Sunday, September 27, 2015

Shameful Strip Club Stores Part 4: The Worst Way To Sober Up

If you have not been keeping up with my Shame Strip Club Stories, go back and read parts 1, 2 and 3 right the fuck now.  For everyone else, let's get right into this.

                This is the last one, but it was arguably the worst one for me to experience because of certain liquor laws.  This one also happened on a bachelor party, but with considerably fewer guys because those of us involved just don’t have any damn idea when it’s time to just go home.  What started out as a big group had dwindled down to me and 3 others by the time the bars closed down.  Not ready to call it a night, one of the guys suggested we go to a strip club.   I went along with this because I was in party mode and 2 a.m. was way too early for me to stop drinking.  We called an Über driver who picked us up at a US Post Office Box and we were on our way (none of those details are particularly important, I just thought the whole thing was fucking weird).

                We arrived at the club after a short (and terrifying) ride.  The first strange thing about this was that the building had 3 strip clubs in it, and 2 of them were closed for the night (or forever, who knows).  Upon being directed to the proper door and assured that they were open until 4 a.m., we walked in and were stopped at a desk to pay the cover.  The scantily clad girl working the desk told me the cover was $7, which I promptly paid.  As I started to walk away she asked “Do you wanna stick a dollar in my tits?”  As I’ve already said, I have conditioned myself to say no to pretty much everything at strip clubs, so I didn’t even hesitate when I reflexively turned down her offer.  This girl’s jaw just about hit the floor, as apparently I was the first person in the history of ever to turn down the opportunity to put money in her breasts.   She prodded me about it again by saying, “OMG that’s so mean!  I’m a single mom!”  And I did the only reasonable thing I could do at that point; I panicked and ran into the club without saying anything else.

                By this point, I was long overdue for another drink, as I hadn’t had one since last call at the bar beforehand.  The four of us found some seats around a table and got (sort of) comfortable.  We were approached by a girl with a drink tray and I ordered my customary Jack & Coke.  This was when I received the worst news imaginable, as the girl told me, “We don’t serve alcohol here.  Can I get you a soda?”   See, apparently according to the laws in the city/county/municipality/hell that this club was located in, they were not allowed to serve alcohol at strip clubs (topless bars could have booze, but if they took the bottoms off you were required to be sober so you could really understand the gravity of what you were seeing there).   Realizing that I would now be stuck in this club, sobering up in a dirty chair and having to deal with the fact that every mistake I’d ever made in my life had led me to this awful moment led me to really handle this in the most mature way possible, “No I don’t want a soda! What’s the fucking point?!”

                I didn’t have to shoo away nearly as many sales pitches that night as with other experiences and at no point did I have to break out the outrageously flamboyant voice or buy anyone any overpriced energy drinks.   One of the guys in our group did go for a private dance and reported back that he was given the option of a metal chair or a dirty couch for his dance (I believe he went with the chair).  And one of the girls, Lexis (or Lexus, because maybe she’s a luxury vehicle), made some small talk with me in which she talked about how she had quit stripping for a while but came back because she made so much money doing it (which made me question my own career path).  But we thankfully did end up leaving before the 4 a.m. closing time after far too much time spent with me sitting alone examining my own failures as a human being.

                We walked outside and hailed a cab to get us out of there.  The driver was playing some mix CD as he was driving us home.  The first song on it was some absolutely filthy, hardcore rap song that none of us recognized.  The next song was “Tubthumping” by Chumbawumba.  We all sang along.

That's it for the Shameful Strip Club Stories (maybe)!  Hopefully you enjoyed this series.  If I happen to find myself making some more stupid mistakes (which I usually do), I may have even more stories to add to the series.


No comments:

Post a Comment