Today’s holiday, no doubt being celebrated around the world by Confessions readers, always brings up strange memories for me.
No, not the memories of purple haze all in my eyes. Though those are good ones. Mostly. Except for the whole mongoose incidentsd1. Anyhoo, what I do think about, oddly enough, is the first (and to date only) visit to a strip clubsd2.
See, what happened was my cousin was working at Papa John’s. He hadn’t been working there too long and didn’t really know anyone, or anything about anyone so when one of his coworkers told him that she was a stripper, of course he had to go see it.
Okay, that’s technically not true. He had sorta known the girl through work, but if you are a single man and any co-worker, ever, tells you that she is a stripper, you have a bullshit detector (and/or a whole different type of detector) that tells you you need to check this story out. So, of course he did. And brought me.
Now, the first thing you need to know is that I’m vehemently against strip clubssd3. But, because he’s mostly family and he wanted to see if this was true or not, I went. Now, what you need to know is that this stripper worked at the Rocks. And I ain’t talkin’ no Obama. As far as I know, Len Rocks has been shut down twice, with violations ranging from improper touching (of the strippers) and alcohol violations. So, by all rights, the Rocks shouldn’t have even been open. But, thanks to the good people of the Cleveland Metropolitan Area, it was.
What I remember (which, of course, is the basis of this here story) is that at first I didn’t want to go. Mostly because I don’t see the point of them, but he wanted to go and he didn’t want to go alone. So I went. The first thing that struck me was that they didn’t really have a kitchen. Now, not that I need to eat while I’m watching women get naked. I just know from my past that it helps. Well, that and it helps get over the fact that I’m paying to watch women get nakedsd4. Then, I realized that I had to pay a 10 dollar cover charge in order to get in. That bothered me, but whatever. I was going to a strip club right?
Unfortunately, because of the problems that the Rocks had in the past, there was no liquor license to be had. So I was unable to drink. Which, as you should know by now, is a big part of my life. A big part. And so, I didn’t drink. Which was to my detriment, because I was hating every agonizing minute. Mostly because it wasn’t an actual “strip” club as much as it was an “underwear dance club that allowed the smoking of marijuana”. Which wasn’t at all what I was looking for. As we waited for the co-worker to dance on one of the many poles that were spread throughout the venue, two girls came up to us and asked if we wanted “lap dances”. By the grace of God, one of them was the co-worker. But seeing as that it was my life, the other chick was a girl that graduated from high school about two years after I did (I was three years out at the time). Of course she was the one who a) recognized me and b) gave me a lap dance. After it was over and I paid & tipped hersd5 she asked me if I wanted to go to her birthday party. I, of course because it was me and I suck at most aspects of life, declined. In hindsight, I regret that, because I could have dated a stripper and have one of those stories to tell my grandnieces and nephews. But I don’t.
In case you were wondering what that had to do with 4/20, well, it was the day that we went. And we celebrated a lot earlier. And the fact that there was weed allowed in the Rocks, but not alcohol. That point always sticks in my craw.
sd1: Not talking about it. (back)
sd2: Strippers and strip clubs have been coming up quite a bit lately. (back)
sd3: Seriously. Mostly because of the whole technical “touch” rules and the whole “taking home” issue. But lets just suffice to say that I don’t frequent the booty clubs. (back)
sd4: This is a big problem with me if you can’t tell. (back)
sd5: Well, because that’s just the type of guy that I am. (back)