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Chugging with Charlie: The Players Club

Jan 21st, 2012 | By | Category: Entertainment

Indoor Stripper PoleI was just going to have a beer, sing one song, and then retire reasonably early to my apartment. Nothing’s ever that simple. For once, I didn’t feel up to heavy drinking. I was still feeling the remnants of a hangover and that, combined with a stomach full of cheap Mexican food courtesy of El Carreton, removed any desire I had to imbibe large quantities of alcohol.

Karaoke was just about to begin when I walked into College Hill around 10:45. I signed up to sing “Jolene” by Dolly Parton and then left to smoke a cigarette on the patio until they called my name. I was the third person to sing that night and my performance was lackluster, possibly due to my relative sobriety.

The real fun began shortly after my song. A friend of mine, let’s call him Matthew, approached me and inquired if I would like to accompany him and a friend of ours, Kathy, to the strip club. I replied that I didn’t have that much cash on me. Matt said he would cover me. I thought to myself, “What the hell…I have nothing better to do tonight.”

I assumed we were going to go to one of the classier clubs in Greensboro, namely Christie’s or The Gold Club. However, after the three of us climbed into the back seat of the taxi Matt informed the driver of our destination: The Players Club. The Players Club used to be fancy back in the day but has now become the sketchiest, most thugged out titty bar in town. It makes Southside Johnny’s, who’s building used to be a Hardees, seem down right respectable.

After we arrived Kathy look at me and said, “If I knew we were going to the titty bar I would have dressed a bit…differently.” She was clad in a modest red sweater, a long black skirt, and tan oxford shoes. I was wearing tattered flip flops and a curdory suit Jacket, The only one of our group who looked remotely like he belonged in the parking lot of a skeazy topless bar was Matt who was wearing a nice leather jacket.

Upon entering the establishment we encountered our first sign of trouble and things to come when were each patted down by the hugest bouncer I’ve ever seen. I’m six foot three and the guy towered above me at a staggering six foot eight. The sign in the lobby read, “No do-rags, No gang colors, Shirts and pants must be weared appropriately.” The manager was sweet though, she was a little old lady wearing an lavender evening gown.

If life was like a mediocre comedy, a record would have skipped when we walked through the threshold and every patron, most of which were clad in baggy pants and sports jerseys, would have stopped what they were doing to stare at the three white people who just wondered into their club. However, seeing as this is real life, all we got were a few strange glances but most people just went about their business, which was stuffing crumpled one dollar bills into the flimsy g-strings the strippers were wearing.

The place was almost pitch black and had more mirrors than a fun house, which is probably the result of the owners attempting to make the place appear bigger than it is. The three of us made our way to the bar and Matt bough us each a Budweiser and a shot. A stripper wearing an aqua colored leotard was gyrating wildly on top of the bar and nearly knocked over my beer with her gravity defying stilettos on numerous occasions. A second stripper climbed up onto the bar and was wearing a matching green glow-in-the-dark bra and panty set. Kathy asked her name, which was Aphrodite, and then told her that she should, “Totally go to target and get the glow in the dark lip balm that’s on sale.”

About halfway through my first drink I made my way to the bathroom. I could smell the stench of crappy weed wafting out a few feet before I got to the door. Once I entered I saw three thugs passing around a joint. One of them asked if I wanted to buy some, I declined and went to use the urinal. While relieving my bladder I was asked if I want to purchase some crack or heroin. I once again declined to which the gentleman replied, “Are you sure? These bitches love that shit!” I’m sure they do but even if I was the type of person who enjoyed partaking in crack and heroin, which I am certainly not, I would not make such a purchase from a person wearing an over sized Three Six Mafia shirt in the filthy bathroom of a sketchy strip club.

After returning to the bar I saw that four gentleman had swarmed Kathy and were fondling her ass. I never understood the mind of guys who think that’s appropriate. What would these same gentlemen do if they saw some guy doing the same thing to their sister, girlfriend, or mother? Do they believe that such disrespectful behavior will get them laid? I shot each of them a dirty look and glanced at Kathy to see if she wanted me to intervene. She seemed to be handling herself pretty well and I didn’t feel up to playing the role of overprotective friend so I sat back and watched the show on stage.

I must say, the performers were very talented. Each of them were able to bounce each ass check in perfect rhythm to whatever crappy top 40 rap song happened to be blaring at the time. Eventually, a cute, petite stripper sporting a Janelle Monae-esque mohawk and tattoos took the stage. Kathy tapped me on the shoulder and said, “We should get a lap dance from that one!” I agreed emphatically. The lap dances were only 15 bucks. Kathy and I were about to pay for it when Matt whipped out a 20 and gave it to her and told her to keep the extra five as a tip.

Though the stripper was the prettiest one in the club her lap dancing skills were mediocre at best. I’m not a connoisseur of lap dances but I’ve had enough to know a mediocre one when I get it. Around this time Matt realized someone had swiped about 40 bucks from his back pocket. He complained to the bouncer, bar tender, and manager but to know avail. It was also about this time that one of the guys that had been drooling over Kathy propositioned her for sex, apparently he was under the impression that she was a prostitute and that Matt was her pimp. This misunderstanding was the last straw and we promptly left, called a cab, and waited outside for it to arrive.

The moral of the story is that if you want to go to a strip club, don’t go to the Players Club, especially if you are a lady and don’t want to get felt up by a bunch of oversexed gentlemen who may or may not have either sold or consumed various illegal substances in the bathroom.

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One Comment to “Chugging with Charlie: The Players Club”

  1. Tristan says:

    "I’m not a connoisseur of lap dances but I’ve had enough to know a mediocre one when I get it."

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