I wonder what it is about strip clubs that attracts the most bizarre of regular customers. It was a quiet night last night and on account of this, downstairs opened late. All the staff were sitting by one of the bars chatting, tightening corsets, eating twiglets and generally reveling in the excitement of another night at work. Normally at this time, customers are not allowed downstairs, but on the other side of the room at the opposite bar we could see a man standing, waiting in anticipation for the lights to turn down and the music to begin. Shit…it was Baz… Now Baz was keen but I’d never seen him waiting before opening time before. Poor guy… I should feel sorry for him and be compassionate, but there’s only so much compassion you can muster when trapped in a conversation you have heard 35 times before, in a cloud of musty unwashed clothes smell and being told you are ‘naughty but nice….ha ha ha…naughty but nice…’.
Baz comes in probably about once a fortnight, maybe not even that often, but when he comes he stays from the beginning to the end. He even used to call one of the old bar tenders for a lift in, and eventually said bartender used to call in sick when he received one of these calls to avoid running into him at all. Baz is one of those guys with milk bottle bottom glasses, that always carries a plastic bag and shuffles around selfconciously. He knows all of our names and remembers EVERYTHING we have ever told him…each time he comes in he asks how our family are, our boyfriends, what our holiday in Thailand was like, did we get sick from the food, did we buy that nice dress we were talking about, are we exited? It’s only two days till our birthday… He has a fixation with Kumi and brought her in a card and £50 for her birthday. This was a lovely gesture but unfortunately for her means that she now has to pay him the most attention when he comes in to show her gratitude. He also probably used all of his benefits for the week to give her that £50 so she better be damn grateful. Poor girl.
Now one of Baz’s favorite things in life is Lamborghinis. Apparently he used to be a professional photographer and take photos of Lamborghinis and Ferraris with beautiful models lounging around and life was great! Until his photographer partner died suddenly from an unexplained illness and life has been going down hill ever since. Ever since 25 years. However things are looking up now that he has decided that Kumi is to be his next model and he will take photos of her by the Lamborghinis with her shoes off. He will give her £100 and pay her bus fare to the garage so she won’t have to be out of pocket. He won’t sell the pictures but he might put them up in his house, and she can have one too if she wants. Somehow I don’t think she wants…
Kumi and I were talking the other day and we were musing over the possibility that Baz could actually be a serial killer and an all round general psychopath. Apparently he lives with his mother who he looks after…slightly reminiscent of Psycho don’t you think? Or that film where the guy loves his mother so much that when she dies he takes off her skin and makes things out of it for use around the home. Then he goes on to do the same to any woman that he has feelings for, murdering them, skinning them and making little bowls out of their skulls or cushions from their buttock skins. In the finale of the film the man emerges from his patio doors, basking in the glow of the moon light, wearing his latest victims skin draped over him like a shawl and joyfully playing a drum fashioned from her skin stretched over half of her skull. So now in our minds this is Baz. Playing a drum with a rose tattoo on the top, taken from Kumi’s shoulder, immortalized forever. Amazing what you come up with when you're bored...
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