The summer I spent living in London I immediately clicked with a guy staying in the flat next to me. Maybe it was because he had more girl in him that I had in me, but we hit it off right away.
One night we were at a gay club and while he was getting hit on by some 19 year old without a shirt, I got chatted up by a former nightclub promoter (and by “former” I mean out of the ‘70s). He was quite possibly one of the least attractive men I had ever met but I had been drinking and his stories cracked me up; he had been given a diamond belt-buckle by Elton John, he was friends with Boy George, etc etc etc. I seriously doubted whether any of the stories were true, but they were entertaining none the less. My friend returned and the club promoter immediately fell for him and offered to “show us around” by getting us into all of the “exclusive” clubs. Whatever. My friend took his card excited by the prospect of getting free admission to clubs full of sexy men. I was just curious to see if this guy was full of shit.
A few weeks later, we arranged to meet up with the “promoter”. We met him at a small lounge in SoHo and I saw that he had brought me a date, his “bodyguard”. No wait, the bodyguard was the least attractive person I had ever met. He had beady eyes and lizard teeth. Lucky me. See for yourself:
That night was probably one of the most bizarre nights I have had my entire life. I found out from the “bodyguard” that our promoter friend had narcolepsy. I couldn’t believe that any of this was real but, sure enough, I saw the promoter dancing out on the dance floor and then start to slow down, hunch over, and then just rock back and forth before he got jostled awake by someone dancing next to him. This happened off and on throughout the night, but I couldn’t stop asking myself, was he really a former club promoter and did he really need this “bodyguard”?
After going to a few clubs we went to a late night café to get a bite to eat before calling it a night. The “bodyguard” sat next to me and tried to put his tentacle-arms around my shoulders while the promoter fell asleep and collapsed onto the table next to us. I was speechless. They insisted on driving us home so we decided to have them drop us off a few blocks from where we were living. We were escorted to the promoter’s BENTLEY (you mean, this guy might be for real?!?). The whole way home I was shocked. How does this freak drive a BENTLEY?? Holy shit, he’s driving a Bentley and he has narcolepsy!
I was given a pack of condoms at one of the clubs we went to that night. I kept it as a souvenir to remember the truly unforgettable evening. Would I go out with anyone like that ever again? Hell no! But I am glad that my friend forced us to do it that night. I think the picture on the pack of condoms is genius:
It bears somewhat of a striking resemblance to the picture that Jeremy drew at the Box on Wednesday, does it not?