Then I moseyed over to the infamous Gaspanic bar. Its unsavory name derives from the original bar's not having any toilets. Its reputation is a cheesy dance club filled with foreigners and their Japanese admirers. I had been advised to steer clear of this sleazy scene with strange rules, but was desperate for some fun, any fun. And for $3.80 all night happy hour drinks, how bad could it be? Although there was no cover, the bouncer almost paid me to go inside.
The vibe was dive disco meets Girls Gone Wild. Late teens in scant attire (not represented in the picture, which I pulled off the web) gyrated on the bar to thumping Top 40 hits. The peppy floor staff ensured that all patrons gripped a drink at all times. House rule #1: “Everyone must be drinking to stay inside Gaspanic.” Basically your hand must be glued to your drink, and as soon as you finish you must reorder or risk flashlights being shined in your eyes. Enforcement of house rule #2, however, seemed less stringent: “No tits, no ass, no service.”
Despite Asspanic’s dodgy reputation and foreigner feel, I felt welcome. Other white faces populated the crowd, I spoke to Japanese people, and enjoyed chart hits from yesteryear. Best of all, Gaspanic is always hiring….
1 comment:
So did you hook up or WHAT???
I need the full "I couldn't say this on a blog my mom reads" story, but if that place is half as good as the photo, I'm totally visiting you ASAP
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