Dogbert’s Whip

There’s always something special about a bottle of ice cold beer. It tickles the palate, cruises smoothly along your throat, and settles in your belly with euphoric bliss. But more than its ice cold temperature, what actually makes beer drinking worthwhile is the quality company that accompanies it. That’s what exactly happened last Monday night. After a stomach churning Chinese supper that consisted of minced mushroom and sea cucumber soup, pork liver-and-kidney casserole, chicken feet, and shark’s fin siomai, my friends and I decided to grab a few bottles of beer to ease our digestive tracts. Since we haven’t seen each other in quite awhile, we also figured that a couple of ice cold beers would be the perfect companion to make up for lost time.

And then the eternal question: “Saan tayo iinom?” we asked each other. With a mischievous grin, one of my friends hailed a cab and in totalitarian fashion declared that Cubao will be our destination. Crisscrossing through traffic in dimly lit narrow alleys amid light drizzle, the taxi driver dropped us off in the doorstep of a bar with a name that sounds somewhat like the Nipongo translation of a henpecked husband. After a full body search and the confiscation of our camera phones, the club bouncer led us inside the smoke-filled room where narrow tables and rickety chairs surround a lengthy catwalk accessorized by expansive mirrors and fireman poles. 

It’s both amusing and ironic of us to choose such place when we originally intended to touch base. Much of the time was spent watching (okay, ogling) at the skimpily-clad “models” who strutted their stuff on the catwalk and gyrated to music that ranged from The Black Eyed Peas’ “Where Is The Love” and Jon Bon Jovi’s “Bed of Roses.” Conversation only occurred whenever a model would finally leave the stage, and it was mostly about how fairer and smoother the last model was compared to the previous one or how she appeared to be the plumpest of the lot. Yet despite all the obvious distractions, this is how guys sometimes bond together. Staving off all moral issues involved, there’s no denying that as human beings, we all have certain needs that cannot be fulfilled by family or friend or lover. Life, after all, is short and it’s a person’s choice to live it to the fullest in whatever path he or she deems proper.

While we were into our second round of beer bottles, a middle-aged woman in a red suit, popularly known as a mama-san, approached our group on the pretense that she was just going to introduce us to the three models that formed a throng behind her. Before we could air our objections, each of the models found a place beside each of us and in their breathy voices whispered “Kahit isang Ladies’ drink, sige na…” with a slight nibble on the ear lobe. For the uninitiated, let me first explain what that mysterious beverage is. A Ladies’ drink (LD) is non-alcoholic drink, usually iced tea or Cali shandy, served in a shot glass or a jiggler. In these kinds of bars, it is mandatory to purchase an LD to a model if she spends time seated beside you. The cost of an LD is variable, but in most upscale bars, the cost would be a hundred bucks or more. In the case of the “Henpecked Husband” club, the cost of an LD is 165 pesos, and is consumable within fifteen minutes. You could also opt to buy them a bottle of San Mig Light that costs a staggering 660 pesos! “One hour ko naman iinumin yun,” the model would explain with the coquettish beat of her eyelashes.

Call it machismo or something else but when you’re thrust into that kind of situation, it’s almost always impossible to say “No.” When you think about it, it’s rather unfair to pay 660 pesos for a bottle of brew that normally costs only a measly 40 pesos. But the insanely expensive LD can give you some “benefits,” too. As long as you keep her fill of the LD, the model will intently smile and listen to everything you’ll tell her no more how idiotic and puny your stories are. These models will also pour your beer and add ice cubes in your glass, wipe your mouth with napkins, and tolerate subtle forms of flirtation and public displays of affection (PDA).

That very same night, I had the privilege of the company of Diane (not her real name). I’m not sure if it’s just the sheer volume of beer that I gulped, but for some reason, I had a really animated chat with her. For starters, Diane recounted how, at 17 years old, she was forced to leave her home in Cebu early this year to spite her overbearing mom.

“Paano ka nakapasok dito sa club sa Maynila?” I asked her.    

“Tita ko kasi mama-san dito,” she explained, pointing at the same woman who introduced her to me. “Tinanong ko sya kung may opening dito sa club at mabuti naman meron.”    

“Talaga? Alam ba yan ng mama mo?” I inquired. 

“Syempre, hindi. Mag-aaway sila. Pero alam mo, mabait naman talaga ang mama ko. Kung malaman man nya na ganito ako ngayon, siguro maiintindihan nya. Dati din naman syang ganito sa Maynila. Naging anak nya ako sa pagkadalaga kaya namasukan sya dati. Kaya nga laki ako sa lola ko. Ngayon may asawa na syang Hapon kaya maayos na ang buhay nya.” After this lengthy delivery, Diane takes a swig of her LD. She continued, “Uuwi nga ako this weekend para mag-attend ng kasal ng isang tita. Tignan ko kung magkakabati na kami ng mama ko.” 

“Paano kung hindi?” I quipped.

“Edi balik muna ako dito. Di ko naman balak magtagal sa ganito. Mag-iipon lang ako para may pang-enroll ako para sa next semester,” she remarked as she rested her head on my chest.

“Maganda yan, ano ba ang kinukuha mo?” I commented with her fragrant hair intoxicating my olfactory nerves.

“Mass Comm talaga ang hilig ko… gusto kong makatapos nun,” Diane shares tentatively as she brushed her supple, lotioned hand on my flushed cheek.

“Ikaw ha, baka magalit ang boyfriend mo sa ginagawa mo sa akin. May boyfriend ka di ba?” I joked.

“Meron. Engineer sya. Naka-destino sya sa site nila sa Pampanga. Once a month pinupuntahan nya ako. Sabi ko sa kanya wag sya masyadong mag-expect sa akin. Nakilala nya ako sa club, hindi sa simbahan,” she added as she tapped her delicately manicured fingernails on my right patella.

For what seemed like an endless stream of LD servings, Diane and I talked about countless other things that ranged from her favorite dish to the actresses she admires most. She also gave unsolicited info about her co-models in the club. “Dalawa na ang anak nyan pero sexy pa rin, di ba?” “Nagpaayos yan ng ilong kaya tignan mo naman, ang ganda na!” “Likas papaya ang sabon nya!”

After a while, Diane stood up to inform me that it was her turn to “perform” on the catwalk after a lanky girl named Monique. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she whispered, “Magbibihis pa kasi ako… Manood kang mabuti ha… Babalik ako.” As she turned to leave, she gave me a naughty wink that gave away her quirky and childish demeanor.

As Diane took the stage, I was transfixed by the raw beauty that she exuded in her flashy performance. At that point, I was no longer sure if I was watching out of human needs, or if I looked up to her now because of her seemingly immense courage to slug it out in this harsh world. We all need heroes, we are often told, and suddenly, the ice cold beer felt warm in my throat when I realized that the elusive hero that this young woman aspires for will never be me.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 20th, 2005 at 9:59 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.