My first night here, my cousin took me out for a little walk through the town to show me around. We walked down Kalakaua St. which is Waikiki's "main drag." There are countless designer stores (including three Coach stores in about half a mile), restaurants, and tourists. Just on the other side of the row of stores, restaurants, and hotels is Waikiki beach. We made a quick stop by the beach, and then turned left towards Kuhio St.
My cousin told me that one of the interesting things about Hawaii is the fact that laws are selectively enforced. For instance - prostitution laws. He said as we turned onto Kuhio that we would certainly encounter some hookers. He also warned me of the likelihood that I's find myself checking out a chick one day, only to discover that she was a mahu (pidgin for transvestite). There they were, around fifteen or twenty girls lining the left side of the street, with velvet-wearing, bejeweled cane-carrying pimps scattered here and there. Right on cue, a group of seven sailors, complete with white bell-bottoms and funny little sailor-hats, walked by. One of the girls poked her fried, who was distracted by the debris she was trying to remove from her clear-plastic ultra high heeled shoe as if to say "wake up... it's time for business!" Their ship had literally come in.
As I laughed to myself in amazement at the sights and sounds of the city we made our way to Kelly O'Neils, an Irish pub. My cousin took the opportunity to warn me that if I ever wanted to get a massage, I should be careful that I knew what I was getting, as even the most respectable looking massage parlors assume that you want "full release." Even though the signs in the doorway said SMOKING IS ILLEGAL!, there were ashtrays on every table and smoke was in the air. That's my kind of Irish Pub and another fine example of selective law enforcement. I ordered 2 pints of Guiness, one for each of us. After a nice, traditional slow-pour, the bartender brings me the dark foamy goodness and says,"That'll be $13.50." Ouch. I was not expecting that.
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When I was 11 in Waikiki I asked my Dad what the mini-skirt wearing lady-boys in 5inch heels were doing on the street at midnight and he simply told me, "Son, those are professional women." And that was that!
ReplyDeleteI scored my first hand job when I was 15 on Kuhio in the Ohana Hotel parking lot inside a white Ford Pinto by a mahu named Jojo.
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