Oxygen Bar

Across the street from Suchi Tora, my favorite in Boulder, is an oxygen bar.  Never having tried one, and being loaded up with formaldehyde from the dissection, my friends and I slipped in.  Talk about throwback – felt like a 60’s Amsterdam coffee shop hash place – the scent of drug deals.  The man behind the counter was perfect – balding hippie, cadaverous, obsequious in a Uriah Heep kind of way – but I know this place has been here for several years, so he must be doing OK.

Having selected our scent from the menu – I chose ‘Valor’, others ‘Release’, ‘Serenity’, ‘Purification’ or some such New Age solipsism – the glass of water beside us started bubbling like a hookah – still in the patchouli 60’s.

He opens and plugs a plastic tube into the end of the bubbling glass and wham!, suddenly it’s the throwforward: the plastic tube goes round your ears with two little bits up your nose like my Dad on oxygen in the hospital, and we’re all looking around at each other, slumped in our overstuffed chairs with plastic up our nose like some old farts in the rec room.

Breathing up a storm – I’m paying to breathe now – we inhaled the scented oxygen for all we’re worth.  The guy forgot us and left us on for twice our allowance, or maybe that’s just the ‘first one free’ mentality.  They say that cocaine facilitates oxygen uptake in the brain, and that’s the feeling as we get out – a bit of a coke high: invincible, floating, alert.  It lasts a couple of hours, but I cannot say I would go back again, except to clean out the smell of death.

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