(Written in 2008 as a bachelor.)
I have a set of friends that really enjoy going to strip clubs. I can’t say that I mind going but I have a steadfast rule in place in order for me to prevent myself from going broke every time we go. The rule is: In order for me to spend money on a girl in a strip club she has to be better looking than anyone I can pull out of a bar. This rule has kept me from falling into “stripper love” that some of my other friends fall victim to.
There have been times I have gone to strip clubs and have had an awful lot of fun. One time after golf, three of my friends and I were the only people in the club, well there was a guy in a wheelchair that had to blow in a tube in order to move but am I even supposed to count him? Anyways, we all sat in the front row aka perverts row and judged girls on their various pole tricks. We even made up cards with numbers on them and everything using napkins and a pen. Their tips were determined by the quality of the pole trick, it was fun for everyone involved as even the ugly strippers were getting attention from us. Usually we would just turn our backs on them or leave the front row and go to the bar in order to shun them. This was fun and good times for everyone, who doesn’t like pole tricks?
One night after golfing my friends and I went to a club near where we golfed for a couple of drinks to talk a little shit to each other and unwind after a hard day of gambling and drinking. We settled down at a table away from the stage to feel out the temperature of the “talent” that was there. The club that we were at was really hit or miss, usually about 60% of the girls weren’t very attractive and that number could reach as high as 80% but it was one of the few bars open on a Sunday in the summer that was close to where we were. It was still entertaining to go because it was very laid back and we weren’t getting constant “stripper pressure” to get dances or buy them drinks.
After sitting through a few dances a girl took the stage to the rousing sounds of Gun N Roses. My friend was staring at the stage, I briefly looked up and made a comment about the girl’s looks and that he shouldn’t stare to long or he would turn to stone or get herpes. (I think there is a possibility that some people can give you herpes just by looking at them.) Kyle continued to look before saying, “I think we went to high school with here.” I looked at her for a few seconds and realized that we, in fact, did go to high school with this girl. I never had a class with her, I never talked to her, and I never really ever noticed her but she did go to school with us. Now some people would find this really cool, however if you ranked the 60 or so girls that I went to high school with she would not have been in the top 30 of girls I would want to see naked. When you add a couple of bad tattoos and the obvious birth of a couple of children she plummets down that list even further.
I wanted to leave the club immediately but nobody would go. I wasn’t embarrassed that I was in there and I was acquainted with one of the dancers. I was totally afraid of the completely uncomfortable situation that was going to take place. It was going to be a mixture of the “what have you been doing since high school” conversation, the standard stripper “I’m sizing you up to see how much money I can get from you” conversation, and then the awkward ending of her inviting one of us into the back for a dance which nobody will want to bite the bullet on. Not only is the looks thing a factor, the complete uncomfortable feeling that you shared a playground in sixth grade kind of gets involved making getting a lap dance like going to the dentist.
Finally after her set she came out to the floor and went to the back with a couple of guys for private dances. I figured at the pace she was going she would have to go back up on stage or that she would just not make it to our side of the club. Leaving us to finish another round and head back home thus avoiding the potential uncomfortable situation. This wasn’t to be, after finishing another private dance she made a b-line for our table and everything I thought would happen did.
She did the whole “act excited” thing because she hadn’t seen us in so long, which really is uncomfortable because we honestly never said three words to each other our entire time growing up. Is there anything less genuine when you bump into someone that you went to school with and weren’t friends with then act excited to see them? This is the exact reason why I didn’t go to my high school reunion this year, all the people I want to talk to I already keep in contact with, why would I want to go and have the fake conversation at least 25 times?
Then of course the question of what have you been doing gets asked, I explain what I have been up to, my other friends go, and then we have to ask the obligatory return question to her. We get the whole, “I have three kids with different fathers and this is my best way to make a living story”, which makes you feel like shit for even being in a strip club and kills the mood. I wanted to leave or better yet hang myself with the various exposed electrical cords hanging from the walls. After talking for a little bit longer she then asks one of my friends if they want to go out back for a private dance, he politely declines. I figured that would be it and she would leave but then she pulled the “I just gave you my sob story and one of you guys will feel bad enough to get a dance from me” card as she began to ask everyone at the table one by one if they wanted to go out back.
Of course I am the last one to be asked after all of my friends had said no. You could see the dejection on her face and tell she was another “no” away from breaking down and bawling her eyes out. She asked me the question that had been posed to my other friends; I hesitated while thinking about my personal stripper rule but ultimately broke down and said yes. I felt like I just saved a kid from a burning building or one of her kids from starving, she popped out of her chair and excitedly hustled me to back room for what was the single most uncomfortable lap dance of my entire life. My penis actually crawled up into my liver as Poison blared over the loud speaker; it was just another reason for me to hate Bret Michaels and this was anything but “Ain’t Nothing but a Good Time”.
After the dance I returned to the table and told my friends that I hated them. It was just another moment in my life where I wanted to drink an entire bottle of bleach; of course I would want to disinfect myself with it first.
Have you ever run into someone from high school that you really didn’t want to see at that moment?