Welcome
to Part 2 of my Shameful Strip Club Stories.
If you haven’t already read the first part, go check it out!
This one actually
happened while I was in Vegas with a buddy.
It was about 4 a.m., we had been drinking for somewhere in the
neighborhood of 15 hours and he had never been to a strip club before (I think
I had been to 1 at that point, so I was clearly an expert), so when we
drunkenly stumbled across one, he thought it would be the perfect time to check
it out (those commercials about “What Happens in Vegas” really inspired him, I
think). Having safely tucked the bulk of
my money into my shoe, I told him to be careful not to spend all his money
because they’d try to upsell him on all of their various wares (like I said,
I’d been once so I was an expert).
The cover charge
to get into this place was buying 2 drinks each, which came out to like $30 per
person, leaving me with $12 in my wallet (and an undisclosed amount of emergency cash in my
shoe because I am financially responsible and like to diversify my funds). We picked out some random seats
and sat down with our drinks, ready to double fist these Jack and Cokes (as I
assumed by the price that they would be the best drinks we’d ever had in our
lives). We hadn’t been there for 5
minutes before one of the girls came up to me and started talking to me, trying
to sell me on a private dance. “No
thanks, I’m just here drinking with a friend,” I said.
“What friend?” She replied.
Sure enough, in
the 20 seconds that I wasn’t looking, my buddy was out of his chair and I could
see him disappearing across the room. The
girl grabs one of my drinks in one hand, grabs my hand with her other and drags
me out of the chair across the room to some secluded booth. During this interaction I’m thinking to
myself, “That’s my fucking drink and it was damn expensive!” I think it’s important to point that out
because priorities are real. Within
moments of sitting down and making sure my drink was okay, the two of us were
approached by the “sales girl.” This is
the one that tells you what all your options are and how much everything
costs. After waiting for her to read off
the entire menu to me, I responded with, “I have $12. What does that do?”
“That’s not enough
but we do take cards. We have an ATM
here you can take out money.”
“I didn’t bring my
debit card. I knew I was going to be
drunk, I didn’t need to be making financial decisions. All I have is $12,” I politely responded.
“Well how did you
get that drink then if you only have $12?
You’re gonna need more money if you want a dance,” she said, getting
agitated with me.
“I didn’t walk in
with $12, I had more money before I bought these drinks. Now I don’t even have enough for another
drink,” I downed half my Jack and Coke before continuing, “I wasn’t even trying
to get a dance! My friend just left me
here and now I’m a victim.” I took out
my wallet and pulled out the $12. “Look,
this all I have left. I don’t even know
how I’m gonna get home now. I’m probably
gonna have to start working here, too.
Where can I get an application?”
“What’s that in
your wallet? I see something else in
there, you have more money,” she said, clearly tired of my shit.
“This is a slip
for 38 cents at the Golden Nugget! Is that going to help my case??”
What she happened to see in my wallet was, in fact, a
$0.38 payout slip from a penny slot machine that I had randomly played that
day. She was officially done with me at
that point and walked away, because $12.38 was just not doing it for her. The original girl, however, either from sheer
amusement or because she felt terrible for me decided to sit there with me and
talk for a while until my friend reappeared.
I thanked her for being nice and putting up with my shit, gave her the
$12 and dragged my stupid, drunk friend out of the club.
I kept the $0.38
slot machine slip.
Stay tuned for Part 3: Questionable Sexuality, Monster & A
Few Men Left Behind!
-Ryan
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