Monday, January 17, 2011

The scary equivalent to museums

So about a month ago I was out at a bar for happy hour with some guys from work when they decided they wanted to go to a strip club. I had been dropped off that night after a dance class and was going to bum a ride home, so naturally I followed suit and went with them because one guy offered to pay everyone's cover charge. When we arrived, I sat awkwardly at one of the back tables with the two other guys who were about as out of their element as I was.
But isn't it rude to stare?
The rest of the gang either chatted it up with some of the ladies or took to sitting in front of the stage. The bartender was more scantily clad than some of her coworkers, though I had to remind myself they would dispose of their clothes sooner or later. She seemed a little snide compared to the average waitress, but I don't blame her for the crap she probably has to put up with every day. As a rule of thumb, I usually don't have a drink at bars unless it is bought for me (because I'm cheap). Tonight I decided to buy a drink.
She seemed less than pleased with my order, as if my order made me even more out of place than I already was wearing a long skirt and a headband with a bow. It was about fifteen minutes before my drink came and it didn't quite taste right. I was never asked if I wanted a refill.

I spent them trying to listen to a conversation at the next table over the bad club remixes of rap and hip hop. I futilely tried to look anywhere but the stage. Problem is, there are mirrors everywhere so I eventually gave up and watched the dancers. I will readily admit they are very skilled and unusually flexible women, but I would get just about as much enjoyment out of them if they left their clothes on. Don't get me wrong, I'm totally comfortable with the human figure. I'm an art student and have to draw nude figures nearly every week. What bothers me is the way the men stare blankly at the women dancing closely enough to them to feel the heat emanating from their perfectly waxed genitalia.

In all honesty, I spent most of the night pointing out which of the dancers had fake boobs against those who had the real deal. It was at this time we also realized there was a TV showing Star Trek: The Next Generation across the room.

At one point, the same guy who had paid our cover bought two of his friends lap dances from, in my opinion, the prettiest girls there. One guy came back looking like a kid who just got an Xbox for his birthday.
no seriously, they'll probably be checking his ID until he's 40.  He's really a sweet guy though, he's the one who gave me a ride home that night.
The other guy disappeared for some time afterward. We joked that he was probably in the bathroom taking care of business. We were wrong. 

Eventually I got dragged up to brave enough to sit in front of the stage. Admittedly its quite different being a foot away from the lady at work then across the room. I spent most of my time either blushing or trying to watch TNG behind the center pole.
she was literally wearing ONLY leg warmers and a pair of ginormous heels with a bumper sticker on one.
When the guys decided they had their fill of raw sexual entertainment for the night I went up to the bar to close my tab.
Note to self: Don't buy drinks at a strip club. It's expensive.
For a while afterward I ran through a conundrum of thoughts trying to understand and justify why a woman would want to have the sort of job that exploited her body/physical looks in such a manner.

. . .
I wasn't really sure what to think in the end.
Needless to say I won't be able to go to a strip club again without thinking about TNG or not think about strippers whenever I hear Rihanna's "Only Girl" because it was the song that was playing while I was sitting at the center stage. Additionally, I decided that working retail to get myself through college isn't so bad. At least this way I know I'll have an unblemished resume and a job after after I'm Thirty.

In conclusion, it's an interesting experience to visit a strip club. Something worth trying once I suppose. It's just like taking a trip to a museum: look but don't touch (or the security will kick you out).

1 comment:

  1. "why women would want to have this job" =MONEY MONEY MONEYYYY strippers make bank for showing tittys!

    hahaha. You should've done a poll (almost wrote pole lawls): do guys fancy fake or real boobs more? My guy friends all told me real...but maybe they're all lying because I'm a girl.

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