I have this idea that a lot of the appeal of strip clubs lie in the smoke and mirrors reversal of the (in this case) heterosexual social dynamic. It's a place where an attractive young woman can walk up to you, a male, ask for your time, and be shot down (or not) on your whim. Reverse the dynamic back to its chief state, where you, the male, are by and large expected to ply for the attention of an attractive young woman, remove (or cloak/obscure) the leverage of monetary compensation, and the odds of getting your male ego bruised all to shit increases substantially. You are not just paying for a cute, naked girl to rub against you, you are paying for the satisfaction of not just receiving, but also rejecting her attention. I do believe that is an actual subconscious element to the culture.
It's one of the things I ponder when I, on occasion, find myself in one of these establishments. As I did last night. I've not decided if these places can be as equally depressing as they can be fun, I guess it depends on a number of different factors, but the depressing stuff is more interesting for me to think about.
So, two examples in one night. It's a very boring Sunday night (or Monday morning, actually, it was after midnight), so instead of hanging out in the relatively dead bar down the street from where I live, a friend and I decided that we haven't been to a strip club in a while. May as well shoot the shit w/ a decent view.
We get there. It's a little busier than we expected but we came to chill out, so it doesn't matter. I use the time to bitch and moan to him about some personal stuff, and after, I don't know, 20min, an interesting looking girl, compact, w/ a cabbie hat and a pneumatic figure, walks up to me.
Now, she doesn't ask if I want a dance, she just sits on the arm of my seat, says hi, and makes some comment about how intense I look. We go on for a bit, and I notice that she has a very interesting way of speaking. She speaks in low tones and pithy, suggestive little sentences, and it's kind of cute and unusual. Anyway, she tells me I need to relax and goes right into a neck and shoulder massage. A completely bad ass neck and shoulder massage. Now, I did not request her company so I had to make clear: "umm...is this is a dance? Because...". She shrugs, smiles and says "uh-uh" and keeps on keeping on. This is like ten or so minutes, which I imagine is like two hours in third level "stripper time".
It was good fun, especially since she's straddling me with a body that feels like a contoured silk pillow. I felt like hell walking into this place, so I have no complaints at this point. They call her on stage, she says she has to go, she waves goodbye, and that's it. She doesn't ask for anything, for me to wait later or whatever, she just moves to the stage. Now, of course, I could look at that as the "sales pitch" for later, and if so, she put a lot of her time into it. I have no idea, but I admitted to my friend that I was weighing waiting for her to get off stage.
However, I decided it was getting a little late and I didn't feel like waiting around for anything at all, when another dancer came by, pointing at me, then pointing at herself, and all w/ a slightly bewildered look on her face. She asks, almost frantically, if I wanted a dance, and for some reason (maybe b/c it was ten dollar night and I was feeling much better), I said yes. I will soon regret this.
For one thing, the dark did her some favors by obscuring what looked like the beginnings of "methface", and another thing, her dance skills basically involved repeated abdomen-slamming. On top of this, she keeps fucking going on and on about how she remembers me and hoped that I wasn't still mad at her for spilling water on me that one time. I have no goddamn clue what she's talking about and insist that she has me confused w/ someone else, but she's not listening to a word I say.
I end it after two songs, the last interminably long. I give her the money, and signal my friend that I'm ready to bail. She then hands one of the bills back to me, and says..."this one's fake". I'm confused. Is she trying to be funny? I hand it back to her and say "here, that's your money, I have to go." She then extends both both bills to me and repeatedly insists that she can feel the difference. I tell her to check w/ a manager or whoever because I have no interest in dealing with this shit. She grabs me by the hand, and says: "Fine, I guess we will!" and proceeds to lead me across the club to who I guess is the manager. With a total lack of lucidity in her eyes that I wish I had noticed before, she tells him on no uncertain terms that I'm trying to hand her counterfeit bills, I'm standing there like what the fuck is this!? He checks the bills, says they're fine, then she shoots me a look like I'm a complete piece of shit and storms off to the dressing room. He turns to me w/ a smile, and gives the sort of yeah, dude, she's totally of it, forget about it...wave, I shrug and smile, collect my friend, and call it a night.
She didn't smell of alcohol, so she was either high, on a mental bender, or both. So from, having that rare, fun experience in a strip club, to going right into the usual, weird, depressing shit that defines these places for me.
I'll undoubtedly find myself in one again, somewhere down the line.
Edited by JacknifeJohnny - 8/15/11 at 12:40pm
