This is part 2 of the Steve Rogers name I use for my blog. As I said before, it has been told a number of times, but there are many new people in my life as it continues to evolve. If you missed the first part- STOP NOW- and go to the navigation bar on the right side and read if first.
So I was in the Philippines and alone. I was warned to not eat at the “local” establishments so as not to die from some intestinal parasite that my body was not conditioned to fight off. Being a fan of BBQ, and when I found out that Tony Roma’s, A Place for Ribs was still open in the “mall” across from my hotel, I had to go. I am not a fan of pork (actually my body isn’t really a fan as it wants to purge it from the vessel immediately after ingestion) but Tony Roma’s has amazing chicken and the onion ring loaf makes you want to slap a baby. Seriously. I don’t think it was just the onion rings. I think slapping a baby is a lost art. Try it sometime.
Anyway, I was walking back to my hotel and passed a Starbucks. The Philippines Starbucks looked like the Starbucks where any and all of us go for overpriced, burnt tasting coffee with one very glaring exception. The chairs outside are filled with prostitutes rather that beret wearing tools writing their art thesis on laptops and smoking clove cigarettes. Teenaged hookers, yes. Haiku writing mother fuckers in Manila, not a one. I am not a coffee guy, nor have I ever partaken of the hourly arts, so I kept my head down and tried to get past the beanery unscathed. It didn’t happen.
I think I mentioned the Manila military presence in part 1 but I am not going to go back and check. This was what most people would envision when you think of military presence. When I think of guys walking around a major city with assault weapons, I think of the SWAT guys I have seen at some sporting events or concerts. This was not the case in Manila. I also think I mentioned that everyone there was practically a Lilliputian by comparison. Most of the people have a vacant stare on their faces that I usually associate with the individual not staying in the embryonic fluid long enough. Picture that with an AR-15 assault weapon in his hands. Not a pleasant picture. We will get back to the “military” in a few minutes. But first, hookers and coffee.
So I am standing just past the Starbucks, waiting for the traffic to abate when I feel a hand grab my bicep. I jump about 18 feet into the air (fuck anyone that says White Men Can’t Jump), and turn to see one of the hourly artists standing right next to me with an ear to ear grin on her face. I think she was proud that she approached me without being caught. She says hi and turns me towards the Starbucks. “You see my friend over there?” she asks. She points toward the seats and I see a woman (maybe not quite the age where we consider them woman, but this is a 3rd world country and this is the oldest profession in the world so I withhold judgment for now) and see an amazing looking brunette waving at me. She is wearing a dark blue dress that looks like it was painted on, high heels and has the best looking smile I have ever seen. If we weren’t in a questionable situation and she walked past me, even if I was walking with someone I cared about, I would have to take the chance of getting caught and check out the ass. LOVE A GOOD ASS!!!!
I wave back and try to dislodge the clinger from my arm with the patent pending “flick an extra sticky booger off your hand” technique. Epic Fail. She holds on to me like a rookie bull rider on his rodeo debut. I tell her thanks, but I am not really interested, as I turn a little to hide the approval that some parts of me were showing. She says, “You have good time, two girls, lots of fun, good fun”, in what will go down as one of the most unconvincing sales pitches in history. She tells me a price in Pesos that converts to about $35 dollars US. Really, I can fuck 2 Filipino woman, both of which look like a party in tight cotton and clear pumps.
I show her my wedding ring, wiggling it like John McLain in Die Hard 2 to the “just the fax” girl in the airport, and tell her I am married and my wife is in the hotel, gesturing across the street towards the Shang Hi hotel. She taps the ring and says, “You have wife, but she not here. I been seeing you for 2 days. No wife”, with the confidence that says she is getting paid.
Oh Shit!!!! I panic, and if you know me at all, I don’t have a poker face and cannot lie to save my life. I also don’t long for a trip to the free clinic when I get back to the US so there is no paper trail with my insurance company. I repeat that my wife is upstairs and she lets go of the arm and stand straight in front of me. She looks me straight in the eyes and asks my name. “Steve, I respond. Steve Rogers”. “Ok, Steve. Later I call your room. If you wife answer, I hang up, no problem. If she no answer, we come up, you pay us (the equivalent of $45 US)”.
I think again how she said there would be no problem, like they would tell me they were planning to steal my kidney and leave me in a tub full of ice or steal my passport and all my credit cards and leave me tied to the bed posts. That being said, the thought of 2 woman at one time made me think of the line from Office Space where the neighbor says he would “get 2 chicks to double up” on him if he won a million dollars. When the main character said he didn’t have to be a millionare to get that he replied that it would to get them to do that with him. All I needed was the loose bills I had in my pocket. I also flash to the 2 rules I have mentioned before and I was only 2 months into marriage #2, and I’d decided to keep my penis away from the local talent.
I tell her that sounded good and she walked away with a “See you later, Steve”, and she returned to the tables, awaiting the next American businessman to wander past, or into, her web. I crossed the street and out of nowhere one of the vacant staring military men walked up to me and asked what “that woman” said to me. I told him she asked me my name ( which wasn’t a lie- but thought if I told the whole truth I would have to explain to a judge how I, Captain America, was trying to avoid the clap outside the Manila Starbucks. That’s right, Steve Rogers is Captain America, so essentially I told a Filipino hooker I was the First Avenger, Captain America!!!
The guy locks eyes with me, no longer looking like a thalidomide baby (Google it, bitches), and becoming pretty scary, says, “Yeah, right. Get to your hotel now”! Trust and believe I went and didn’t even look out the window.
Flash forward about a week and I am leaving the call center I was there training at. It is about 4am and the streets are as empty as they are just before a zombie outbreak happens. I am walking down a 4 lane road with a median strip in the middle. I am a cautious person and look around my surroundings, ever vigilant. I see something that causes me to quicken my pace and hear “STEVE. STEVE ROGERS” echo off the buildings. I know who it is and I quicken my pace and glance to see the same “working girl” with the clear pumps and a different clingy cotton dress creeping up as she clip clops across the street shouting my name. “Slow down. Why you walk so fast? I’m right here. Steve….”.
I left without being caught and I keep the Steve Rogers name going here in the US. Whenever I am asked my name by a hostess at any restaurant I never give my government name. So now you know. And knowing is half the battle!!!!!
I love the tasteful raunch… lmao!
The bit about slapping babies lmao !!