Looking back on the whole thing, it had to be my fault. I mean, who did I think I was fooling? I am not all that and a bag of chips. I am lucky if I could even match up to a stale half chewed saltine. In reality and to sum it all up, I’m a zero and not a hero, and a champion is what we desperately needed once we discovered that the club we just walked into definitely lived up to the name on the dark crimson marquee outside…MONSTERS!
It was also her fault. My girl, that is. She wouldn’t leave it alone. Arguing seemed to be what she really wanted to do with her life, and arguing with me seemed to give her a warm feeling all over. Hell, it was the only time she ever smiled at me. It seemed as if the mockery and disdain she threw at me was the point of, and not the substance of any discussion. She kept going on and on about the thing so much that I simply had to issue a challenge for her to come to a club to see that is wasn’t as bad as she would believe. Once agreed, it naturally fell to her to choose the club. She found one in the yellow pages that appealed to her and off we went in search of proof, or disproof, of the social relevance and aesthetic necessity for the existence of Strip Clubs. In the end she, as the rest of us, got what she deserved.
Other than the dark and gloomy motif, the joint turned out to be just another strip club. Several stages peppered the place with naked dancers while scantily clad waitresses sauntered around the place hawking overpriced drinks. As we settled in, the DJ read off a list of the performers and the fact that they worked for tips and tips alone. The names were appropriate for the venue: Christie, Heather, Baby Girl, Angeline, Fantasy, Naughty Nikki, and Cheyenne. There were a few that held a foreign inflection such as Adriana, Tatyana, Basimah, Padma, and the ever popular African American- Shaqueela.
The bouncers were numerous, extremely large, bald-headed or pony-tailed, and abundantly tattooed. The bartenders, all women, worked topless, and at what seemed like the speed of light. Every woman in the place had a tattoo just above her butt crack. If had not been for the female I brought with me, I would have felt right at home.
At first we encountered no trouble. I ordered drinks and found a table. As to be expected several dancers came to sit and attempt to coax us into the back for a “Luxury Dance.” I resisted, but only as long as it took my girl to question what happened in these private suites in the back of the club. After much discussion (albeit one sided – she talked and I listened) I agreed to go to the back with her and a rather pleasing red head called Colleen who claimed to be from County Cavan, Ireland close to the border with Northern Ireland. As it worked out, she came from Schenectady NY, the red hair was a dye job, her name turned out to be Ethel, or Mabel, and her ethnicity was American German with a touch of Greek. Who’d a thunk it?
The dance she gave was appropriately libidinous notwithstanding the inordinate amount of time she spent grinding on my girl. We sat through three or four dances and ultimately turned down the invitation for a more direct application of her licentious dexterities. Two thousand dollars proved to me a bit steep for services where I would end up simply a spectator. My girl, with each Mai Tai grew increasingly stimulated, and uninhibited. I felt that discretion was the better part of bankruptcy and attempted to leave. That is when the horror showed up.
Ethel/Mabel emitted a loud growl as would come from a wild animal. The bouncer came through the curtain separating the room from the rest of the club and snarled at us, also in a loud bestial manner. The dancer fell back on the floor and began to grunt and scream and…change
The bouncer mimicked the dancer and while they writhed on the floor we made our escape, for all the good it did us. Out in the main room of the club, the dancers and the employees were all in states of metamorphism. Some were showing fangs and translucent eyes. Some were growing hair and snarling. Others were stalking the room as zombies, grabbing customers and attempting to eat them alive. There were people being drained of their blood by vampires. The snarling gave way to roars as those transforming turned into werewolves and attacked those frozen in terror. The guys we came with were all sitting with dancers straddling them as if receiving lap dances, except they were really either being drained of their blood, or having their entrails ripped from them.
A mad dash for the door proved futile as it was locked and guarded by two huge dog-like creatures with glowing red eyes and foam coming from their mouths. Turning, we were confronted by our dancer Ethel/Mabel and several dancers. We simply stood there as they fell on us…
I am now the bar back, and my girl is dancing. Maybe someday I will get to eat fresh customers and not the leftovers. Thinking back, in retrospect, it appeared that my girl was correct; social relevance and aesthetic necessity did not provide proper justification for the existence of Strip Clubs.