Why Am I Still Alive part 14: Bordellos and Beatdowns Part 3
Fast forward yet another decade and I was in Tbilisi Georgia in 2019, speaking for a couple of different groups. The city was electric with energy and I walked everywhere enjoying the mix of ancient and modern architecture. As was typical I was bored after the sunset on my first evening and after doing some fruitless Google searches I decided to test my luck with local wisdom.
Outside the hotel, I hailed a taxi and said, “Take me to a popular bar here,” “But, not too far from here and I definitely do not want a strip club or anything like that.” “Oh yes sir, I know just the place - club New York, New York - a mix of locals and English-speaking travelers - perfect for you sir.”
Off we went. The drive which was supposed to be 5 minutes or so became 10 and then 15. Finally, I was dropped off on a rather quiet street corner in front of “New York, New York.” I asked again, are you sure people will be here? He affirmed that this was the place to be on a Thursday and that everyone was already inside.
Spidey senses tingling I decided to face my fears and walk inside. It was a narrow white hallway with a manager at a desk at the end who waved me through some velvet curtains to the right. I was already sure this was exactly what I didn’t want but I walked in to confirm. Sure enough yet another random, empty strip club with 2 guys out at tables with ladies in attendance and an awkward woman on a pole on stage dancing for almost no one.
I turned on my heel and walked back out.
The bored manager, suddenly animated, zipped out from behind the desk. “Sir, sir, stay for the show - lots of beautiful ladies to come and many people will arrive.”
“No thanks,” I replied with a yawn. “I specifically told my taxi not a show, not a strip club, I just wanted to go to a regular place.”
“Sir, sir come watch the show it will be great!”
“No thanks, have a good night.” and I started walking.
Deja vu - just then a giant security guard emerged from the hallway and the manager says, “Well you can go but only after you pay your cover charge of 150 Lari or $50 USD.”
I laughed and say, “I never even went inside, you cannot charge me cover for a show I did not see and have no interest in.”
The giant (6’ 6”) and burly (300lbs plus) security guard approached me and gave me a gentle push as a warning.
At this point, I am completely triggered by my two prior experiences from years gone past and I decide to wax eloquent. “Listen (name), I am never, and I mean, never, going to pay you one cent for the entrance to a bar I didn’t want to go to for a performance I did not see in a desperate empty club that no one wants to go to.” I added further, “I could get the money off my debit card to pay you but I will never, and I mean never ever give it to you. Also”, I said, holding up my phone, “If your boy here decides to rough me up… well I’ve been live streaming the audio and video of this entire experience to my Georgian friends and they’ll be here looking for me sooner or later.” (this was a lie - my phone barely worked due to slow internet).
“So,” I concluded, “I am staying here in the lobby until you set me free. I will stay all night and until the morning if need be.” This part I meant. I was done with this.
We argued and argued. We wavered between mutual threats and bored conversation. He shared about how his manager would fire him if I didn’t pay and that he had 2 daughters and that this job was all he had. I shared that I had a daughter and that I believed in freedom and that the ideals that had set Georgia free from Russian oppression were the opposite of the actions he was taking. He admitted that his boss was Russian and he didn’t like it either but that his job was important. He brought me water and offered me a $20 cocktail on the house if I paid the entrance fee. We went round and round. The security guard didn’t speak English, smoked cigarettes, and was bored but firmly planted himself between me and the exit. I hoped he would have to pee but no such luck. I argued for one hour and then two. I then began googling Georgian Police and eventually got a number. I told him I would be calling them. The manager seemed relieved actually so I called and got someone who spoke English. He indicated they would be there within the hour. Finally, 3 hours into the ordeal the police arrived.
Sadly he was no savior - he asked me some questions in English and then spoke at length with the young manager. Eventually, he turned to me and said, “You owe them a $50 cover charge… You’re a rich American and have already told the manager you can get the money - why don’t you just pay?” I answered the same answer I had been saying for 3 hours. “I am not paying for a show I didn’t see in a bar I did not want to enter for a drink I did not have.”
“Why are you being so difficult?” He said. Let’s just go to an ATM and you can give him the money and go home and we can all sleep?” He seemed tired and bored too.
Suddenly I saw the ‘out’ that had been in front of my face all along. I had pretended that I had little local currency and no credit card - just a debit card. So I said, inspired, “OK, I don’t trust them, but if you and the giant here agree to accompany me to go to the ATM, I’ll retrieve the money, give it to him and we can all go home.”
At this point, everyone was tired of my antics and arguments and seemed glad for this outcome. It had now been nearly 4 hours and it was 4 am. We agreed and started to walk,
Following the cop and the giant security man we walked out the door and began to walk to the right down the street towards an ATM. The guard and cop were chatting and I followed in their wake. As we approached, I slowed, pretending to be looking for my debit card. But, after a short pause, I simply turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. I was probably 50 meters away before they even realized I had gone (I am quite fast). And, full of adrenaline I *might* have given them a fistful of single fingers and an invective of four-letter words before I dodged left into an alley. (They were so exhausted they didn’t even attempt to chase). I then crossed into and across a park and then painstakingly made my way to another intersection to grab a taxi. I was not in the least worried - I had used my last few hours to study Google maps to plot multiple escape routes and find out where I could find taxis even late at night.
For the record, I had several hundred dollars on me the whole time in both local currency and USD. It was about the principle. Never, ever go to “New York, New York” in Tbilisi, Georgia