I Went to the Damn Strip Club

The inside of the strip club was pretty much what I had expected from cop shows and gangster movies, but it was still a delight to witness close up. There was a small desk in a smaller entryway, presumably to keep minors out. The woman behind the desk was pretty slow at checking I.D., though, so we all had to squeeze in together lest the door hit us. It must be really awkward when a bunch of total stranger stripper enthusiasts are waiting to get in. We had the party room, so we signed in on a battered clipboard and were pointed in the right direction.

In the club were mirrors, fat men in gimmie caps, poles and blacklights. It was 8 PM on a Wednesday, so there was only one dancer undulating in the center of the room, on top of a table. What struck me first was that she was dancing to "Cry Little Sister (Theme from The Lost Boys)." After that finished, the next song was "Power Play," also from The Lost Boys soundtrack - in fact, the very next song in order. Probably I am losing cool points right now for even owning the The Lost Boys soundtrack, let alone listening to it enough to be familiar with the track listing, but I believe I've mentioned previously that my taste in music is highly suspect.

Sadly, they did not continue dancing nakedly to the entire The Lost Boys soundtrack, but went on to something else from the 1980s. I later figured out, while trying to keep my mind occupied during all the naked dancing, that the DJ was playing two songs in a row from each CD, then going on to a different one. I guess they didn't want to offend anyone's musical sensibilities, but also didn't want to bother buying the DJ more than two CD players.

What struck me next was that about 80% of the light was from the many, many banks of blacklights, and the rest was from beer signs and the fake fireplace. I don't know if it was some kind of aesthetic decision, but if so it wasn't helping - a lot of the dancers would have their teeth, their badly dyed blonde hair and one piece of clothing that fluoresced, the rest disappearing into the purple murk. I didn't have trouble with blacklights before, but since I have started wearing contact lenses, too much blacklight or too much blacklight duration makes everything go all purple and watery.

The party room turned out to be through the main room and up some stairs, in an area that reminded me of nothing more than the meeting rooms at the Girl Scout Council Building, except with leather chairs. It overlooked the rest of the establishment, including the semi-private lap dance area. There was a tiny, three foot square mini-stage area where the dancers would perform after their rotation on the main stage. That was free - or, rather, included in the price of the room - but if we wanted them to dance right at us it was $10. According to S., this was a good deal; it was $20 on the main floor.

The owner of the club came up to wish S. a happy birthday. He was exactly how you'd picture the owner of a strip club, and pretty much my favorite part of the evening because of it. He was about six feet tall, with an enormous gut, balding blond hair in a surfer-dude haircut and a giant pair of sunglasses flown in directly from the 1970s. Of course his cowboy pants came up to his tiny butt, then had his belly spill over them in the front. His shirt was open to the navel and revealed a greasy, hairy chest and several gold chains. As he came up, he stopped to briefly molest every dancer and barmaid he passed. He was the best! He congratulated S., handed her boyfriend the receipt, and gave us a bottle of champagne.

The only other champagne I'd had cost $3 a bottle, was dyed pink, and was served from a half-scale Dracula head ceramic mug. That sounds entirely too interesting for my life, but bear in mind that it was my half-scale Dracula head mug. Anyway, this was pretty good champagne by comparison; it didn't taste at all like earwax. The first naked lady to come up opened it and poured some down our mouths, one at a time. She had a steady hand.

After that, they left us alone to enjoy the dancers from above. Either S. or her boyfriend had a signal to send the dancer up when she'd finished, if she was pleasing to them. I was enjoying a moderate amount of champagne, which was worrying S. because I'd told her earlier that I was not very good at drinking, what with the diabetes. Also because I had driven myself and they couldn't drive a stick. I was okay, though, because I am fat and had just eaten and also had read the alcohol content on the bottle and done some calculations (with my calculator, in my purse). So I am allowed to drink some goddamn champagne over the course of three (3) strip club hours, especially if it's free. S. had a Sex on the Beach, which she always orders when we go to clubs, after first asking for a price estimate. See, we're both squares.

Anyway, there was nakedness all over and it was a big naked blur. The party room was designed for a bit more than our four people, so we rotated around the room, sitting in all the different chairs. I played the Who Has Had Children game and watched one scary-looking bald guy get a dozen lap dances from one particular dancer with long hair, who just kept swishing her hair over his shoulders and in his lap. A new song would start and he'd give her $20 more. That seemed like a pretty good gig. I began to wonder if the blacklights were to reassure the patrons that they weren't sitting in someone's semen stain.

The thing that surprised me was how laid back the dancers were. They danced pretty slowly, even to fast music, and only had one outfit each. I guess I was spoiled by the drag queens, who'd change dresses at the least provocation. I did like, though, how each new dancer brought a towel and spent the first few bars of a song wiping down the pole. Shift change around nine brought us some new dancers, though, and they were fairly energetic. One woman climbed the pole almost to the ceiling and spun around, which I approved of.

Towards the end of the evening, S.' boyfriend started giving her money to buy lap dances. Actually, he'd been doing that all night, and she, with a bit of a mercenary attitude, had been using about half of the money for lap dances, keeping the other half. Now, they had a new, sinister purpose: buy lap dances for Annna! I thanked them but declined, so S. decided that she would give me a lap dance, which was no less horrifying. I also got some lap dance spillover through the course of the evening, so I did not feel unmolested by strippers.

What was S.' boyfriend's friend doing during all this? Staring at the free strippers, feeling really lucky. Also helping me finish the complimentary champagne. Which we did.

I made my excuses at eleven or so - my eyes hurt and I have seen enough naked ladies - and went home. I had had an experience, but it was more like my graduation than anything else; fairly boring with short interludes of utter terror, long and with atrocious music.

Definitely more nude, though.