A Whole New World

In late March, I encountered a topless woman at the Kona Club Tiki bar in Oakland. Her hips gyrated with a steady mechanical squeak, her grass skirt described a stiff, uniform ellipse, her wooden breasts did not jiggle. I asked the bartender if they turned her off at the end of the night or if she swayed to an empty room. The bartender explained that no, the animatronic hula dancer would need preventatively regular oiling and repairs if she were to dance all night, every night (there was a button you pushed at closing time to turn her off).