Let’s face facts. All of us have fallen on hard times this year. As the world goes through a drastic transformation, we’re learning to adapt personally and financially to survive. Many of us have lost loved ones, and our businesses, our jobs, and which could probably apply to our sanity. I live in the Buffalo area, where places are slowly starting to open after everything was closed to the public for more than three months due to COVID-19. I’ve also recently become single again after being in a relationship for six years. While I’m slowly on the mend from that, the cabin fever of staying indoors has taken its toll on me. The dating scene grows more bizarre as the days progress, but I’m hoping to make at least one genuine connection with one person. If I can do that, then I see how that connection can flourish. Although with an ongoing pandemic, strange dates are going to be at an all-time high, which simultaneously depressed me and intrigued me a little.
My sister, Jess, wanted to cheer me up. She floated the idea to take me out and introduce me to her friends as bars and clubs were finally starting to re-open. Maybe there’s a karaoke bar open as I can rock that mic. I could see people sing bad songs with masks on their faces, but my gut told me that was not going to happen. Jess tells me we are going to the strip club. I’m intentionally not naming the club in this story for a multitude of reasons. I willingly accepted because I was ready to meet some new people, at least.
Here’s the thing about my sister. She used to be an exotic dancer, so she knows lots of gorgeous women. She knows the owner of the strip club where she used to work many moons ago, and that club is finally opening up again during the pandemic.
Now think about the concept itself.
I am going to a strip club in the middle of a pandemic.
It sounds like the setup of a terrible new joke, and the punchline is that the President of the United States is a traitor. It’s ridiculous to the point that it’s too good for fiction, and I probably wouldn’t have imagined the idea in one of my novels. The thought caused me to muse about how did strip clubs operate if there were any, during the Spanish Flu pandemic that the United States encountered over 100 years ago. I did a little research but didn’t find anything substantial (feel free to message me on Instagram with a legitimate source if you know something). Anyway, I knew I had to go and experience this opportunity. At the very least, it would make for a peculiar anecdote.
I feel compelled to inform you that I wasn’t expecting to make a connection with one of the dancers. They are just doing their jobs, but sometimes their patrons forget that. A long time ago, I briefly dated an exotic dancer. I learned from that and won’t do that again. That’s a different story for another time.
The night starts with me at a bar, just a couple of blocks from my place. I’m watching a band playing, and it’s refreshing to see that. At that bar, everyone wears face masks except for the group of musicians on stage and anyone sitting down at a table. The tables are 6 feet apart. I expected a similar setup at the strip club. As the band ends, Jess texts me to let me know that she is picking up her friend, Tracy, then she will make her way over here. She sent Matt, her new guy friend, whom she has been casually seeing, to meet me at the bar. I wait outside for a few minutes, and he arrives just as the bar is closing.
Side note. Most bars in the Buffalo area before the pandemic were open until 4 am. Since the implementation of these new regulations, they are closing much earlier.
Anyway, the bar is closed, and I suggest we go back to my place to wait for Jess and Tracy. We have a beer, and we shoot the shit. Matt’s an impressive guy. Not only is he a former MMA fighter who currently works as a personal trainer, but he is also a veteran. We talk cars, video games, music, movies, and a cornucopia of other interests and topics. He asks about my books and my writing. It is easy to talk to him, and I am glad he is my wingman for the night. Finally, my sister and her friend arrive. Jess introduces me to Tracy. Matt and I finish our beers, and we head to the club with the ladies.
We arrive, and as we get out of the car, we put our masks on our faces. A sign graces the door urging that no one is permitted entry without wearing a mask. Jess goes in first. She says her hellos to the bouncers at the door and introduces us to the present staff while she pays the cover for the four of us. One bouncer starts yelling the rules over the loud music blasting from the stage. I can hear most of what he says, but he informs us that there is a copy of the rules at each table. We agree to comply with the regulations; then, they search us for any contraband. After a quick pat-down, and a wave of the metal detector security wand, one of the ladies in the establishment escorts us to our table.
The establishment cordoned off six feet of space around the front of the entire stage and six feet of space separating the other tables. Our table is next to one of the stanchions holding the border of yellow tape designating that neutral zone. On the edge of this neutral zone, directly in the front center of the stage, are two boxes labeled ‘TIPS.’ It’s a reimagining of a peep show. I was half expecting one of the dancers to be wearing a face mask constructed from single dollar bills.
After sitting down, we are allowed to take off our masks. We all show our faces again and order a round of drinks. We look at the booze and food menus, and I see a copy of the rules. I show them to everyone at the table, and we get acquainted with them. The document starts with a disclaimer about how the establishment has to follow these rules to ensure the safety of staff and customers. Next, there is a note explaining that there is a two-hour time limit for each table. Simple enough. Then the set of rules was displayed.
1. Everyone must wear a mask or face cover fully covering your nose and mouth before entering the building, and the mask must remain on until you are seated.
2. At all times, please abide by the 6 ft markings for social distancing for your safety and others.
3. If you leave your table to use the restroom or for any reason, you must have your mask on fully covering your nose and mouth.
4. We have placed our tables and chairs in the appropriate places to ensure social distancing. Please do not move them at any time. We are under strict guidelines by the Erie County health department to maintain social distancing at all times.
5. There will be no standing at any areas of the bar or at any tables. You must be seated to be served and/or remain a guest in the club.
6. Please do not take your dissatisfaction of our mandated policies out on any of our staff for any reason. The practices are mandated by the state for them to be able to work and the club to be open for business.
When I finish reading the rules, a dancer walks onto the stage and begins her routine. I like her style, so I decide to give her a tip. Remembering the rules, I put my mask on and get up from the table. I walk 6 feet over to the tip boxes and drop a dollar into one of the boxes. There weren’t many in there, but I feel generous, and I put another couple dollars into the box. After I offer my donation, I walk back to my table, sit down, then remove my mask. I did this a few more times over the course of our visit.
The night moves along, and we are one round of drinks into our stay. The dancers are entertaining us. I try to flag down any waitress to get more drinks but fail to get their attention. I decide to go to the bar to see what will happen. Once I’m wearing my mask, I stand up, head over, and sit down in an empty seat at the bar. Technically, I didn’t break the rules. The bartender notices me. I give the order, then she says, “You have to order at your table, but I will send someone over to you.” She was polite, and she listened to me, which led to a solution. I give her an A for customer service. When the waitress comes over, she takes our orders, and Jess introduces her to all of us. More of the dancers also come over to our table, and Jess introduces me as “my author brother.” Once she opened that can, there was no shortage of attention on us.
The second round of drinks have arrived, and another dancer walks on to the stage. She’s black and possessing a fabulous physique. Her ascent to the top of the pole begins then she performs all sorts of acrobatics. After doing that for a few minutes, she starts contorting her body in seductive movements to her dancing playlist. The subwoofer is vibrating the skin on her ass cheeks then the DJ speaks into a mic. “Don’t forget to tip your dancers! You can leave one in the tip box, or if you can get it to the stage from where you are, that’ll work.”
Then I had the grand idea of turning it into a game. We tried to see what would work best to get the dollars over to the stage from our table. One guy at the table next us made it rain for the dancer by throwing all these singles at her, but none of them made it to the stage. Jess and Tracy made a paper football out of a dollar. When they flicked it, it was not successful in reaching the dancer. Matt took a dollar and constructed some origami. Our next attempt but alas, another failure. I took a dollar and crumpled it up. I tossed it, and it bounced off her left butt cheek then onto the wood floor of the stage.
Mission accomplished. 100 points to me.
I kept throwing more wadded dollars at the dancer and was racking up the high score. The other patrons took notice and started doing the same thing. I unwittingly created a monster as she was getting peppered with crumpled dollar bills.
The dancer’s shift ends then the owner comes over to our table. We meet him, and he offers us another round on the house. That was pretty nice of the guy and we thanked him. I finish off my beer and start the next one. Another dancer walks on stage, and I’m noticing that all of the dancers tonight look like female warriors from Mortal Kombat as they sport their masks and tattoos. Video game nerds rejoice! I’m sure they have a similar mindset at that time for any customer that gets rowdy.
We’re not afraid to kick your ass, but we won’t cough on you.
I know I’m rambling. I tend to do that, back to the story.
More dancer sets and a couple of beers later, the time comes when I need to use the restroom. With my mask back on, I meander toward that direction. I notice the tape markings on the floor, designating the buffer zones between patrons. The men’s room door is wide open, and I go to one of the urinals. As I’m doing my business, three guys enter with no masks. All of them seem on edge. The men cram into the only stall inside that restroom and start arguing about how they will share the eight ball of coke they have between them. While they were powdering their noses in that toilet, the only thought I had was that Darwinism is a thing.
I finish, then I retract and zip up. I thoroughly wash my hands with soap and water. Relieved to have soap, but there were no paper towels—only hand dryers. Hot air blasts onto my skin, and I vigorously rub my hands as I want to get out of there ASAP. I get back to my table, and another beer is waiting for me, courtesy of Matt. I sit down and notice on one of the TVs that they are offering private dances for $25 per song. Matt and I were curious about how that would work, so I told him I got to do it just to see what happens. He laughs his ass off and starts encouraging me. I remember to put my mask back on as I got up and went to the first available exotic dancer, a skinny, dark-skinned long-haired brunette.
I ask her for a dance, and she tells me to follow her. We head to the back of the club, and I pay for the dance at a kiosk that is occupied by a masked gentleman. That scene from Eyes Wide Shut stirred around in my mind.
When I make the payment, she leads me to a small room with a couch. She introduces herself as Nicole and tells me that she is Cuban. I figured the name was fake, but I was along for the fantasy. Nicole instructs me to sit on the couch. She has to stand behind a piece of duct tape on the floor, which marks six feet between her and me. The song starts playing, and her dance begins. Where she is standing, she is adjacent to the door frame. The dancer leans up against that and starts to caress herself while looking into my eyes. She turns around to show me her ass. Cheeks are exposed, but her crack is still covered. She bends over then looks back at me through her legs while pointing her posterior in my direction.
“Take off your mask,” she says.
I listen to her then she takes off her mask. She smiles at me and purses her lips to blow a kiss. She puts her mask back on and starts to chuckle nervously. I could tell she felt a little awkward dancing like this.
You are never to touch the dancers in this situation.
How do I know this?
I may have had private lap dances before once or twice, or thrice. I know that part has remained the same.
However, this is different.
She is not permitted to touch me now.
No lap involved here.
Just the dance.
Removing the element of touch from the equation changes the whole concept of the lap dance. The sense of touch is profound in our experiences, especially those of a lustful and sensual nature. The task of creating a false sense of intimacy in this environment had grown to be a more difficult challenge than she anticipated. I assured her that this whole situation is very odd. Still, I express that everything is fine, and she is doing a good job. That seemed to make her more comfortable.
Right after that, out came the girls. She had put tape over her nipples, but her breasts were smack dab in the middle of my periphery. She shook them, then grabbed them, then played with them. I just kept smiling.
The song ends, and I tell her she did a great job. She thanks me for being understanding. After I put my mask back on, I stand up and hand her a generous tip. Thanking me again, she escorts me out of the back room. I head back to my table then give the lowdown to Matt. That was the moment I decided that I was going to write about tonight and when I told him that, he laughed his ass off.
Our two-hour time limit has come and gone. We finish our drinks and leave the club. Some of the dancers say goodbye to us, and we wave back at them. I think they were grateful for the fact that anyone was here, and it allowed them to work again. In a pre-pandemic world, exotic dancers have received their hearty share of objectification and ostracism from people who proclaim to be superior. Regardless of your opinion of exotic dancers, they are hard-working individuals, and for them to persevere through a situation like this is admirable.
The harsh reality is that type of society is gone now, and it will never be the same again. Our augmented way of interaction with other people is now is going to affect us in the most unpredictable ways. I genuinely do believe that we will overcome the pandemic, but the world and its inhabitants will not be without consequences. Numerous people forget that the only constant thing in life is change and that a virus does not care about your beliefs, political ideologies, feelings, or judgments. If exotic dancers can wear face masks, you can too.
Looking back on it, I did make one genuine connection. I found a new friend in Matt. In a polarizing social climate plagued by misinformation and propaganda, it’s become easier to make enemies and harder to make friends. Toss in the pandemic, and it sounds like a recipe for dried-up shit. In my eyes, an opportunity for a new friendship is a special thing. I still have friends for whom I’ve known for more than 20 years, so I must be doing something right. Now, I’m eager to see how a new friendship can flourish in this modified world.
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