Friday afternoon. Nothing necessary to commemorate. Drizzle marking the cars in the parking lot. Some have hunkered down for the foreseeable future. Enjoying some buffet styled Mexican food and a an assorted amount of tits and ass scattered about the room. Upon entering, you can see the whole place. Not a haze of cigarette smoking hanging in the air. Already, strike number one.
Places like this used to have character. A stench. A real air about the joint that things happening in there. A seedy spot designed to accomplish that feel of dirty rendezvous with the welcoming atmosphere of impending doom. Not for the faint of heart. But now…now, it’s just like a Subway sandwich shop. Corporate friendly with just the right amount of long lips sliding around on the stage.
My table escort, a beautiful Nubian beauty (a real nice looking girl no matter where her parents come from but we must label everything for easy visualization. Simplicity covers us all.) finds me a perfect spot up front and in the corner.
“You look like you would want some privacy,” she says as I scoot my way around to a chair against the wall. “What do you want to drink?”
“Diet coke. And what are my options for lunch?”
“You get it when you buy a drink baby.” She pats me on the shoulder and wanders off.
Baby. Honey. Sugar. When I was aware, or at least when I paid attention to what someone said to me, these were pet names for women. Endearing terms usually reserved for pleading; sexual favors or forgiveness. Now, with women’s rights being as they stand, the terms have turned the tide and now are used from female to male.
Now, I should never be accused of being current with vernacular any time past 1998 or so but I’ve heard enough around over the years that I can say there has not been anything adequately enough added that would cover what I am talking about. Let’s try some news ones out. Ones that are synonymous with the man and the image he reflects to the world. Stallone. This one should be effective to use and obvious to define. Kind of guy that trains in Siberia in the winter and can take care of a kid on the road during arm wrestling season. Never in drag. Kind of guy that covers all grounds. Call a man Stallone and you can follow it up with anything. Yes will be your answer.
Buscemi. Boo. Simm. E. Unique name for a unique fellow. Always close but not quite. Solid right hand man. Never the boss but lives life to the fullest. Even if it means up life in a wood chipper.
My escort returns with a bucket of such. Hidden inside is my five dollar can. Nothing at all wrong with the price system. As capitalist as it comes. At least in Dallas there is a reasonable amount of choices whether for a man of some amount of means. Or the cheap guy on the budget. Or maybe reasonable. Who is anyone to judge? That is my plan for the day. Get out of the house. See some flesh that I can leer at without a human resources meeting. Keep the expenditures low and if that is the play, lunch time is the right time to dance.
Maybe most strip club trips are further along in the evening. After a reasonable amount of drinks. Sober lunch just makes the Jersey shore accent of the girl headed my way even more of a reason to keep my cash in my pocket.
“Hey honey. What have you got going on today?”
“Lunch and a view.”
She smiles. “So you want to get this started right now?” Right to the point.
“I just woke up. I’m going to eat some breakfast first.” And with that, she is gone. Nice enough looking girl. Just when she opens that mouth. And a lap dance is filled with conversation. More than the right amount to put a damper on my day. Nope, just hear for the view and a little bit of Sportscenter. Got to fill that highlight void sometimes. Kind of imagine its akin to crack withdrawls. Probably just about the same.
After locating the lunch buffet I begin to daydream of what I will stop and eat after I leave here. Nothing against their fajitas and enchiladas but being poor this week has lead to at least three Mexican food type offerings. I kind of just wanted a burger but that must be on Thursday. No matter, I’m still awful high so anything is going to feel good going down now.
I munch, watch a girl on the stage to the left of me. Not what you might call a super model body but that has never bothered me. I like a girl that has some stretch marks if needed. Means she cared enough to slim down from depression. Or child birth. Both accomplishments would deem me a failure. As far as I know. After my first encounter with the lunch level ladies, it seems simplest to stay in my corner and project my own ideas on the dancers.
The girl with pink highlights is working herself through a bachelor’s degree in philosophy. The waitress standing at the next table over, the one that might be a few years past her strip club expiration date, just likes to help the common folk. Her left hand can work the stress out of even the top end earners. I hope so. Man, she is kind of old. Just no debating that.
My original escort returns. Another bucket of drinks.
“Hey sugar, why don’t you buy me a drink.”
I pull all the dollar bills left in my pocket. “Here’s what I got left. Hang out with me as long as that allows.”
“Did you use your straw?”
I did not. She places it in a seven dollar can of Red Bull. Sips on it and smiles. We small talk. I spot a Mexican gentleman sitting stage center. A smooth cowboy hat sitting on his lap. I want to join that table. Accompanying one of her stories comes a series of hand motions. Coming to a halt when she knocks her Red Bull all in her lap. She pats herself down. I watch her tight top bounce around. My luck is with me today. Usually that would have been me putting a drink in her lap. She laughs it off and calls a few employee over to gab about it. My time is up. I pat Aisha on the hand. She gives me a hug.
“Come back and see me Matthewwww,” she purrs at me as I walk away. At least she didn’t call me sweetheart. It’s not February fake holiday time just yet.
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