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Why I Don't (Necessarily) Like Strip Clubs
EDITOR'S NOTE: Rumond Taylor has a gift for humor. This much was evident in posts on his MySpace blog (which is inexplicably locked from public view right now). He has an innate ability to find the absurdity in things and blow it up as if it were on an IMAX screen. This is one of the very early examples of his writing that shows some of that capability.
As a red-blooded male, I enjoy seeing attractive women as much as one could expect. However, due to some of the various experiences I have had in strip clubs, I don't (necessarily) like them all that much. Here is a story one of those experiences:
I have a group of lifelong friends, who in actually, are more like brothers. We are all different, but we respect each other's interests, so it enables us to get along. However, when it is time for us to go out, our differences sometimes get in the way.
One of my friends, Paul has garnered the nickname "Strip Club Man" because no matter what anyone suggests doing, he always wants to go to a strip club. He eats lunch at strip buffets (he swears by the steak). He is on a first name basis with most of the bouncers in the city.
Now, I admit, going to the strip club is a little like watching porn. If you do it in moderation, it can be fine. Too much, and suddenly reality starts getting skewed. You start hearing porn music randomly playing in your head. You start thinking that when your waitress says, "Can I get you something?" that it's an invitation for sex. Or you start buying your girl clear heels and suggesting that she "dance" for her dinner.(1)
Anyway, since we know Paul is going to suggest go to the strip club, we usually just try to head him off and keep it moving. But, in order to keep things fair, we do give him his turn to select the evening's events in the rotation.
And so, on one night as we were preparing to go out, he mentioned a new strip club he wanted us to visit.
Paul: "Man, I'm telling ya'll- we got to check out this spot. They've got some of the baddest girls in the city there. And it's cheap; the cover is only $5. I'll buy all the drinks. Come on, it's gonna be hot."
Us: "We really don't want to go to the strip club."
Paul: "Trust me, I know one of the dancers there. She has a thing for me. Plus, she looks like Christina Millian, only thicker."
Now, I knew he was exaggerating. You know he's exaggerating. But, at the very least, we figured we'd only be out five dollars, so we piled in his car and went.
The first hint that the night might not go so well came when we pulled up to the establishment. It wasn't a club. It wasn't a parlor. It wasn't even a building.
It was a house.
And a house built, apparently, around the time of the Civil Rights Movement.
My roommate was not pleased. "Strippers are one thing, but house strippers? You brought us to see house strippers(2)!?"
"Just relax, y'all. It just looks like that on the outside. The inside is totally hooked up." Paul said. "Let's just go inside, and you'll see."
"Ok, but if someone's grandmother comes out and starts swinging on a pole, somebody's getting cursed the f**k out." I said.
The five of us entered, paying our money at the door. We walked through the kitchen, into what I assume was previously the living room. It was a small room with about 5 tables, lit entirely by three huge black lights and a Colt 45 Malt Liquor neon sign. The stage was a raised platform with a bar mounted in the middle touching the roof.
Four of us crowded around a table assuming the anti-lap dance formation, while Paul wandered off to the "bar."(3) I scanned the room, wondering who else would be coming to a place like this. The only other guy there was a white guy who looked straight out of the Beastie Boys "Sabotage" video.
Paul came back with four plastic cups full of ice, and a short young lady by his side that was wearing nothing but her bra and panties. "Anybody want something to drink?"
"Nah, man, we're cool." Keith said.
"This is the girl I was telling y'all about. Fine, ain't she?" Paul said. "Girl, turn yourself around and let 'em see how sexy you are."
We all took at look at the girl, and in the dark, dimly lit room, she did seem attractive. Until, as she spun back around, we noticed that her stomach was considerably more swollen than the rest of her body.
The girl giggled and slapped Paul's hand. "Stop it now, you're embarrassing me. I gotta go get ready for my set, but I'll see you later."
She strolled off while Paul stood, watching her and shaking his head. Paul grabbed a chair, and sat the cups down at the table.
"Dawg," my roommate said, "is she pregnant?"
"What? No ..." Paul said, "I mean, she gained a little weight since the last time I was here but ... um ... oh, the shows about to start."
"Seriously, man, her stomach.." my roommate continued
"I'm telling you, I know the girl, and there's no way she's pregnant.(4) Now shhhh.... you're gonna miss the dancer." Paul said.
Just as we turned our attention to the stage, three brothers walked in and took seats at the front of the room. Prince's "Little Red Corvette" came over the speakers (intercom?) and the bouncer yelled out "Coming to the stage, Corvette!"
Now, I have never gotten on stage and danced around a pole.(5) So far be it from myself to criticize anyone's performance in such a setting. Having said that, "Corvette" was clearly the most uncoordinated dancer I have ever witnessed in my life.
She was a built like the letter "O" and had on a set of glasses with extremely thick lenses. It's hard to fully describe what her performance looked like, but imagine taking a Cheerio and spinning it around an upright toothpick veeerrryy slowly. It looked like she was actually orbiting the pole.
We all sat at the table stunned, looking like G.W. Bush holding a copy of "My Pet Goat." The brothers at the front however, were moved to pull bills out of their wallets and proceed to stuff them in her x-string.
"Maybe they feel sorry for her." I said.
"At this point, I sure do." my roommate said.
"I've seen it all..." said my homie Grant.
But of course, he hadn't, because soon thereafter, one of the brothers grabbed Corvette's legs and began to go down on her. His boys started cheering him on while Corvette, clearly confused, continued to flop around on the ground to the music.
"I think I'm gonna be sick..." Keith moaned.
I turned my head away from the stage, only to see Sabotage man openly masturbating to the action on the stage. Meanwhile, the bouncer/announcer stood solemnly at the door, looking on.
"This nasty bastard is back here jacking off," I noted.
"OK, that's it, we're getting the f**k out of here." my roommate said.
"C'mon, man, it's still early." Paul reasoned.
We headed back to the car, nauseated and pissed. The ride back to the crib was silent and full of tension. Finally, Paul spoke.
"So did I tell ya'll it would be a good time or what?"
We all took turns punching him.
(1) Not that I've done any of these things, I'm just saying...
(2) No one likes house strippers.
(3) Which consisted of a bottle of Crown Royal, 3 two liter bottles of Coca-Cola and some rum.
(4) She was.
(5) That I can remember.
What the heck is this assignment again?
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