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| Not the inside of a giant's mouth |
My friend T-- likes strip clubs.
I don't like strip clubs.
My friend was down from out yonder in the woods and wanted to shit it up in the bright lights and big city... and he wanted to go to a strip club.
We went to a strip club.
First we spent three hours at Tony's drinking Pabst, him huffing the bartender of the evening (she did smell good), me contemplating ordering that hot dog that was behind the counter. I knew it was the same one that was there when I was in up in this piece about a year ago. It was probably the same one as when I first discovered the place, about eight years ago.
Neil Diamond on the juke. Some Chicago. A little Stevie Wonder. Old career alcoholics holding down the fort. A forgotten Cappy slap in the bathroom on the paper towel dispenser.
Good times. I do love me some Tony's.
Then it was off, drunk, into the "entertainment district". Some guy was stamping hands for discounts to get into Spyce, so we got stamped and ended up in Spyce. It may always be a dollar to get in for all I knew, the stamp just a shrewd and brilliant plan to get drunk guys to feel like they're saving some bucks. Either way, the price was right, so in we went.
We walked in and found a couch to occupy. The music didn't suck and I soon realized that in a strip club, women get totally naked. In a gentlemen's club, they keep their unders on. I also discovered that there are some awesome underwear that exist for women.
Anyhoo, we got in a round of shitty beer and watched the show. Well, my friend did. I put every ounce of my not sober attentions into the one tiny TV screen that was up on the second floor, right under the DJ booth. There was some sports thing on. I don't like sports, but I'd rather watch sports than naked women. Why that TV was there, I have no idea. Maybe it was for the dancers to look at while they danced. Whatever the case may be, thank God for that tiny TV.
Don't get me wrong, a naked woman is a beautiful thing to behold. But the idea of being in a room with a gaggle of other drunk dudes salivating over some naked ladies has always seemed weird to me. And I never feel like they get tipped enough. In a fair world, they'd get $100 just to walk in the room. $200 to smile and pretend like they didn't hate you. And $500 to take their top off for a second.
I don't have that kind if money, so I don't go to these places. And even if I did have that kind of money to burn, it'd still be weird for me.
But T-- loved it, and when I was forced to look away from the TV, I did see some lovely women with great underwear being all smiley and gymnastic.
My friend also likes to fuck with me, so he was chatting with random dancers that came through the room and he sat one next to me. Cute, glasses, tiny, seemed sweet. So i told her that she should go talk to someone else.
T-- was trying to buy me a lap dance. I could think of nothing more uncomfortable. She was persistent. So was I. I wasn't looking at her as were were having this interaction. She followed my gaze to the TV and asked if I liked sports. I said no. She asked why I was watching them then. I told her that this was not my idea of fun.
Eventually she left and my buddy had a good laugh. Two more beers in, more ladies talking to T--, more me staring at the TV. One that he was talking to climbed over him and said hi to me. I said hi, and that she would be better off talking to my friend. She asked why? I said that she was pretty and sweet but this wasn't going to happen and that I was skint on cash so I would understand if she went elsewhere. My neck hurt from looking up at the TV for so long. She said T-- bought me a lap dance. I said, "Thanks. He can have it". She looked back at him. He laughed, she shrugged, and turned back to him to keep talking.
Fuck. Strip clubs make me a wreck. I'm glad we were only there for three fucking hours.
