2005-07-23 - 8:26 p.m.
Phil had been urging me for a week to accompany him to his favorite strip club. He said I was being reluctant about going. Maybe I was; it�s not really my thing. But N. said she wanted to come with us and they have free lunch on weekdays and it�s right downtown, so we all went on Wednesday.
Phil has an odd relationship with strip clubs. He doesn�t seem so much into the girls as the scene. Like he�ll buy drinks for the DJ and random patrons (no doubt setting off gaydar alarms in them) rather than the dancers. He�s rightly observed that sex workers quickly take on a hard view of the world: everyone�s a trick to be hustled for all you can. I noticed this already developing in K.
However, once a Wall Street lawyer, he�s now looking at buying a club in St. Maarten or Vancouver and running it like the Ivy League professional he is. He realizes the big drawback is having to negotiate with dancers, who are not generally known for their reliability. But on the plus side, I have to admit that it�s a good business model, if you can get over the morality factor. Titties are never going out of style.
When we got there, they only had one prime rib steak left for free lunch. N. and I let Phil have it and got alternatives. She had a cheeseburger and I got chicken over greens. We also started to drink. A lot. It sort of bothered me that we ended up spending almost $200 on the bar tab and like $14 (in singles) on the girls. It seems like they just work way too hard.
I got good and tanked, but I could only go up to the stage with N. accompanying me. We waited until the girl she liked was dancing, a librarian-looking type with short hair. She was very amused that N. was with me. Strippers seem to like girls in the house.
When our requested songs came on � the Eurhythmics� �Sweet Dreams� (the last song N. danced to in her few months as a stripper) and New Order�s �Bizarre Love Triangle� � and she told us she was from Chicago, it seemed virtually a sign from heaven. N. pulled my pants down for the occasion, but I was pretty mortified by this. In retrospect, should I really have been worried about offending the other creepy patrons?
The girl that I liked (dyed blond hair, big boobs � more what I�d expect to find in a strip club) came on and asked me if we were from around here. I explained that we�d gone out in high school back in New York and recently reconnected here and were moving to Chicago together. She was absolutely delighted and noted what better place to get back together than a strip club! Indeed.
She dedicated Aerosmith�s cover of the Beatles� �Come Together� to us. Aw. She had us engage in a 3-way kiss. This sort of tonguing is strictly verboten (I was afraid to even move when the dancers had their breasts in my face and apparently squeezed N.�s hand harder). But there�s no floor security during the day, so anything goes that you can get away with (I�d imagine that means the girls on this shift get their asses grabbed a lot).
I�m very glad N. was there for all this. I don�t think I would have enjoyed it without her. Even if I did, I think I�d feel lousy afterwards. The whole exploitative thing. I mean, I know these girls are choosing to do this and it�s a clear exchange of dollars for titties (although I suspect there are some patrons who buy into the game and imagine they�re having some sort of actual relationship). But still, that�s someone�s sister, daughter, girlfriend. Y�know?
When we left, we felt too soused to walk home so we called a cab. The cabbie who came was an old crotchety codger, not a hungry immigrant-type. He was obviously cranky about picking up drunk young people at a strip club and decided he couldn�t fit my wheelchair in his trunk. I was too drunk to cogently explain how to take the footrests off to make it smaller and he didn�t want to listen anyway (figuring out how to do this on your own is pretty easy but requires a modicum of brain cells he apparently didn�t have).
So he pointed at me and said I had to get out and call a bigger taxi. Not that I stay on top of such things, but I�m pretty sure that�s a clear civil rights violation. Cramming a chair into your trunk, even bungee-cording it shut, is a pretty �reasonable accommodation�.
We all got out and started screaming at him. I would have kicked his ass with my one good leg (actually I�d probably kick with the bad one), but he was such a pathetic old coot. Phil got up in his face and started beating the back of the cab when he got back in. At least the experience did sober us up enough to walk back home, plotting a lawsuit.
We passed out when we got back.
� 2005 Geoff Gladstone
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