The one where the stripper cries.

So, here I am at 27, a rowdy Saturday night, watching Friends with my mother. Life has truly peaked. Kidding I love my mother, and I love Friends.

However, this particular episode of friends brings back a memory that I have no ragrets about. Not even one letter. Despite the awe inspiring depressiveness (that a word?) that it brings with it.

So in this episode of Friends, Danny Devito says: ‘What, you’ve never seen a 50 year old stripper cry before?’And as he says this line I think, it’s pretty bad and rather great that I can relate to that. So as I sit here and Friends carries on in the background, I will tell this story.

So this happened about 9 years ago when I was a mere boy of 18. My mom had gone away to visit my sister and left me to look after the house, which to me obviously meant feed the dog and not wash any dishes. Anyways, my best friend, Chuck, who was a permanent resident in my house by this stage was with me, and we did what any 18 year olds would do when left alone. We smoked a lot of pot and did very little, all the while finding it quite enjoyable. Anyways it was on one of these plant fueled nights with a few beers in us and midnight upon us that we got an inkling for an adventure.

Since we are from a smallish city there were few options. Either going to the one decent nightclub, or doing something we had never done, going to a stripclub. Anyways, after much deliberating, a few more bongs and a couple of beers, we decided that our rite of passage night had arrived. We climbed in a taxi and off we went down the hill.

Now, when I say stripclub, I am being very generous and I actually mean a house that has a pole in the lounge, a stage and a bar built in the back. This was not your regular stripclub, it was much more depressing.

Anyways we get to the parking lot and Chuck and I ascend the stairs to the door where the doorman asks to see our ID’s. By this point the excitement is reaching its peak. We enter our first stripclub.

Now, it wasn’t what we were expecting, but we also didn’t have high expectations of decor or layout so we were pretty happy. It was pretty much a living room layout with some tables squeezed in and a bar against the back wall and the stage in front. We were also still very high, so life was good. Anyways we grab a beer from the homely looking bar lady who obviously didn’t make it through to the stripper phase and went straight to barmaid training, and take a seat at one of the cheap round tables to have a look around. Just generally enjoying the moment of man hood. It must’ve been a break between sets or something, because there was no dancing yet, but the stage was there waiting, in all its glory. Anyways, Chuck and I are chilling, drinking it all in and on our second beer, when a dancer steps up and starts doing her thing. She was a redhead and did a whole routine with wax and ice cubes that I won’t get into and let you guys guess what went where. But 10/10 for originality I guess? Was pretty strange but enjoyable nonetheless. We were pretty happy to be there, seeing some naked ladies, something we weren’t accustomed to. After about 40 minutes, a lady, she mustve been in her 40’s, comes and sits down with us. She was blatantly one of the strippers because she had very little on and well just had that defeated by life look to her, and the cigarette with red lipsticks stains clasped between her middle and index finger was a dead giveaway. Also what other ladies are there in a stripclub other than strippers? We were surprised but at the same time didn’t think anything of it as a few of them were hanging about having drinks, trying to get private dances with the cream of the crop of men that frequented this fine establishment. I have to admire a woman in a place like this, pretending to be happy and making Larry the 50 year old balding accountant feel like Jason Statham with hair plugs.

Also it might be a good idea to mention that we are in some dudes living room, and I mean no disrespect to the ladies but I think this is the place strippers go to retire. Basically the stripper version of ‘the farm’ for your dog. This lady is no different. She’s pretty rough looking, looks like shes seen a thing or two and is covered in tattoos that speak themselves of regret and poor choices.

So yes, the perfect woman.

Anyways, we are chatting to this lady and I cannot remember her name at all but let’s call her Brandy. The story of Brandy, Chuck and I goes like this:

Chuck and I are talking to Brandy, making conversation. Now Chuck is a quiet guy and only chats to people he’s comfortable with, I mean he’s not serial killer silent but he won’t fuel a conversation, if you get me. I’m the person that will talk to a pretty much anyone if given an opportunity and I do not enjoy silence. So, I’m making all the conversation with Brandy. Anyways we start chatting and Chuck is sitting there passively passing this by. I take reins of the conversation. We soon get over the niceties and start running out of things to say. So me, wishing to avoid the awkward silence which undoubtedly lurks in the background, start asking this lady all types of questions. Where are you from? How long have you been grinding the pole? When did you give up on life? you know, the usual. She says she’s not from around here (shocking). I ask her why she chose to come here (her options obviously very limited) She tells me she had to leave for personal reasons. Me being the empathetic boy I am I give her some consolatory words and an encouraging gaze.

Now, this is where it should’ve ended. I feel like with most normal conversations between a stripper and a patron, this is where the conversation trails off and maybe she goes and gets another drink and moves on because we are obviously not looking for any private action. However, for reasons unknown I probe further, and for reasons unknown, she obliges, wholeheartedly. All of a sudden the conversation takes a sharp turn into what the fuck Avenue and this hip shaker gets into her downward spiral of a life.

She starts off with a textbook move, mentioning that she was in an abusive relationship for years with some crazy dude (imagine that, a dude getting crazy possessive over his stripper girlfriend? sounds about right) and she ended up here to get away from him. Again, at fault I encourage her, maybe at this point I am truly invested in her life, I’m not really too sure.

Now this is where it gets emotional and the point of the story comes in. Tears brig in glisten on her cheeks under the cheap neon lights as she continues her story.

Now Chuck is looking on in utter disbelief that this stripper is sitting here pouring her heart out about her abusive past AND I AM LETTING HER. Anyways, her tears then turn to soft sobs and they are streaming down her face as she continues to pour out her heart, all the while strippers are stripping in the background and men are getting their jollies. It was all very sad, not just the crying stripper. Brandy then tells me that her dad (who must be near death) was also abusive. She kindly enough runs me through her childhood, which sounded like an absolute fairytale, right up to the boyfriend who he didn’t take kindly being abusive towards her (apparently that was his job). She then throws in that her dad is part of Hells Angels, and no not the biker gang that takes toys to kids with cancer, the other cool one. Anyways, apparently he tries to have this guy murdered or something. Brandy, obviously doesn’t need all this drama in her life so she packs up and books out.

Now I distinctly remember this made me a bit scared because now I’m worried she’s going to phone up dad and have me murdered for emotionally abusing her at her place of work.

So now I’m sitting here trying to comfort this crying stripper. Chuck even went to get us more drinks just to get away from the emotional mangle that was Brandy, when she gets called on to dance next. So now picture this, up goes this crying lady, trying to hide the fact that she is crying to try and dance for a bunch of horny hyenas. I must say she did very well. Although I don’t think anyone else really noticed our conversation or the repercussions of it, but that doesn’t make it any less depressing.

The thing is, Chuck and I know she is crying and she starts to move and shake and do all the things that are necessary. All the while in emotional distress. Actually, we are all in emotional distress at this point, myself also being slightly confused at having to watch an exotic dancer in an arousing way, all the while knowing I just made her cry.

Anyways, you know when strippers come off stage and dance around and grind on dudes? Yep she starts doing the rounds. So I can’t really make you guys understand how small this living room turned club is. But she comes up and dances by us first, (lucky us) and guess what? Yeah, she’s still crying. Not like, balling her eyes out, but I see the tears and feel the pain as she presses her breasts against me, and I think it’s the lowest I’ve ever felt at this point in my life, but also with just a pinch of desire? (I don’t know I was 18, inebriated and in a stripclub). She then moves on to Chuck and proceeds to put her legs over his shoulders, doing this handstand thing with her lady parts right up in there (full commando) while crying. I was pretty impressed by this. Anyways, she moves on to the other people in the room and goes back up on stage to carry on. I must say she was a very good dancer with a strong core, and just like any other job she didn’t let her emotions get in the way.

So her dance ends and she moves on backstage. Everyone else, not realizing the emotional turmoil that has just occurred, claps and whistles, respectfully (obvs). Anyways, Chuck and I finish our beers and we catch the first taxi out of there, because let’s be honest, what were we staying for? As we are winding our way up the hill in the taxi, silence between us, Chuck says: ‘dude, why did you have to do that, why did you talk to her?’ Genuine disappointment in his voice.

To this day I don’t have an answer.

Anyways, it’s not your conventional first time at a stripclub. I managed to take an exotic and raunchy place and make it one of the most depressing nights of my life. However, other than myself and Phoebe, I don’t know anyone who has made a middle aged stripper cry. So no regrets.