man rule

never go to a strip club without lining something up for after

frankly, i've never understood the appeal. they're expensive, and worse, provide little hope of an interesting end to the evening.

yet, i seem to be the minority in this position. a group ventures out for a big night, and when some start to lag, a suggestion is made for a trip to the titty bar, generally to the ovation of others. as if this somehow turns to the night into a rousing success.

i found myself at a bar. saturday night, so no surprise. but the group was not a regular one. obligation lead me, as this was a sendoff of sorts to an old friend moving out of the bay area. revelry was to ensue.

but to my chagrin, only two shots were purchased (one fernet for me, one fernet for him). and without the contribution of others the night spiraled downward, first to mediocrity, then twenty minutes later, to abject boredom (* i was having an on night, hence i entertained, but reciprocation, absent).

i prodded the guest of honor, putting him in postion for a free drink from our six-foot blonde bartender recently transported from seattle. he declined. she offered water instead. he accepted.

"i'm such a bad bartender," she said. "i'm supposed to be selling drinks."

uh, yeah. dance on the bar. get us drunk. something to make my trek through the sheets of rain falling on san francisco worthwhile.

and then the inevitable. one person called it a night. like dominoes in a row, others announced their fall. i resisted, saying no going away party should be ending at 12:30 a.m. the word club was tossed out. my heart sank. then the words gold club. my heart sank a bit further.

so there i was, sitting three rows back from the stage, debating whether i needed a seven dollar pint of bud light to make this bearable. i handed a stack of ones to my friend and he moved toward the stage area. a few mediocre talents took their turns on stage, shed their tops, scaled the silver pole in the center of the stage, then rotated their bodies around the pole till gravity returned them to the floor. (side note, do strip clubs have poles for phallic reasons or just to show off the artistic ability of their employees?)

for their efforts, a gaggle of onlookers stuffed their g-strings with dollar bills.

but really, where does the enjoyment coming from? i've never used the services of a professional woman, but at least i understand the draw. strippers, that's like paying thomas keller to cook a meal, then leaving before your first bite. at least, no one's stupid enough to do that.