This is a Saturday night. This was the busiest night I've ever worked.
The 1st cook in had told me, the night prior, about a happening in town. That the local "Gentleman's Club," Platinum Plus would be hosting a special touring show of... you guessed it (from the title, you cheaters):
Midget Strippers.
No political correction. No "Little People" or "Dwarfism" mentioned at all. Plain and simple. Midget Strippers. Tiny Tina and Little Pixie. I was baffled. And, of course, concocting plans to go. I do not have some sort of tiny fetish, or even a strong desire to see dwarfs naked in the first place. My reasons were the same as the majority of people who went: the novelty. To be able to say "Yes. I saw this. This. Just. Happened." The pure principle of the experience.
This is the same reason I do a whole lot of things.
So I'm all geared up slammed with work, throwing dough, topping pies, cheesing, the entire time blabbering on to any co-worker foolish enough to come near about the midget strippers, trying to recruit an entourage to accompany me. There were few takers, but they all found my enthusiasm amusing. I even went so far as to send a mass text message to every self-respecting eccentric male I knew with a taste for the odder things in life, but alas, only sparked humor and jest. One response was an invitation to a Post-Halloween Costume/Keg Party a street over from mine, with people there I wanted to see. So I threw my outrageous midget stripper expedition to the wind.
At this Costume Keg Dance Beerpong Halloween Soirée, I enjoyed some Premium Australian Lager and sugarcookies of pumpkins and witches. And the large beautiful silver metal container of Pabst Blue Ribbon. I could have gotten on my knees and bowed, face down, in complete piety. And after enough of that I danced and chatted with Whitesnake, B-Bones, NFC, and AA (for "Amelia Airheart"). As I walked AA back to her home, she brought up the midget strippers! She expressed a great interest in seeing them as well, and I mentioned that I perhaps had heard they would be there another night. Plans were made.
The following night AA flew in and picked me up right from work. I had actually gotten off work a bit early so sat down at the counter and chummed with the South Portland guys for a bit and had some tallboys for confidence, for I should add, I have never been to a strip club before. And might I also say, what a strip club it was.
First of all, it was packed. Everyone wanted to come see the midget strippers. There were as many women present as men. The line for entering was long, and the bouncer wore a very nice red suit, and did a little number where without me really trying to walk past him, he put two fingers on my chest and said, "I.D."
He was quite bigger and stronger than me, but I felt like he had to let me know it. I got the picture, so he got my picture. Longhaired unshaven 16-year-old Travis, the living face of awkward. Hello, it said, pleased to meet you, I'm really quite nervous about everything. The polar opposite in the persona spectrum handed me my dignity back. He carded AA too, like a tool doing his macho tool job.
Right through the door we discovered a table covered in beer, with beer on the floor under it, and two ladies in some exotic form of underwear charging a lot of money for it. A clever ploy, strip club, but I'm not so weak. I spotted the bar across the way, giant mirror, hanging glasses, towering spires of liquor bottles with those funny little pourer spout caps. Instinct told me to head there and buy myself and the lady a drink...but...something stopped me, and broke my concentration.
There were naked women dancing onstage.
It was incredible. Just like in a movie but now here, right in front of me. Merely feet away. It was all so new and fascinating. They would climb soooooooo high on the poles, I feared they would hit their heads off the lighting instruments. Then they'd slid slash drop straight down and roll back out over the stage and have their crotch in some dudes face. I was wrong before, they were not completely naked. They had the tiniest little g-string things and the highest of platform heels. Some were hott, some were nott. I was not going to complain. They rotated between the mainstage and two other smaller stages. One entire wall was a mirror, so I thought there were six stages and three sets of twins for a little bit there, and way more people.
We snaked our way through the old men and the floor girls to the bar, and managed to get a spot at it. It took the just-a-bit-less-pretty-than-the-strippers bartenders to not be busy and help me out with a rum and coke and amaretto sour for AA. I did not appreciate the price of these beverages and neither did my debit card, but we came to an agreement that it was validated by the occasion. It was tasty, too. We enjoyed our time there, remarking on class the establishment had practically sticking to the walls. I turned to find one of my best friend's older brothers with a guy he knew that I met once, so I went up to him. He was pleased to see me and pleased to be in a strip club, asked if I had any good smoke on me, accepted my apology and went about his night. I could have had longer conversation with him, but I had to risk the bathroom, but it was not at all harrowing. Everyone in there was drunk and having a wonderful evening. The sanitation surprised me too.
I was frightened for AA outside, so I was hasty, but I think I just worry about stuff like that too much. Near the alcove leading into the bathroom hallway was an excellent view of the stages, standing, looking over the seated masses of mostly couples. Some girlfriends in laps would stand up and shower the strippers with money, gaining special attention and sometimes physical interactions, like being half pulled on stage and basically romped about on. A man standing beside me remarked
This part [of the room] is best 'cause it's free!"
And he had a very good point.
We were near another section of the place that when I inspected was revealed to be the lapdance area. Just long comfortable benches with chicks writhing around on dudes. The strippers were in and out of there a lot with satisfied typically ugly men. One decrepit old fella walked up to me and immediately began talking to me with a throat filled with gravel and rusty nails.
WASTED OLD DUDE: There's...There's only four things you need in this world...
(he puts his hand on my shoulder)
TRAVIS: Oh, hey. Um, what's that?
WASTED OLD DUDE: Food, Fuckin', Fire and... Eating cunt.
TRAVIS: Really? Just those four?
WASTED OLD DUDE: Food, cuz you need to fuckin' eat. Fuckin'...cuz thats what we're here for. Fire, so you can keep warm while yer eatin' and fuckin'. And eating cunt... I just said that 'cuz I can't fuck no more.
TRAVIS: Well. That's...great.
And he let out this cantankerous laugh that sounded honestly painful but he had the happiest goddamn face on. We then turned and watched some women about to get married get sat down onstage. I knew she was getting married because of the little veil thing she was wearing. The MC of sorts, this short stockish blonde guy with a nice suit and large microphone stepped up, chattering away into the mic. The sound system was so awful. Imagine a huge thumping bass all the time, then this jamoke appears and starts introducing the girls and you can't hear a single word he's saying since the treble is so loud and splashy it rattles my fillings. Anyways, the bachelorette got mad humped and grinded upon by a swarm of strippers, more than I knew this place had in employ. Then they were done, all walked down the stairs aimed directly at AA and I and sifted past us. I panicked and did everything I could to not laugh or ogle or do any sort of attention promoting activity.
The appeal of the strip club was fading. It was so bright, new and shiny at first, but now we had been there for an hour and it was losing it's varnish. We needed what we came for. So I turned to my left and found, surprise! a stripper standing there. And she was the real cute kind that makes you want to ask "Oh, darlin'...why? What are you doing here?" but of course it's completely inappropriate to ask that sort of a question. But I did ask when the show would be going on. She had no idea what I was talking about until I was brought to the point of vocalizing the word midgets. Then she went to ask the DJ. She came back very quickly and said ten minutes. Righteous. She even led us up to front row seats on the mainstage.
It started in no time. Two scantily clad women of very short stature got onstage and began prancing about in their high heels. All I heard about them was from a driver at Portland Pie, saying they were really miniature versions of really hot chicks. But that was not the story at all.
It was a blend of incredibility and unsettling. They were not turning me on. The audience loved them and hooted and hollered as they danced about removing clothing. But they were not proportional. I was baffled. I was amazed. I was drunk enough to give them money (and come on, I was front row, you have to tip). Real nervous, I looked to AA for support and validation. She gave me a two-dollar bill and I had a one dollar bill. I stood up next to some other dude with cash.
My only real mistake here was putting the two-dollar bill in my mouth.
Those things are circulated in that place so much. Some probably never leave the building. God knows what has gone down before Thomas Jefferson's eyes, and all over his face.
The one named Little Pixie came over, and shoved the dude standing next to me's face in her breasts, a common technique for removing the money. Then she came up to me. I was grinning like a idiot, but definitely drunk enough to go through with this. She took my hat off my head and rubbed it over her naughty parts. All the while holding eye contact with me. That part sticks with me. Then came the cleavage-cash-retrieval. I do not believe I actually made contact with what my buddies and I later referred to in a recounting of this story as "midgetits" ...
but maybe that's just what I want everyone to believe.
Once they were done, so was everybody else and a grand exodus occurred. We made it back to AA's car, our curiosity satiated. One of the more unique first dates I have ever been on.
One for the grandkids.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Quicksidenote on $2 Dollar Bills.
When my parents still did the weekend child exchange, we would meet for a brief period at the Friendly's across the street from Platinum and get ice cream. My mom, brother and I arrived an hour early on accident once, and since the offramp from 95 is right freakin' there, we watched my father in his Lincoln Mark VIII which my mother sarcastically referred to as the "pimp-mobile" leave the tollbooth, drive directly past Friendly's and park at Platinum Plus. My brother and I were old enough to be ecstatic with this, but my mother showed only bitterness as my father got out of his car and waltzed under the awning labelled "Topless Donut Bar."
He re-emerged twenty minutes later, got back in his car, and drove across the street.
"How're the donuts?!"
My mother spat like a throwing a dagger. He kind of chuckled it off and we were too amused by the situation for either of them to actually argue about it. When the choice words were chosen and said, we said goodbye to Mom and left, New Hampshire bound. Dad gave us each a $2 Dollar Bill which I kept in my wallet for quite some time after. He told us the donuts were delicious.
We did not meet at Friendly's ever again.
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