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Ron Nagasawa

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Every once in a blue moon, I will go out with a couple of buddies of mine. They are still both single, so the venues are sometimes questionable for a happily married guy like me. I just tag along and enjoy the company of these guys whom I’ve known since high school.

We just usually go out and catch a beer with accompanying local style pupu. This is where things get a little sticky. Where I normally go for drinks and eats versus where they go is like comparing Chuck E. Cheese to the Viper Room in Hollywood.

The other week I was invited to join them and did so on my quarterly “hall pass” – just kidding. My wife is great about letting me go out, as I virtually have no vices. The boys decided that we would go get a few drinks but something more substantial to eat.

One of them suggested a Thai hostess bar, which had a reputation for serving some great Thai food. I was a bit wary of this, as now that I am a “public” figure, I just can’t be seen going in and out of any kind of questionable bars or nightclubs.

Sure enough the place was your typical hostess bar, and so I ducked into a booth as far back as possible from the patrons and hostesses. The guys weren’t lying as plateful after plateful of Thai delicacies came to our table.

Suddenly above the blaring music, I heard my name being called out, “Nagasawa, Nagasawa from MidWeek!” I looked up and across the room was a guy yelling out my name. Apparently he reads my column and was pointing out to everyone who I was.

This guy wouldn’t let my celebrity go. Now I was just waiting for HPD to show up and splash my face all over the morning news.

But the incident was uneventful, and we left with full stomachs and me with my sterling reputation. I think my friend was joking when he said we should go get a massage.

I wasn’t taking any chances, said it was a “school night” and was on my way.

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