Fuzzyhatjon's travel blogs:
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Moose and his pRoN
Entry 45 of 71 | show all | print this entry |
Moose is standing over the skinny guy holding a chair. I think he's really going to hit him with it. "I hope your dog rapes your chickens!!!!"
I don't remember Moose's real name. He said it was "Wmphele". Actually he told me with his mouth full of beer and I didn't want to ask again, because I probably couldn't pronounce it anyway.
I met Moose randomly. I had had a rough day trying to sell the car (goddam shit), and was just out for a walk. I had just dropped my camera off at home because the battery had died (a good thing in the long run). I was walking by a bar that seemed pretty quiet (as they normally do on a Sunday night), and I had given in to the fact that I would spend another night alone in Auckland (Auckland has put me in a bad mood, and I've been feeling particularly anti-social (sorry, asocial (you know who you are))). I look up and the bouncer of this bar is looking real angry and pointing at me. This is normally not a good sign. I stop. He "re-points" at me and then in at the bar. Ahh, a recruiter. "You! In 'dere now! You have no woman with you, what else do you have to do?" I shrug and walk in the bar. I order a Kilkenny then wander out to the front of the bar.
Meet Moose. Moose isn't the bouncer. What he is is 5'10", probably 240 lbs. Mostly muscle, his broad "stocky" body shows dutch heritage. His light hair is cut short, military style. He's dressed like a local. His accent gives him away. He kind of reminds me of "Arney". I think he's a rugby jock, and he's already drunk.
Moose and I hit it off right away. He compliments me on my handshake, my choice of beer (he is also drinking Kilkenney) and gives me a hat. It's a white-straw hat. The kind you see on old guys in white suits wandering around cruise ships. Being a guy who sometimes wears a rabbit on his head out to bars in the middle of summer, I'm not one to shy away from the hat that seems to make me look like a back-street boy. It matches my white shirt after all, and who's going to give me trouble with Moose around?
Moose is from South Africa but he lives in London. He's lived there for about four years now. It is apparent to me from his poor grasp of the English language that he is probably from a rougher background than most South African's that I meet (no, not all South Africans can speak English). It's also apparent to me that Moose is narcissistic and likes to talk.
Halfway through our beers, Moose starts to show me the pictures that's he's taken on his phone. The first few are the typical pictures; London, Big Ben, a picture of him and a mate from London. Then out comes the porn.
I have a theory that 70% of women are actively sleeping with 30 % of men around. Moose is doing his best to improve those statistics from 70/30 to 90/10. I first doubt that Moose has slept with the number of women that he claims he has, but his phone sticks up for him. He shows me no less than 3 home-made pornographic movies of him and other "consenting" women, about a dozen pictures of naked women in compromising and naked positions, and had taken pictures of the faces of most women he has slept with over the past year. That's when he got his phone. A year ago. So to sum up, moose has proof of sleeping with 20 women in the past year, at least four of them in pairs, and has insinuated at having "nailed" the rest of the girls on his phone. His proudest shot was a terrible movie of "24 year old virgin" that he filmed doing terrible things to herself. My respect for women is being compromised.
At the end of the "reel" on his phone are some pictures of Moose posing, flexing, and acting like a general muscle-head. "Look at dat! Dat is sexy! Isn't dat sexy! Say it is sexy!" Now I'm in a difficult position. Whipping out my best diplomacy, I use large words to insinuate that while he does nothing for me, I can see how women might find him attractive. He looks at me in a confused way, tells me to fuck off, then asks the opinion of the local server, a skinny little white guy dressed in black; the skinny guy.
I pride myself in my diplomacy. Obviously skinny guy doesn't, because before he can finish calling Moose a "fag", he is lying on his back on the floor and moose is picking up a chair. "Dude, this bar is kinda lame. I know somewhere we can go. Somewhere with lots of girls. Do you know where the Viaduct is?" I'm tapping him on the shoulder trying to calm down a potentially awkward situation. It works. "I hope your dog rapes all your chickens!!" Yells Moose. No one laughs. He is now standing over skinny guy with the chair raised above his head. "That would really suck for his chickens man. Come on, it'll be like London!" He smiles at me and puts down the chair. "Let's go!"
As I said before, Moose likes to talk. And when Moose isn't talking, he likes to make trouble. Apparently in London, you can walk up to some strange woman and fondle her from behind and she will be "into it". Moose walks up to a strange woman waiting alone at a stop light, wraps his arms around her. "Hey bayyybe! How you doing?!" The woman doesn't look like she appreciates it. In fact she looks like she just shit herself and is about to cry. "What"? He asks and looks at her like she's on crack.
"Dude, this isn't London."
"In London the girls are all fun. They like it when you run up to them and kiss them!!" He orders some girls to come drink with him. They look at him like he's crazy. "There are two types of people; people who can't handle London, and people who handle London really too well!"
"And what type would you be, my friend?"
Do I really need to ask. He gives me a big grin. Then he frowns. "I need to find a toilet, or a shitter, or whatever they call here". At this point we're running across roads, through busy intersections. Cars are honking and I'm holding on to my hat to keep it on. I feel sorry for the poor sommbitch that's gotta clean the BK toilet tonight.
As Moose enters the BK I'm thinking that I may be in over my head. I could bolt while he's still inside (I'm still outside smoking one of Moose's cigarettes). The guy seems like trouble. But I kind of feel sorry for the big guy. Everyone deserves a second chance, right? Maybe he's just lonely and trying too hard.
Moose tries several other women on the way down to the viaduct. Not much luck. I notice he's got a pretty big scar on his hand. "I got cut with a knife!" He seems excited. He's obviously told this story a million times over. "My crazy ex-girlfriend stabbed me when she saw the video on my phone! She tried to hit me here," he motions with a stabbing motion to his lower right abdomen, "but I stopped the crazy bitch with my hand. It went right through! Look at that!" He shoves his hand in my face. "I'm meeting her in Perth" he says nonchalantly. I give him a look. He shrugs. "They tried to put her in prison for ten years, but I told them no". He sort of insinuates that it's in return for her finally calling an ambulance after 3 hours of bleeding all over the place.
We make it to the Viaduct without too many insidents. He tries to steal somone's flag off a car. I watch the episode from a good distance. He sees me doing this and stops. "I'm sorry, I don't want to make you unhappy with my actions" he tells me. "But in London..." He goes on about London for a while at this point, physically stops me and won't let me go until I agree to go to London one day. He dropps me a quick warning before heading inside; "I don't know where we are. If you are going to leave me..." He makes a kicking motion. I scowl at him, demand why he needs to make "fucking threats" all the time. He turns and dashes across the last set of lights. I grab my hat, roll my eyes and follow.
We get into Danny Doolans about 9 pm. The place is full. Not bad for a Sunday night. I buy the first round. And the second. Though to be fair, he tried to buy the first round. "You owe me two now", I remind him. "Awwww, fuckofff" is the reply.
I like Danny Dolans. Everyone is friendly. It's one of the easiest places to go alone. Anyone will talk to you or dance with you. And the music's not bad either.
Moose dancing was funny. With his accent he seemed... special. He dances sort of like a backstreet boy, and lip syncs all the words wrong. I'm not sure if he realises that I'm laughing at him or not. His backstreet boy impersonation gets a little too real when he starts reaching booth hands towards my face and making a kissy face, you know, new kids on the block and all. I turn and start dancing with the lady behind me doing my best to keep Moose out of my field of vision; the usual thing I do when some creepy lady gets too touchy-feely.
The woman is in her forties, and has a tongue-ring, but she's the only woman 180 degrees away from Moose. She starts getting touchy-feely. One of her friends asks me if I'm married. "Noooo...", I answer quizzically.
"Have kids?"
"No", I answer again shaking my head, and tilting one eyebrow.
"You are in for the ride of your life tonight. She can do amazing things with that tongue ring..."
She starts getting touchy-feely again. Out of the frying pan into the fire. I turn around. Moose is still doing his kissy-face dance. I smirk. He thinks I'm smiling at him. He reaches out to grab my face. I spin around again even faster than the first time.
"Nice tongue ring!"
Moose is having trouble keeping up with beers. He didn't even finish the first one I bought him. I can't believe I can hold my alcohol better than he can.
After a while I try to run off. He catches me. "Where are you going?" He demands. I bank on guy rule number 1; it's ok to ditch your friend if you are chasing tail. I start to talk to some random girl that looks like she is about to leave. I figure I may be able to take off the same time as her and fool Moose into thinking I left with her. Unfortunately she's not going anywhere soon.
The girl was English. Danny's is full of randoms from around the world. It is close to where the cruise ships dock, and is close to all the backpackers. It is also one of the only "livelier" places at the Viaduct.
The girl was English and I soon met all her friends as well, all of whom complimented me on my hat, which was passed around for a while. One of the guys recognises me from the toilets; "hey man, it's me, Ninja Dude!!".
Ninja Dude is the name I gave him in the men's room. He "stopped" the urinal from overflowing with the power of his mind (he stared at it really hard until it finished flushing), and was so excited about it he had to slap me on the back and shake me. "Did you see that!!". "Yeah dude, you're a ninja!!" "Ninja Dude! I like that!" he yelled as he jumped up and down and ninja-kicked the door open. It takes all types... But at least he's not like Moose.
Moose motions me over. I've been talking to Ninja Dude, and didn't notice that the girl took off. Busted.
I get back and Moose tells me to get another beer. "Your turn dude". He motions again. I ignore him. Tongue-ring lady is back. She looks greasy as ever. Moose scowls and takes off. I wander off and start talking to the girls he was creeping on while I was talking to Ninja Dude. The girls are kiwis from the South Island, up to see Rod Stewart play on Tuesday. One owns a bar in Greymouth, the other is her employee. Sweet, local contacts in Greymouth. They are actually good to talk too, and seem surprised that I'm nothing like Moose. The motion to Moose as they say this, pointing out the fact that he's sizing up his next victim. She looks like what we in Canada would call an "puck bunny"; tall, blond, young, attractive, and probably as dumb as Moose. She seems interested. What I'm interested in is the fact that Moose is only holding one beer. The son-of-a-bitch didn't get me one.
Guy rule number 2: You pay what you owe. If you owe a dude a drink. You buy him a drink. Even if you can't afford one for yourself. At this point all sympathy for Moose drains out of me. I say goodnight to the girls and tell them if he comes around to say that I was looking for him, but I left with a girl. They agree to cover for me.
Wearing the hat the entire time had its benefits; Moose pretty much only knows what I look like with the hat on. So as soon as I take the hat-that-stands-out-like-a-polar-bear-in-the-middle-of-Times -Square, I become invisible. I sneak right by him.
I can't help but look over my shoulder a few times on the way home.
"Nice hat", the guy at Burger King looks right through me. I ask for a 60 cent ice-cream. They've blocked off the bathroom.
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