stale bread why they chill on benches near duck and goose populated ponds? No. You would not. I go where the story goes. And the story goes to the gym. And I refuse to go to the gym. But after the story is finished watching itself do bicep curls in the mirror for 35 minutes, it goes in the hot tub. And per my previous paragraph, I’m willing to follow the story there.

Now if the haters would allow me to continue the story…

English Conversation Club

It’s important to note here that the Complex’s jacuzzi is in the shape of a figure-eight. It’s really two jacuzzi’s connected in the center.

When I arrived there on this particular night, there were two gentlemen soaking on the left side while three women gabbed on the right. I felt the appropriate side to choose was the left where the strange gentlemen (strange in that they were strangers to me; their actual strangeness was not immediately noticeable) were soaking. I propped myself against the furthest side and read my book. I quickly realized the three gabbing women in the adjacent jacuzzi were rapidly speaking Portuguese and giggling. I also noticed a growing pile of discarded beer bottles on the ground nearest the ladies. Using Sherlockian observational prowess, I deduced that I was in the immediate presence of three drunk Brazilian women. This fact was quickly confirmed when one of the three women shouted across the center barrier:

“Hey boys. We just noticed there are three of us and three of you. Mind if we join you?”

We looked at each other for a brief moment before the ladies jumped in our side uninvited. Pleasantries were exchanged, I was introduced to the other gentlemen, and the conversations began. The two gentlemen joining the party were Dirk and Isaac. Isaac is older. Wiser. He’s in his later 40’s and given that he’s married, was not presently interested in giving any of these kind, extroverted women any special attention. They took the hint and focused on Dirk and myself. Not shortly after, Isaac went home to the wife.

A word about Dirk. Dirk is barely 18. He’s a student of a mid-western university somewhere (perhaps it’s even called Mid-Western University…all those states are all just one big state of cousins, anyway, right?) He’s just visiting some family in LA. Dirk is a good student. He’s studying physical fitness therapy and nutrition and he possesses all the bright-eyed naiveté of a Freshmen in college. He doesn’t even drink or do any drugs (he’s a nutritionist after all). Dirk is a wholesome young man.

The ladies introduced themselves…or more specifically, one of the Ladies (I’ll call her Angelina) introduced the bunch. Angelina, Lady A and Lady B. Angelina is a film student here and has been for a while. The Ladies, both A and B, are visiting for a few days and enjoying American culture. They speak English but not as well as Angelina and they’re embarrassed. Angelina speaks English without an accent and coupled with her lingual confidence, she’s very handsy. They all are actually.

Here’s where the night got interesting…for Dirk. Despite cozying up to me for what was only about half a second upon finding out where I work, Angelina was uninterested in talking to me. She spent her time on Dirk who, at this point I’d assume, realized he was having the best night of his life.

I spent the few minutes I stayed at the jacuzzi practicing English with the Lady A and the Lady B. They could feel the asexual vibe I was throwing down when they found out I used to teach English and we decided to talk Brazilian politics. It’s a well known fact that there is nothing less sexy than Brazilian politics. It’s not like all these sluts we have up here in American Politics. While we dab our foreheads with Wet-Ones watching hotties like Rick Santorum and Ted Cruz tee-off in GOP debates, the people of Brazil suffer in a wasteland of asexual diplomacy. Some more politically involved Brazilians have been known to use silverware to stab themselves at fundraiser dinners, just to make sure they can still feel. (I should note here that my views of both American and Brazilian politics are utterly uninformed and, likely, misinformed).

Meanwhile, Dirk and Angelina were really hitting it off…if that’s what the kids are calling it nowadays. I had gotten lost in conversation, but by the time I looked over, Angelina and Dirk were exploring the bases and I knew it was time to leave.

“Take care of your friend,” I said to Lady A and Lady B, who were giggling and simultaneously lighting cigarettes as I exited the jacuzzi and speed walked home.

A few thoughts –

I remarked earlier that Dirk is a wholesome young man. I in no way intend to say that, because of his encounter with Angelina, he is now somehow un-wholesome. Who am I to judge what two consenting adults do in public spaces in front of complete strangers where informal English lessons are taking place? That’s God and Donald Trump’s business.

And I certainly wouldn’t want to paint the picture of the virginal lamb being lead to slaughter by the hot Brazilian lamb slaughtering person. I only mentioned it to help paint a picture of the Dirk I first met and the Dirk that departed Los Angeles a few days later…a Dirk who will appear in several other posts…a changed Dirk.

While I did interact with Dirk several more times, this was the last time I saw these three women. As I mentioned briefly before, they were here enjoying American Culture. When I asked them what that meant to them, they let me know American Culture was partying at the beach, partying at universities, partying at clubs…

I felt terrible at how misinformed these poor foreigners were. They had such youthful, energetic expectations of American Culture. To them, America stands for “young and free” instead of “accruing debt and orange cheeses”. But I left my encounter inspired.

Maybe America can be great again. Maybe America can be just one big party…like when all those Bostonians got turnt and dumped all that tea in the bay. “Taxation without Representation” was yesteryear’s “YOLO”.

But let’s be realistic here. If America’s going to keep up our awesome record for “Most Incarcerated Citizens” it can’t just be all fun and games.

Coming up on WhoPeed: Adele Returns, Dirk: The Un-Requested Wingman, and Bridgette & Rick show me their wedding photos.