"Can we all agree that what we are dealing with is Mexican strippers?"
"Did they look like psychos? Is that what they looked like? They were
vampires. Psychos do not explode when sunlight hits them, I don't give a
fuck how crazy they are!" - Seth Gecko, From Dusk till Dawn
+ + +
Today I had a hastily scheduled audition at a vampire-themed strip club in Mexico. It is not, so far as I can tell, the upper level of an ancient Aztec temple. Nor is it teeming with bloodthisty undead. So far it seems to be teeming with money-thirsty strippers, which is exactly what one would expect, nay, hope for in a place such as that.
[[Even vampire strippers get into the holiday spirit! The ladies are very festive.]]
The audition consisted of the owner, a takes-exactly-zero-shit-and-gives-just-as-many-fucks woman who could easily pass as Santanico Pandemonium (though she is currently pregnant with her fourth child, you simply can not tell it isn't her first) telling me to go set up in the DJ booth once she arrived. Her husband, the manager, who seemed eager to try me out had to wait for her to explicit say so. Even at their home I noticed he sometimes refers to her as 'El Jefe', a fact which amused me far more than it should have.
I also noticed that as soon as 'El Jefe' arrived she had a word with the resident master of ceremonies, DJ Diablo, who began rapidly cleaning the years of empty equipment boxes, broken mixers and effects pedals, beer bottles, and all the other accumulated detritus which had put me off originally. Their gear is still... shall we say, not exactly up to my standards.
My admittedly high standards, but when one goes from being instructed by Frau Cassucio, then mentored for years by Geoff Jones, and then graduates to a top 30 market PBS station and the occasional major motion picture... it does tend to leave one with a certain required standard of tech hygiene. Thankfully I brought my large gear box, my full theatrical/electronic toolkit, and everything I usually pack with my laptop for such gigs and things were in working condition in short order.
I should point out at this moment that DJ Diablo is actually a really nice guy. He doesn't speak a word of English, but by the end of the shift we had managed rudimentary communication based on the crowds make-up of gringos vs mexicanos.
The audition seemed to go well, El Jefe wants to keep me on for two more weeks to see how I do when its not a Sunday night/Christmas eve. After speaking to her and her husband at length they even want to implement a few of my ideas for promoting the establishment and/or running a bit tighter of a ship. So in addition to (temporary) resident DJ I also seem to be provisionally the new promotions consultant.
[[Now we're on the trolly.]]
This news was both good and bad. Good in the sense that I am dangerously low on funds, still don't have my car permit, and can't get anyone to agree to commit to a place for me to live in the Yucatan. Make no mistake, Quintana Roo is my destination, it just looks like I will be spending a little bit more time in Nuevo Progreso than anticipated, .
Which leaves me, and Tessa, with a major problem... where the fuck do we live while I'm spinning at Club-Not-At-All-The-Titty-Twister? Well, turns out El Jefe had a solution to that conundrum as well. She and her husband seem to have taken a bit of a shine to me, evidence for this was that they invited me to Christmas dinner this evening with their entire family. They feed me beer and expensive tequila while everything cooked, I set up my DJ rig and spun oldies, Mexican dance tunes, and Elvis Christmas staples.
The food was... goddamn, there really are no words. El Jefe prepared a holiday meal the likes of which I have not enjoyed since my grandmother passed away. They were also some of the friendliest, most welcoming, hardest drinking people I have ever spent any meal with.
After that magnificent feast they took me back to the club, or rather the block its on. Turns out they own another building there, a former restaurant, that they plan to do something with in a few years... but for now its vacant. So I'm renting an old taqueria to live in. It doesn't have a fridge, stove, furnishings of any sort, or a shower (I'm allowed to shower at the club when I want to, so thats something), but its cheap, close to the club, and (mostly) keeps the rain off our heads.
So here I am. Right now I should be settling into some sort of apartment on the Mayan Riviera, instead I'm borderline squatting in an old taqueria and working 5 to 6 nights a week as a DJ in a vampire-themed strip club. On the one hand this is, despite the obvious flaws, a damned interesting turn of events. On the other hand I suspect this cuts down the amount of friends of mine who will actually visit from "a few" to "haha, yeah, sure". Oh well. Shame that, you're missing some killer grub...
**Despite my mostly-absent spirituality I can't help seeing the Old Mans hand/paw in this. The laughter is pretty hard to ignore as well.
+ + +
This post and its original content copyright James Radcliff, and has been brought to you by Mexico, tequila, and generally poor decision making. If you would like to donate to support this bizarre little travelogue, feel free to do so via Patreon or PayPal. As always, this strange and debaucherous adventure has been brought to your screen by viewers like you. Thank you.
https://www.patreon.com/jamesradcliff
paypal.me/jamesradcliff
https://www.instagram.com/dispatches_from_the_field/
Comments
Post a Comment