Every once in a great while, there will be an event or locale that combines two flavors or activities that you previously enjoyed separately. Voodoo Doughnuts, for example, has combined the maple bar and bacon. The Cardboard Tube Dueling League has combined costumes and hurting people. Today, a group of bold adventurers visited Club SinRock, which has combined strippers and a buffet.
Now, for as much as the owner insisted to the press that his club would be ‘classy, like Vegas’, this isn’t a Vegas-style buffet with chefs in tall hats whipping up custom Mongolian Grill noodle bowls or six different kinds of crab legs flown in daily, it’s a buffet in that you choose whether or not to eat the main dish and two sides, and that should you wish to eat a truly mountainous pile of delicious ham, you are free to do so.
…As I worked through my mountain of ham, the stripper onstage caught my gaze and held it. I’ve never had such a sustained period of eye contact with a nude person while stuffing my face, and it was made all the more surreal given how adept she was at making ‘come hither’ faces. It was as though she had effectively turned the tables on me–no longer was it lunch at the strip club, but naked day at the zoo and it was time to watch the tigers eat ham.
When I wasn’t being watched from the stage, it felt oddly decadent to be in a strip club during daylight hours, like I’d slipped into the shoes of Motley Crue, save the heroin and booze. So really nothing like Motley Crue at all. But the club is appointed astonishingly well; plush and almost tasteful, and is assuredly the nicest strip club I’ve ever been to, and I’ve actually been to quite a few.
Aside from our group of nine, there were a couple of single guys in the club, and they seemed to dominate the strippers’ attention when they were prowling the floor looking for private dances. This changed when Sean bought each of the ladies a drink, and they each at least came over to thank him for it. One of them turned to me and said “It’s your birthday? So what do you want?” I was flummoxed. She bounced up and down and asked if I’d like her to rub herself all over me.
It may be only the third time in history that I was truly at a loss for words. She led me off to the back and did turrible, turrrrrrible things to me. Side note: typically when I ‘set’ my eyeshadow, it’s not going to budge for the day. Apparently this method is not boobie-proof.
Later in the afternoon (we were there for two hours!), she came back out and led me away for another birthday lapdance. This time she told me that she’d given a dance to a guy who told her that she smelled different than she did during the first dance she’d given him, and she told him that some of my perfume had rubbed off onto her, so it was like I had given a lap dance by proxy. His exact quote was, apparently “Two girls? Holy shit, that’s hot.”
Now I am back in the office, I smell like strippers, and I am simultaneously trying to look inconspicuous while wearing a shiteating grin. Best lunch break ever.