So I had a new experience recently. I’ve hesitated in writing about it, because I’m not sure how I feel about it, really. Last month, after a few cocktails at a wedding reception, Hubby and I looked around and noticed that we, along with the newly-wedded couple and our BFF couple, were the last ones getting dangerous on the dance floor. In fact, we were the last ones getting dangerous in the room. Besides the DJ, of course.
At this point, the bride, very liquored up, declared we were going to Scores. Scores is a…. ahem… a gentlemen’s club. Now, even though I am a “City Girl” and have reached the worldly age of 30, I had never been to such a place. I am a good girl, see, and that night I was wearing a brand new, very classy black dress from Ann Taylor and a string of pearls and I was having a hard time picturing myself alongside naked boobies and leering clients clutching dollar bills.
Apparently it is a common thing in our old city of residence for brides to go to strip clubs. Because no one even looked twice at our friend – and they even charged her the $5 cover.
I will say that it was about what I expected. I was very uncomfortable, which maybe says a lot about my own insecurities and how I deal with nudity and male objectification and blah blah blah exploitation-cakes.
But what surprised me about my reaction was that I felt really sorry for some of the patrons. We sat at the bar, separate from the performance area, but unfortunately had a perfect view inside the private dance area. Now I’ve seen Showgirls. So I knew what goes on behind that red velvet curtain. But seeing as how the curtain wasn’t closed, I got a refresher course. And it was like I couldn’t look away. (At least until the St. Louis Cardinals put in Scott Spezio, usually an outfielder, to pitch).
In that private room were a bunch of guys (okay, three) who probably couldn’t get a girl. They looked awkward and desperately needy. One of them followed his dancer out of the room, holding her hand and engaged her in long conversation involving multiple hugs and nuzzles. It was obvious she was playing him for more cash and just as obvious that he was probably going to give it to her. In that situation, the woman seemed to have all the power. And he was just another $20 bill to her. It made me sad.
When we left (for a Taco Bell run – something I hadn’t done in more than five years), my husband asked me what I thought. And I didn’t know what to tell him other than that I was very uncomfortable and that it was about what I expected but somehow different.