This past week, I had two very divergent business meals. Someone asked me last minute to show up to a lunch at 11 Madison Park. Many people have opinions on that place and most recently, it's become very positive. It's really a power lunch place since it's located in the same building as an investment bank: Credit Suisse. It ended up being a long lunch because the gentlemen I had to meet opted for the tasting menu. I couldn't believe he wanted a tasting menu with wine pairings during lunch. He said he was the CEO of some company that I had never heard of and he sure had the ego to match his title. For nearly 2.5 hours, he spoke as an expert on every topic known to man and I responded to his verbal jabs. There was actually 3 other coworkers present and the CEO dude brought some Korean girl who worked under him. My coworkers described lunch afterwards as a mental chess game as he and I went at it for dumb reasons. I was acting as the contrarian because he was so annoying. The Korean girl barely spoke and for the few setences she did speak, it was obvious that she was a FOB and was playing the subservient part. After lunch finished, we stood up to exit and thats when I realized the FOB was at least 5'10". She had heels on so it made her look 6' or taller. Ugh. I felt short. I've been with tall Korean girls before but this girl could've been on the Korean Olympic Women's basketball team.
Later that day, I had to go with a coworker for a dinner. We ended up at the Hawaiian Tropic Zone. That's right, you heard me, the place in Times Square. I went from eating at 11 Madison earlier in the day to hanging out with some young dudes at the Hawaiian Tropic Zone with girls in bikinis. The reason we ate dinner there was because the clients actually asked us to take them there. So I'm sitting there watching girls in bikinis serve me drinks and wondering to myself, if these guys really wanted to see naked girls up close, then why not just walk over to Flash Dancers. Well, both these guys have girlfriends so I guess they wouldn't feel as guilty by going to the Tropic Zone as opposed to a full feldged, uh-hum, gentlemens club. Midway through our meal, the restaurant likes to put on a bikini show. So we all stared upwards to the catwalk in front of the mega TVs and watched our waitress and others parade and jiggle their asses. Our table voted for our waitress of course, who was actually quite lovely and certainly a contender for whatever we were asked to vote for. I have no idea but we voted nonetheless because every vote counts. So I hear.
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