I was in Shanghai on business last week and had a number of pals pointing me in the direction of the Red Rope Lounge. At first I was keen, but as the week wore on, caught up in the ennui of another biz event and savage heat/pollution that turned simple strolls into ordeals, my ardor waned. I often have SNAFUs with mainland gals in any case, due to my poor language skills and their seemingly innate conviction that, as my pal T put it, “we ‘foreign-devils’ all have a redwood between our legs.”
Fortunately, all the devotees of this place ganged up on me. An SMS from Gordo, head-instigator of the Red Rope Revolution, simply read: “Rope. Rope. Rope.” I had no choice.