Learning To Shut Up
March 05, 2004
One of the benefits of living in a country that predominantly does not speak your language is that even when you talk aloud in your native tongue, most, if not all people will not understand you.
In the past few months I’ve taken full advantage of this. Alongside my chums and cronies, I will speak whatever I want whenever I want, uncaring about reactions or suitability of language. In short, I talk about the dirtiest, nastiest, most politically incorrect things anytime I want and none are wiser.
Last night after some secret shopping (tee hee) with some friends, we went and had some Mexican food. This restaurant is a little place located in an old building in the middle of Shinsaibashi. It’s on the eight floor. There are two sets of stairs in this building. Someone was thinking when they built this building - you’d think with two sets of stairs, the chances of fire fatalities would be very low. Sadly, being jackasses they are, the tenants in this entire building leave their shit in the stairs. I looked into both stairways and should a fire break out on the lower floors, I’m pretty sure I would be burnt to ashes faster than a cigarette.
I digress as usual.
This restaurant caters to the foreign crowd, specifically, the English-speaking crowd. This is something I had to keep in mind all night because me being me, I started conversations about tits, my lovely ass, embarrassing stories of old, and all sorts of stuff I wouldn’t be caught dead speaking about in an Earl’s or The Keg. Yet talking about inappropriate dinner table topics is so much fun especially when you’re munching on BBQ wings and downing a margarita (don’t ask why they have BBQ wings in a Mex dig). Luckily we were a bit late to start dinner so no one was really in the restaurant.
Towards the end, a couple of the caucasian persuasion came in and sat behind our table. Oblivious to the fact that I could hear them speaking English, we continued our rather interesting but perverted conversation. It was not until one of the girls, who will remain anonymous, asked the boys in a fairly loud voice,
Do you like big hard tits or small soft tits?
At this point common sense snapped back into me and I hushed this friend. We all had a few giggles and continued our conversation in a quieter volume. Neither me nor the other guy answered this question because it was weird… I mean… how “hard” did she mean? Like concrete slab hard or bicycle helmet styrofoam hard? It was too weird even by my fucked up standards.
