For the second time in my life, I was tricked into going to a strip club. Last Thursday, my boss and coworker and I had enjoyed a two martini lunch because we had finished a big project and we were walking back to our office complex. This complex sits right next to a small building that is a strip club. Don’t ask me how I got so lucky to work next to a strip club…
Boss: Let’s go into 7th Heaven.
Boss: Come on…it will only be for one drink…I promise.
Coworker: Come on…I’ve never been there and I’ve always wanted to see what it looks like, don’t you?
Me: Well, OK. But only for one drink then I’m out of there.
I emerged 4 1/2 hours later and squinted into the light of day. Dazed and confused, I saw people who worked in the same building with me leaving and looking at me walking out of a strip club. I felt like I needed a shower–a long scalding hot one. I had left the guys still drinking inside. I had no idea what time it was because a strip club is exactly like a casino. No clocks and you just keep feeding dollar bills out for entertainment.
On the up side, there was a ladies room. Actually a men’s/women’s room that was far enough from the action and towards the front door, that it was still pretty nice. Bonus points to the stripper who showed me where it was and checked to see who or what was lurking in there before she left me to take care of business.
Bonus points to the bartender who put orange slices in the 24 Blue Moon beers that my colleagues drank before I ran out. She also gave me a nice slice of lime in the one gin and tonic I drank.
Bonus points to me for guessing that stripper #4 ( there were 6 in rotation and we saw them all dance at least 4 times) was a cheerleader in high school.
Bonus points for my coworker who got one stripper to hold onto the pole with just her armpit and have the rest of her body sticking straight out like a flag.
On the down side, I was in charge of the money. The guys convinced me that if I put the stack of dollars in front of me, they would seem less creepy and the girls would like me. I placed $80 worth of money in very young girls g strings and bikini tops. At one point I did have to admit that they did smell like candy and they were very soft.
Every time I though about leaving, my boss would throw down another $20 for ones and I’d think…OK…after this $20 I’ll leave…I’ll just be polite and wait. They flow of money never stopped.
They only time I thought the show would get interesting was when one stripper was showing the other stripper how to do the “flag pole” trick and they were touching each other. Besides that and commenting that I liked the one stripper’s boots, these girls didn’t really do anything for me.
I was asked if I wanted a lap dance over a dozen times. I thanked them and said no each time.
As I was driving home still in a daze, I thought about having a place like that for just lesbians. Sports on the TVs, girls pouring drinks and sticking their heels up around their g strings and pulling them out, and I knew it would never happen. Even if lesbians could get over the “exploitation of women” thing they would never in this world be able to part with all that money. We’d have to have coupons, and happy hour, and we’d never under any circumstances go to the “Champagne Room”.
There was no way we were going to sit there for that kind of money and just look and not touch.
I found out that day that the person who owns the premier strip club in Philly is a woman, and I really wondered who was exploiting who and realized then that there are reasons why lesbians do not go to strip clubs.