The Stepford Wives of SOL

They all walk into SOL the same way, every single one of them; slowly, hips swaying; their lips finely shrouded in the latest plumping gloss, hair extensions grazing the exposed cracks of their once fat asses that seem to fit superbly well in the latest Gucci Antiqued Denims; always their false pride, practically dripping off their stiletto heels.  I sometimes wonder what they keep in their Birkin bags, maybe there's a universal pouch for Pediphilio's girls; lube, some $5 perfume to spray themselves down with, condoms, hand sanitizer?  All of their breasts are like down payments for the rewards that follow.  They are the Stepford Wives of SOL.  Black, Hispanic, Puerto Rican, he never goes after white women; it's like a multi-cultural whore house on the water that serves brunch 7 days a week; a hodgepodge of America's most beautiful rejects, dried ethnic potpourri served shamelessly glazed over with SOL's finest cheap champagne.

How do I even begin to describe Pediphilio?  Pedophilio is my other boss, D's, older brother and co-owner to the restaurant.  There are certain things in this world that are prevalently repugnant and discomposing, for example, extremely overweight men in Speedos on a hot summer day, the smell of menstruation in a woman's locker room, motel room remote controls (think about it),  exorbitantly gassy old men on air planes, maggots, necrophilia, port-o-potties, etc, etc. the list could go on for miles, but of all the disgusting, despicable, and distasteful circumstances that day to day life can be threatened to comprise of, Pediphilio will always take the cake in my book.  His body reminds me of one of those drip candles they sell at psychedelic stores, you know, the ones that sell black light posters and always seem to have an abundance of teenage boys in the back inspecting their pipe selection.  When I see those drip candles I think of Pediphilio; except the candle has 2 legs and is made of old, hammered leather.  I can't imagine how much of his life was spent beneath the sun, with a face like a deflated football, my guess is his mother had a sun lamp up her coochie from the moment he was conceived.  Every so often he takes off his panama hat and sunglasses, which always remind me of a child molester, and you get can see the bags under his eyes and his receding hairline and for a split second, humanity.  Don't get me wrong, Pediphilio has never been mean to me, one time he even stood up for me to a customer.  I don't think the man is evil, but he's definitely not capable of much.  I imagine that there was a time when he was driven by money, power and women and that drive eventually transcended into an anesthetized indifference stimulated by the mere force of habit.  He does not laugh or even smile and he manages to maintain the utmost monotony when he speaks to you.  He wears tropical, button down shirts and kackys, with a pair of loafers on his tanned, leather feet.  That's Pediphilio.

A few months back there was an incident at SOL.  A thin, flashy black woman came into the restaurant and walked towards Pediphilio screaming "YOU GAVE MY DAUGHTER GONORRHEA!  THIS MAN PAID MY DAUGHTER FOR SEX AND GAVE HER GONORRHEA!! HE HAS STD's!  HE PAYS FOR SEX, PEDIPHILIO PAID MY DAUGHTER FOR SEX AND GAVE HER AN STD!!!!  She continued on like this for a little longer.  Pediphilio tried to escort her off the patio but she pushed him away, so then his niece, Wife Beater, came out and started screaming and swearing at the lady, "IF YOU DON'T GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS!  YOU NEED TO LEAVE RIGHT NOW!"  This then led into an even bigger battle, so D's aunt, Marge, who was managing that day, came out and told every one that was enough and began clapping, which compelled all of the customers to break out in applause until black mama finally ran off with her hands in the air muttering something about prostitution.  This is my job.  I suppose I should be grateful for this day to day life, as it always gives me something to write about.

Pediphilio brought in a new recruit yesterday.  A little African American girl who surely wasn't over 19.  She trotted in wearing cut offs and a pair of sandals.  Her face was freshly painted and her hair had been styled.  Not very big in the chest, though I'm sure that will change.  Pediphilio's friend, Gout, was actually the one that brought her.  She had this awful, plastered smile on her face that made me want to pull her aside and warn her that none of this was necessary, to run before it was too late.  I got the feeling that no one bothered to ever tell her that she had options.  Pediphilio and Gout kept ordering more rounds of champagne for her and Gout kept trying to feel her up under the table well she sat there with that same awkward smile on her face, staring off in the distance avoiding making eye contact with him.  Once, when I walked over there I looked down at his hand stroking her upper thigh and he pulled away when he saw my eyes glaring down at the scene.  Later he kept trying to hold her hand, again, she sat there like a dead fish staring, smiling, nothing to say.  I wondered if black mama put her up to it, hopefully she handed her some condoms.  Oh well, give it a few months, she'll be driving one of Pediphilio's cars,  wearing designer jeans and stiletto heels in replace of those sandals.  The transformation never ceases to amaze me.  Well, that's all I wish to reveal about The Stepford Wives for now.  Stay tuned.