We've all seen the billboards hawking photos of, uh, local-looking women. Apparently their marketing efforts are restricted to mug shots taken a minimum of seventeen years ago, when Aqua-Net execs were considering early retirement. We all know someone who knows this one kid who went there one time and said they have skanky, fat broads serving you scrambled eggs in nothing but teal pumps.
Here's the real deal. The neon-lit building sits squarely between the regular parking lot and the trucker lot. With some trepidation, we hand over our tickets and are buzzed through the metal gate by the man behind the counter. I feel as if this is a carnival ride for adults, except it smells of smoke, not funnel cakes. The surprisingly small interior is lined with mirrors and holds two long, narrow stages.
As we hoped, there are poles, and plenty of them. We amble over to some tables against the wall and try to act nonchalant. Yep, as inconspicuous as Grandma at a house party. She is quick to point out that she is pursuing an education and does not strip.
Where was my flask when I needed it? Resigned to a night of ever-increasing sobriety, I order toast and sulk at the deceptive stand-alone nonalcoholic drink specials with naughty names.
Between "Poosie Galore," and "Sum Poosie" actual brand names , the subtlety whizzes right over my head. Quickly stripping off their tiny outfits, the girls tend to direct their gaze and poses towards one or two men sitting on the barstools directly in front of the stage.
