Nelly Furtado = World Peace

The Cubans had been hogging the pool table all night.

“They got some shit to settle,” the guy with the tattoos all over his face told me. I think his name was Jake. “The Cubans, they’re on the right. They’re playing the Mexicans.”

“Why?” I asked. I wasn’t from this town and was suddenly very glad for that.

“Dunno. Territory. Girls. Whatever gangs fight for.”

I wouldn’t have minded so much if either of the gangs were any good at pool. They just kept pushing the balls around awkwardly. When someone actually hit a ball in a way you could hear, everyone snapped back to the game looking very hopeful. As if they too were sick of this stand-off. Like they didn’t care who won, just as long as it ended. There were other people that wanted to play. Other people with scores to settle over bar games.

I had never been to this town which was the point. Some days you just have to get in the car and drive. Sometimes you just want to tie one on in a foreign land. But air travel is expensive. And there’s so much weirdness right were you are.

Jake was either a rock star or a tattoo artist. The only two jobs in the world that allow you to have a tattooed face. Turns out, he was both. He was divorced. Probably because of one or both of his occupations. I didn’t ask.

“So how long is this gonna take?” I asked.

Jake laughed at my naivety. “Well,” he started, “it’s been going since I was old enough to see over the bar, which is when I started drinking. That said, for ever I would imagine.”

I was one of about five women in the bar. One of two people without a Mohawk. I was in over my head.

I should have known really. We hit the strip in this town and found several bars. With their country anthems and blue jeans, they were what I already knew. I was in the mood for something different. We were about ready to hang it up and head back to our anemic hotel room when we heard it. The unmistakable throbbing of techno-metal. We followed that bass down the street and around the corner into Oblivion. No, really. That was the name of the bar.

It’s always weird when having a mainstream appearance (i.e. colors other than black, minimal piercings, a smile) makes you the odd one out. Here we were. I requested Nelly Furtado. A perfectly ironic insult to this anti-everything crowd. The DJ played it though to my amazement.

The Cubans started tapping their toes. The Mexicans began nodding their heads. The perpetual game of pool came to a stand still as the dance floor was flooded by everything imaginable ethnic group. The great equalizer turned out to be Nelly Furtado.

We played pool with our noses in the air.