Fear and Loathing in F19 (Part III)

[Another chapter in my long winding tribute to a disappeared Mormon. Here are links to Parts I and II for everyone sitting at home confused.]

Imari might’ve wanted to reacquaint himself with religion and “proper” living, but old habits die hard. It was no surprise that his next question was to me was, “Do you know of any good strip clubs in town?”

It was now my turn to “shine.”  Somehow I’ve amassed plenty of strip club stories from that town.  (Okay, only a few.)  What’s great about them though is that they all serve as fine illustrations to just how socially awkward I am.  ‘Cuz frankly all our strip club trips never start as, ‘hey, let’s go to a strip club.’  Never.  Instead they’re by-products of the ‘it’s eleven o’clock, Thursday night and there’s no other place open’ syndrome that rears its ugly head whenever my friend visits.  There’s always two places open: Wal-Mart and Emerald City.  Luckily they’re right across the street from each other!  Seize the night!

Inside was (still is?) blah blah blah a strip club.  Stools, chairs, a stage, a bouncer and lots of mirrors.  The mirrors are always what get me.  They are set up so there’s one behind the stage, and one behind you.  Which creates that infinity optical illusion effect you normally find demonstrated in children’s museums.

Really, how am I supposed to be watching coke fiends when there’s optical illusions going down all around me?  Who hasn’t seen a pairs of tits by the time you’re old enough to enter one of these places?

Then some (unlucky) stripper would sidle up and start her spiel.  How are you doing?  Her name is blahblahblah.  Blahblahblahblahblahblah…

Is something wrong?’

[Look at her] ‘Wha?  Everything’s fine.’  [Looking back at the mirrors.]

‘Would [I] like a lap dance?’

‘No.’

‘Did [I] mind her talking?’

Clearly I did.  ‘Uhhh, it’s okay.’

‘Did [I] want her to leave?’

‘YES!’

With that uncomfortable exchange over I could get back to focusing on me.  [I mean I write a blog about myself so I’m assuming that this rampant narcissism comes as a surprise to no one reading this.]

After all, I keep a mirror in my messenger bag at all times; just in case.  Now, I don’t peruse it much.  I do, however, feel good knowing it’s there.

Imari was here trying to refocus back upon himself.  I think everyone I know hopes that someday I’ll actually broaden my gaze.

(I’m sure the slighted stripper was a nice girl and all; supporting her family and whatnot.  But really, c’mon, you’d think she’d be able to read people a little bit better.  My expressions are a lot more honest than anything I’ll ever say aloud.)

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