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.
-Ryan
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