Amidst the pandemonium going on in the office, what with the Customer Delight workshop rollout on full blast, I received an SMS from my events hosting manager, JP. He had invites to the 16th anniversary of the Illustrado Restaurant in Intramuros, Manila for that evening. From his perspective, this was a good opportunity to introduce me to the events management circle (since I do hosting and entertainment [see my biz card]).
From mine, it was a perfectly good chance to unwind from all the workshop preparations. So I left the office at 6pm pronto to meet up with him and two other friends, Rica and Martin, at Starbucks.
A couple of minutes later, we were in JP's SUV traversing the thankfully-relaxed EDSA. About 30 minutes later, we got to the place. It was a warm night, and since the venue was held outside in the garden, the guests were profusely sweating, but nevertheless seemed to be having fun.
The event was cleverly planned. Since it was the 16th anniversary, everything came in 16's: 16 hors d'oeuvres, 16 wine varietals, 16 main courses, 16 soups, 16 desserts, and games and entertainment every 16 minutes or so. How witty.
Halfway through the night, in between my sipping of Merlots, devouring of Paella, and nibbling of Raclette, cultural performers were ushered in to do a series of Polynesian dances. The dancers started off with a Hawai'ian exhibition dance where the men were juggling and twirling batons that were on fire on both ends (I have seen actual Hula in Hawai'i and Guam...and I can say that these Pinoy performers were really good). It was followed by Tahitian dancers and other performers that made you reminisce of the good Hawai'i Five-O days.
When they finished performing, the hostess of the evening, a young daughter of the restaurant owners, announced that there were going to be games, and that to start the series of games and revelries, a Polynesian dancing contest was in order. The young ladies quickly went to the crowd and grabbed unwilling gentlemen to join the competition...me included.
As if the thought of being made to dance in front of anonymous
alta sociedad people (well, plus one of my company's CEO's was there also...promising me that he would video the whole thing and MMS it to my boss) wasn't enough, the unwilling contestants (well, there were about two of them who were so much willing it totally showed on their faces that they were faking consternation) were made to wear grass skirts and hold pom-poms. I was contestant number four of six. Great. So not my lucky number.
Hurrah for that.As the three were already dancing and people were merely half-cheering, I said to myself, "Fuck it. I'm totally a freeloader tonight, might as well work for my food!!!" My turn came...and as if on cue, Hawai'i Five-O started bellowing on the speakers. That and the glasses of reds did it for me. When the two ladies with no bones at the waist and ribs (yes...you should see them gyrate...it's hypnotic and salivatory) came to flank me, I gave them the performance of my life. My years of social dancing, street jazzing, tae-boing, aero-kickboxing, and Ricky Martin moves were instantaneously upstaged. This, ladies and gentlemen, was my dance of the millennium. Nyahahahahaha!
When the sixth contestant was finished, the hostess announced that the winner will be judged and declared by virtue of the audience's applause. Still huffing-and-puffing from my performance level moves and chitchatting with the boneless ladies behind me, I went towards stage center when my number was called...to a thunderous applause. The fifth and the sixth didn't even bother going to the front. I won the damned contest, still hysterically laughing my ass off. And as the "King of Polynesia", I was made to wear a headress made of tea leaves, to complement my grass skirt...for the overall Hawai'ian look. With me in the middle, the speakers blared yet another round of Polynesian dance, to which all the sixteen boneless, hypnotic, salivatory ladies started dancing around me in a huge circle...replete with bumping of their hips and asses on my...drumroll...crotch. I wondered: are all Kings of Polynesia impotent or have crushed balls as a consequence of this ceremonial dance?
With a loot bag in my hand, I strutted back to our bar table. People were congratulating me and so I stayed in character by giving them my beaming smile and graciously thanking them for their kindness. Rolly, our company CEO told me that he has already MMS'd Boni a video/photo of my performance. Great.Now, here's the one that cracked me up big time: the owner/manager of the Polynesian dance troupe asked me if I would be interested in joining their touring team. NYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
If you'd excuse me, I still have to have my new grass skirt fitted.
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