Backstage with Baldy
Porto Alegre – September 24th
The show in Porto Alegre was awesome. There were points during Dam That River & Man In The Box when the crowd was jumping up and down and going so nuts that the stage was actually shaking.
And yet as great as the show was, I feel compelled to write about elevators, or at least what went on inside one.
There are probably a lot of adjectives that could be used to describe me, but I never thought “invisible” was one of them.
Until the day before the show.
Like a lot of elevators around the world, our hotel elevators in Porto Alegre were a bit on the slow side.
Also like a lot of elevators around the world, our hotel elevators had mirrors in them.
I was heading down to the lobby from the 18th floor, when a young woman got on at the 16th floor.
The elevators were pretty small, and she walked directly to the back where I was standing, and immediately went to work.
She stood about a foot away from the mirror and began fiddling with her hair.
Then she checked her lipstick and makeup, completely oblivious to the uncomfortable bald man standing about two feet away. She was just so totally caught up in checking herself out, I don’t think she would have noticed if I lit myself on fire and started juggling live kittens.
Then she took a step back and started adjusting the height of her (very) short dress.
She pulled and stretched and fine-tuned, but that was just the beginning, because then she moved on to her boobs.
Yep, after she made sure her skintight dress was properly clinging to her back yard, she moved around and started in on the front porch, and I really began to wonder if she even knew I was in there with her.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, just to create some motion to see if she noticed, but nope, she was so heavily involved in her work in Boobville that she never glanced my way.
She started by grabbing the straps of her dress and yanking up, then she did the two-handed double scoop grip from below, trying to maximize the cleavage by pushing the twins upward.
By then I began to wonder if someone was playing a joke on me, as this was getting seriously weird.
She just came from a hotel room after all. Isn’t all of that work precisely what you’re supposed to do in there before you leave?
Meanwhile, we’d only travelled about 8 or 9 floors.
She was basically giving herself the once over with the precision and speed of a navy seal team extracting a prisoner, all the while completely ignoring me.
And it’s not like I was looking to be acknowledged, I just thought it was wildly curious that she was doing all of this maintenance in front of me, and I honestly began to wonder if I was invisible to her.
We finally hit the lobby level, and she gave herself one long last satisfied look in the mirror, turned, and sashayed out of the elevator.
I stood there for a second wondering what in the hell I had just witnessed, then I followed her out to the lobby, where I immediately forgot why I had come down in the first place.
This 16 floor trip through the Vogue Magazine version of the Twilight Zone had not only rendered me invisible, but it erased my short term memory as well.
So I decided to just come back to my room and write this while it was fresh in my mind.
Welcome to Porto Alegre!
Backstage With Baldy
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