Beautifully Artistic

In my previous entry I talked about the fact that I am currently going through some kind of strange, social phase of my life where I would rather go out and do things and meet new people than just stay in and watch a marathon of The X-files on Netflix.

On Friday night the abnormality reached new heights.  Because a friend of mine, whom I can only guess is some kind of Jedi, convinced me to go out.  At midnight.  On a whim.

Generally, going out on a Friday night requires days of mental preparation and planning, not 5 minutes of coercion.

And the fact that I agreed to go out at all is not even the most unbelievable part of this story. Anyone who knows me at all may need a moment to process what I am about to tell you, so just take your time.

On Friday night, around 1AM, I found myself arriving at a strip club.

That's right.  You read that correctly.

Now, the strip club was a suggestion for the evening that I initially shot down.  The plan that I agreed to was a pool hall (Ok, that probably sounds a little strange too, but it's true).  However, the pool hall turned out to be packed, with no tables available.  

At which point the Jedi informed me that there's always an open pool table at the strip club.  And that it's far from the stage.  And I can stand with my back towards the strippers.

So now I'm already out in the middle of the night.  What's one more new experience?  

(Now that I think about it, this may have been his plan all along...)

Next thing I know I'm filling out my name and address and stating that I am not a member of law enforcement in order to sign up for a 6 month membership.  Because that's the only way you can get in.

And then I'm in a strip club.  And I'm not really sure whether or not it was what I expected.  I mean, obviously I expected naked ladies.  Of which there were many.  And I suppose I also expected the number of creepy old men that would be present.  And that my other friend that came along and I would be the only fully clothed women, which we were.

But I suppose I thought there would be more actual stripping involved.  It seemed to me that the ladies ended up completely naked quite early in their 'routine'.  And I put quotes around routine because I doubt that their performance was really choreographed.

I also found it to be slightly misleading that the announcer described the performances as 'Beautifully Artistic'.  I mean, maybe I'm wrong, maybe there is an art to slapping your own ass and grinding your private parts in strangers faces.  Maybe I just couldn't appreciate the art of it.

I don't think anyone will be shocked to hear that I was slightly uncomfortable.  

Part of the reason I was uncomfortable was because my friends kept warning me that one of the strippers might touch me and I was terrified.  

Part of the reason I was uncomfortable was because I caught a big bald guy staring at me from across the stage a couple of times.

Part of the reason I was uncomfortable was because one of the strippers stopped to talk to us and tell us about her creative writing classes and how much she enjoyed being captain of the debate team and all I could hear was: "Yeah, I walk around in a g-string all night but I have layers. DON'T JUDGE ME."

To which I wanted to respond: "I make no assumptions about your intelligence or character based on your career choice."

Which is total bullshit, but I didn't want her to know that.

For me, the evening was characterized by a sea of conflicting emotions.  My gut reaction told me that this place was disgusting, degrading and sad.  Most of the 'dancers' looked miserable and/or bored and most of the men either looked uncomfortable or like they stepped right out of the sex offender registry. 

Then the liberal, politically correct portion of my brain would try to convince me that I was just being a prude and that the women chose this line of work because they wanted to.  And how it's really feminist because they're actually exploiting the men... 

...and then one of them would stick her face in some guy's crotch and I was back to square one.

Finally, just to really illustrate how much I did not belong there, my biggest concern for a good portion of the evening was whether my complete discomfort and misery would offend the strippers.