The year was 2000. It was a magical time in my life. I had a ton of delicious dehydrated food leftover from the Y2K apocalypse that never came to fruition and I was nineteen years old. I was living my childhood dream working as a legislative aide at the State House.
One night after work I was invited to an establishment called The Glass Slipper. A gentleman's club located in what was formerly referred to as Boston's combat zone. I had never visited such an establishment before and was intrigued. I consider all of my life experiences sociological experiments. I seem like less of a freak when I put it that way.
The seedy nature of the business meant that I would most likely not get carded and would surely be able to enjoy a few adult libations with my much older male co-worker (and a guy he met while drinking that I am pretty sure was a pimp) companion.
I noticed that the "dancers" were paying very close attention to me. I was the only woman at the club that was not a "dancer" and as such I did not blend in well. My assumption was that my work uniform which consisted of a Brooks Brother's white button down shirt and a black Ann Taylor pencil skirt was what was drawing attention to me.
WRONG! These chickens thought I was some undercover stripper visiting the club to steal their moves. Moves? Last time I checked laying on one's back, making scissor motions with one's legs, and tapping one's clear heels together like a perverted Dorothy were NOT moves. I am pretty sure you cannot trademark standard skripper moves. Anyway the "dancers" did not like me or the attention I was deflecting from them and wanted me to leave.
I learned two things that evening:
1. If you are the only woman that is not a "dancer" in a strip club the men will all pay most of their attention to you. Men are freaks. There are dozens of naked women but they want to pay attention to the ONE woman wearing clothes. They are deviant in that sense.
2. If you are a woman visiting a strip club and you have to use the restroom chances are that you will be using the same one the "dancers" use.
I had to use the restroom. A waitress showed me to the room and I noticed something strange - the lock was on the outside. As I finished my business and was washing my hands I heard the unmistakable sound of someone locking me IN. Someone locked me IN the stripper bathroom. I started to panic and bang on the door. I had noticed on my way in that the "dancer" changing area was right outside the bathroom and knew the girls could hear me. My panicked banging was ignored and I became enraged. I have a bad temper. I began to shout "IF SOMEONE DOESN'T UNLOCK THIS DOOR I AM GOING TO BEAT THE PISS OUT OF THE FIRST ONE OF YOU I SEE WHEN I DO GET OUT OF HERE".
The door was suddenly unlocked. There was nary a "dancer" to be seen upon my exit. They must have scattered like cockroaches. I was relieved to be out of the tiny cramped bathroom but incredibly annoyed at the juvenile display by the strip club employees. Some of these women were old enough to be my mother for fudge's sake.
I informed my companions of the situation (I was in there a awhile why didn't those fools come looking for me?) and decided to have one more drink. The last "dancer" was a cute and friendly gal that seemed to be the only woman in the establishment not shooting daggers at me with her eyes. I decided to give her all the dollar bills I had since she seemed like a nice girl. They werent my dollar bills. I have a policy. I do not give strippers MY money (hell no I had to take the hard way out and work in a crappy office from 9-5 with pervy legislators) but I will give them a male friend's money. After finishing my drink and reflecting upon the life lessons I had learned that evening I decided to make my way home.
That was me, CrunchyVTMommy, in 2000.