From Buttons To Ibiza
Marvin had been working at the buttons factory for a long time, an exceedingly long time indeed. It used to be the job from heaven. The work was easy, the other factory workers were pretty good blokes, and he got all the buttons he could afford at the half-price worker rates. Marvin had all this but still, he was not satisfied. Sitting in a factory for twelve hours a day with no natural light or air had taken its toll. Marvin felt old, even though he was not yet thirty. Inside, he was tired and worn out, a burnt-out shell of a man who was only a shadow of his former self.
One rainy Friday afternoon, Marvin was sitting on a chair in the shank room, staring aimlessly into the largest barrel of shank buttons you have ever seen. Suddenly, an idea hit him, like a flash of lightning. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? He would resign from his job as deputy buttons supervisor and head off to Ibiza. This is just what he needed, he thought. A change of scenery and society and, who knows, perhaps a chance at a new life? Marvin finished his shift, purchased a dozen stud buttons on his way out, left the factory and never returned.
Fast track eighteen months and Marvin was living in Ibiza. After turning his hand to several trades, he had found himself in the world of pole-dancing. He had taken to pole-dancing like a duck to water and before long he was performing to hundreds of wild party goers six nights a week. He even persuaded me to come out and visit him and watch his performance. I was sceptical, at first. I had envisioned him working in a seedy, dimly lit club with a sticky floor where unsavoury characters leered at him as he fumbled on a pole. But when he took to the stage and started dancing on that pole, I had to admit, I was impressed. He knew what he was doing and the people in the nightclub loved it.
One night, in the middle of his routine, Marvin paused for a moment and thought back to his days in the buttons factory. Looking out into the crowd he imagined that he was staring into that barrel of shank buttons. It was now barely a memory, as if it had taken place in a dream when he was but a boy.
The moment passed and, with a wry smile, Marvin launched into a Scorpio Inside Leg Hang followed by his trademark move, The Bouncing Boomerang. Marvin was spinning around the pole, going faster and faster. Seeing the blur of faces and hearing the cheers all around him, he felt like he had finally found his place in the world. This is where I am meant to be, he thought to himself, even if it was just for now. He would appreciate every moment he had in Ibiza. His heart was singing, and he couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Cowboys are forever!” he cried out and he burst into laughter as he spun around and upside down.
