In My Write Mind

Usually, what happens in Jamaica stays in Jamaica. Especially when you’re there for a wedding and what “happened” was during the course of bachelor night activities.

Like I said, usually. But not this time. Not after what I saw. Hell, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t take a moment to share? Exactly. The worst kind.

So here I go … LOL

Picture it. Friday night. Ocho Rios, Jamaica. A group from the States is there to celebrate two weddings in one weekend. Twenty men head out for a night on the town with the bachelors, doing what grown folks do — go to a strip club. The club in question? Shades.

$5 American to get in. No problem. Once you step inside, there’s a bar to your right. Tables and chairs to your immediate left. Walk a little further, you step down some stairs into what is literally the main event: a stage shaped like a boxing ring in the middle of the floor. Stools are set up on each side.

The place is packed. It’s “Freaky Friday” (which was just one of the theme nights at the club, including “Talent Monday,” where amateur artists got their groove on and the winner for the Monday we were there *ummm, so I heard because, you know … we didn’t *cough* go back *whistle* and the girls certainly didn’t know our names *louder whistle* was some cat singing the reggae version of “So Sick,” which yes, made me so sick).

All of the fellas order some beer, face the stage. How can I describe the women diplomatically? They.were.busted. Just horrible. Not a fine one in the bunch. And all skinny. No meat. No potatoes. Put it this way … when the women retreated to the far side of the pole, at one point, they damn near disappeared.

Not.good.times.

Seriously, if this is what Freaky Friday at Shades had to offer, we decided it wasn’t worth it. At all. So, armed with our wristbands (you know, just in case), we broke out and headed to another local club.

That one? Yeah … dead.

Next one after that? Boring as hell.

The third one? Someone in our entourage was accused of grabbing a girl’s ass. A bottle was thrown. I was upset. Not so much at the person who grabbed the ass (which I don’t think was one of us), but at the fact that it was a Red Stripe bottle that was thrown. That was a perfectly good beer gone to waste.

Booooo.

So, all out of bachelor party options, we decide … to return to Shades. We had no problem getting in (thank goodness for the wristbands … lol). However, what we saw once we went back inside … I wasn’t ready. Wasn’t prepared.

The minute we walked in … same bar, same chairs and tables, same steps down to the stage that resembled a boxing ring. But that’s all that was the same about Freaky Friday.

Dude, the song made back in the ’80s wasn’t lying … the freaks really DO come out at night! There were people … regular dudes and strippers … having.sex.on.stage. Nope, not getting lapdances. Having.sex. I mean, hit-it-from-the-back-until-you-see-sparks-fly sex. I mean, drop-down-and-get-yo-jamaican-eagle-on-again-and-again-while-a-random-dude-lays-ass-nekkid-on-the-stage-beneath-you type sex. I mean, suck-you-off-in-front-of-other-paying-customers-and-I-don’t-care-if-they’re-repulsed-because-I’m-gonna-go-up-to-them-when-I’m-done type sex.

That would be enough to make anyone’s jaw drop, right? I mean, this went from Shades to Shady in the hour and change that we were gone. When does this ever happen? Isn’t there some type of light that should go on outside — like at Krispy Kreme — when Freaky Friday kicks in to that level?

We all stood there, half-amazed, half-sickened by what we were seeing. Clearly, this would NEVER happen in the states, or in 26 other countries, for that matter. But this was Jamaica, where there.are.no.rules. LOL

You’d think that would be enough, right? You’d think I could conclude this somewhat “short” story here, wrap it up with some clever words and be done with telling you about Bachelor Night, right? You’d say, cute story, Will, or, is that all, Will? and that would be that.

Well, if you’d think that, you’d be wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy off. Because as wild and crazy as seeing the strippers have sex on stage with customers was, that wasn’t the wildest and craziest part of the night.

Because, as soon as we thought we’d seen it all, after all the boring clubs and beer bottles and bare asses … there was only one thing that could top it. And believe me, it got topped.

(And for this portion of the story, I’d like to start up the slow motion wind machine and cue up “Stayin’ Alive” from “Saturday Night Fever.”)

Out of the shadows — as if from nowhere — in a scene that is almost too surreal for words, came … a naked midget.

Yes … a naked midget.

Strutting like John Travolta walking down the streets of New York. Giving fist bumps to all the regulars, making his way to the stage as if he were a prize fighter heading to the ring. And this wasn’t your ordinary, run-of-the-mill midget. This dude had some type of Rick James aura about him. Seriously.

Maybe it was all the beer I’d been drinking all night.

Maybe it was the glow-in-the-dark condom that he wore on his larger-than-life-well-at-least-large-for-a-midget appendage.

Maybe it was the fact that THERE WAS AN ASS NEKKID MIDGET CROSSING IN FRONT OF ME AS PART OF FREAKY FRIDAY AT SHADES IN JAMAICA!!!!

Yeah, that last one must be it. Because there’s no doubt that I’d never seen ANYTHING like this before. Blame it on a sheltered childhood, I guess. LOL

He came, he saw, he pumped, he … uh, came. You had to see this guy in action. He went into the ring, chose which stripper he wanted, sized her up, made her drop down … and went to work. This lil’ dude was Clarence Carter strokin’. He was MJ against the Knicks, scoring every which-a-way possible, covering every crevice, nook and cranny like she was an english muffin.

This was NOT happening right in front of us. You just couldn’t turn away. It was like watching a lobotomy in real time, knowing that nothing good was going to come of it, but still … you had to watch. And if you THINK you know where the Jamaicans got their lyrics from (i.e., row da boat, ‘pon the river, et al), think again. They got it from this dude. He employed them all, including the never-before-seen “helicopter” move (where he was able to spin HIS ENTIRE BODY while still inside the stripper) and the depth-defying “see-saw” move, where, with great leg strength, he was able to move in a “see-saw” fashion, thus ensuring maximum pumpage.

He was truly a giant among midgets. Got the job done like Kane in his prime. LOL

And then he left just like he came. To fist bumps, some random applause, and in the eyes of twenty drunk guys from the states out for a night on the town — legendary status.

We left there dazed and confused. Amazed and bemused. And this was just my first night there! Nothing, and I mean NOTHING … could top that. Not the two weddings I was there to attend. Not the new friends and acquaintances I made. Not even the free beer that was eventually tapped into my arm so no more cups had to be wasted.

Nope, that night at Shades will go down in history. From now on, when I think of Jamaica, I won’t only think of mangoes and Marley. I’ll think of the legend of Midget, the One Who See-Saws Strippers, and I will smile every time … followed immediately by my throwing up in my mouth.

Ahh, good times, mon. Sigh.