Thursday, Dec. 26, 2019
7:13 a.m.
<< [ The Time We Went to a Strip Club for Christmas ] >>
they told us repeatedly as we entered "we only have one girl working right now". Not a problem, we said, we're mostly just here to drink and chill anyway.
Well come on in, they said.
The main room is huge, music pumping, bar and stage lit up with more tiny sparkling lights on the ceiling. Sure enough, one girl sits at the bar in skimpy lingerie she's a little too small for. We sit at the bar next to the girl at the same time another single guy enters and sits on her other side. The girl would rather be talking to us (we buy her a drink, she continuously tries to involve us in her other conversation), but single guy pays for a half hour dance (we learn later the half hour dances start at four hundred dollars a pop) so what are you gonna do.
The male, fully dressed bartender chats with us about local spots, for which we desperately need recommendations. He lists other strip clubs, their days for local deals, then lists best restaurant deals and nightlife options. I take notes on my phone, and in the back of my head can't stop thinking about the stage in the middle of the room. It's this big glorious thing with a lit-up rail leading from the private sky boxes on the second floor across the room, then down the staircase onto the stage.
I look around at no one else in the room. I wait for the manager/bouncer to pass us by, and ask if there's any way I could take a picture on the stage.
He nods, solemn, says "of course", and leads me to the stage. He stands behind me as I walk up the stairs. I hold the railing and do not sway, to show him I am a Sober Individual who is Capable of Being Safe. Husband takes my picture as I pose, and we immediately send the picture to my family.
"That's a once in a lifetime picture," he says, "we don't allow patrons on stage and we don't usually allow pictures for the girls' privacy." I am appropriately grateful and wish him a Merry Christmas.
Husband and I continue drinking until another owner.manager of the club wanders down and buys him and his buddy shots. He looks at us, buys our shots too. We slam them back despite being too fucking old for shots anymore.
The girl eventually returns and asks if we want a tour. We follow her around the club as she shows us the back room, the sky boxes, the private rooms, which start at two hundred, four hundred, and one thousand dollars respectively.
She touches the bottles of champagne outside the sky boxes. Each room has one bottle. She says each room is named for the bottle displayed outside, but she likes to use the room numbers instead because some of the champagnes listed aren't great.
We offer to buy the cashier, the only other lady working, a drink. She is grateful for the offer but says she can't because she's around money. I pout a little and say it's not fair she can't drink, at this point she is the only person in the club not drinking, and later my husband hears her repeat this to her boss. "They already offered me a drink and I said no," she says, presumably to demonstrate her solid work ethic. I think she did finally drink at the end, not sure, the last part of my visit is a blur. Probably to be expected after drinking like sixteen screwdrivers.
Husband drives me to get food, but everywhere is closed because holiday. We smoke a blunt in my car, and he pulls over so I can pee behind a weathered strip mall casino.
Merry fucking Christmas.