Everybody says it: that they’re not there on their own accord. Maybe their boyfriend “dragged them” or they just stumbled in “accidentally.” But the girls who were “dragged” look a little too curious and it seems pretty far-fetched to have stumbled down a questionable alley and landed firmly on a bar stool.
That being said, my presence on a bar stool with horror-laden curiosity was entirely accidental. Quite seriously, it was.
Archie and I had spent the last hour walking the streets of Patong. Patong is a particularly seedy part of the characteristically seedy province of Phuket on the peninsula of Thailand. Imagine, if you will, a terribly trashy bar filled with blow and needles and prostitutes and blaring subs… Now imagine thirty such bars lined up on a quarter mile street.
Welcome to Patong.
As we walked, persistent men tried to sell us suits and “gucci” watches and taxi rides and hookers and happy-ending-massages and cigarettes and roses and tattoos and incense and hotel rooms and tickets… tickets to EVERYTHING imaginable.
My particularly favorite vendor tried to throw lizards and snakes on the shoulders of unsuspecting clients and then charge them for a picture with his slithery friends. Entrepreneurship at its pinnacle, I tell you.
Archie slid comfortably into this riotous scene–having worked in a rather dodgy nightclub, he wasn’t easily thrown off his guard. I, on the other hand, was horrified. Middle-aged American men prancing through the streets with pre-pubescent Thai hookers, frolicking with no sense of shame. I wanted to take pictures of these men and send them to their midwestern wives, who were no doubt home with the kids and the family dog while their doting husbands exhausted themselves on “business trips.”
I wanted to go back to our over-sanitized hotel. I wanted to crawl under the covers and turn on the air-con and watch BBC and pretend like I was, well, nowhere near Patong. But Archie was clearly intrigued and I’m usually not one to skip out on cultural immersion–no matter how questionable the cultural integrity. So I surged on. Hoping to find something mildly entertaining–preferably far, far away from the snake-wielding photographer.
Suddenly, as if by the will of God, a man calmly appeared wielding a crisp brochure. Without going into detail, I could ascertain that this brochure boasted (among other things):
Ping-pong.
Pool.
Darts.
Goldfish.
Perhaps “goldfish” should have thrown me, but I chalked it up to mistranslation and eagerly pulled on glazey-eyed Archie. “Let’s do this, ok? This looks like fun, doesn’t it?” I showed him the brochure.
“Yeah, sure babe, whatever you wanna do.”
Success.
We followed the man down a questionable alley. Placed some Baht in the hands of what appeared to be a bouncer, and disappeared behind flimsy doors.
I believe it is fair to say that when I would later exit through those doors, my life would, in some small way, never be the same.
The brochure did not lie, as one might assume from my shattering dramatics. No, no. The brochure was all too accurate. There was, in fact:
Ping pong, pool, darts AND goldfish. Though not in the fun-loving context that any well-minded human might assume.
I probably should have been tipped off when I was ushered to have a seat in front of a make-shift stage. Or when an old Thai woman walked out naked… But no, it took over-stimulated-Carina quite some time to realize the nature of her newest experience. It wasn’t until said-naked-woman shoved a dart up her most intimate lady part, laid on her back, spread-eagled her legs and expelled the dart which hit bulls eye on a dart board across the room. That was when I began to understand what I had signed up for. Perhaps you can imagine what pool and ping pong entailed, but gold fish was likely the best. The same woman contracted an entire aquarium out of her vagina into a fish tank. LIVE gold fish and a decorative castle to boot.
This was about the time we ran for the door. I’m embarrassed we didn’t leave sooner. Truly. But I think we were too stunned or hypnotized or horrified to bring intention of movement to our bodies.
I am unsure as to how I should feel about that whole experience. Other than slightly dumb for not reading the fine print.
I think Archie chalked it up to talent, a freak show of sorts, a circus side act. And I think that may well be the truth… yet I can’t help but wonder what would compel somebody to learn how to shoot darts out of their vagina other than poverty, lack of choices, force. And in that way, I feel that maybe I helped to exploit those woman. Then again, maybe releasing aquariums is better than being a prostitute. Maybe it’s the lesser of two evils… or maybe it’s not an evil at all.
