Sneak Peek #3 "Dancing into Deliverance"
The Missing Teddy Bear Caper and Other Stories from The Club
…Another that comes to mind is Mark. Mark was less than average looking and seemed to try to make up for that by wearing a suit every time he came in, which was most days. His suits were nice, well-tailored, three piece designers that probably could have garnered him some attention in the real world. Unfortunately, Mark was desperately lacking in conversation skills.
I remember a conversation with him while I was on the Main Stage, once. It was about breakfast. Yes, breakfast.
Mark: “Did you eat breakfast today?”
Me: “Yep.”
Mark: “What did you have?”
Me: “Cereal.”
Mark: “What kind of milk was in it?”
Me: “Huh?”
Mark: “What kind of milk was in it?”
Me: “I don’t know. Cow probably.”
Mark: “Was it 2%?”
Me: “Maybe.”
Mark continued on about the benefits of 2% milk versus whole milk as I was dancing topless and as I wondered how we could be having a conversation about cereal and types of milk.
Mark did have some mad baking skills, though. Quite often he would show up to the club with some of the most amazing concoctions. I generally don’t like cheesecake, but his was delicious.
The third, who comes to mind is Tim. Oh, Tim! But let me start with another story before we get to Tim.
Robert had just been hired on as a club manager. During one of his shadow training shifts with Mason, the general manager, I approached Mason and asked for a drink ticket. Mason explained the drink ticket situation to Robert letting him know that we were only allowed 3 drinks per night and the ticket system kept track of that.
The dancers had to request tickets from the manager then present them to their waitress or bartender in order to get any alcoholic beverage. This kept the dancers from getting drunk and falling off the stage onto one of the clients, who I’m sure, wouldn’t mind.
As Mason handed me my ticket, he told Robert, “The standard is 3 tickets, but you’ll get to know their drink limits. Andi can have as many as she wants. She can be hammered and you’d never know it.”
Wow! Was that a compliment? I’m not sure. It was true, though. Maybe it was because of how Irish my heritage is. Maybe my tolerance was high because of how much I had been drinking. I don’t know. I do know that, after the first 6 months of dancing sober, that I had required of myself, my drink of choice became the Chernobyl.
What is that, you ask? It’s basically a Long Island Tea with a shot of Midori instead of Coke. The ingredients? 1 shot of Vodka, 1 shot of Gin, 1 shot of Tequila, 1 shot of Triple Sec, 1 shot of Rum, sweet and sour, and a layer of Midori. It wasn’t a beverage for a lightweight and on some shifts I would manage to down 5 or 6 of these. At least there was no chance of a DUI for me. I would rollerblade to work, shower, work my shift, then take a cab home. Management was aware of this, too, which helped in the “Let her drink all she wants.” directive. (I just looked up “Chernobyl drink” online and found they have started making vodka from the still radioactive area of Chernobyl. That was not what I was drinking!)
Back to Tim. “Tiny Tim” we called him. Tim was dwarfish but not quite a dwarf, who I would sometimes see riding his bike cart along and below Speer Boulevard in Downtown Denver. Actually, I guess it would be a trike cart since it had 3 wheels. It looked as though Tim collected metal trash in his trike cart as that’s what the back trailer usually held. I don’t know if Tim rode his trike to the club, but he did frequent the club quite often.
It was Robert’s first or second night shift managing the club on his own when the Great Teddy Bear Caper happened. Tim showed up at the club and set up his teddy bear collection on one of the tables not too far from the center of the room. Tim’s Teddy Bear Table was directly in front of the Main Stage where everyone could see…and everyone did.
I stopped by to say, “Hi” to Tim and ask about his bears. Apparently, Tim had told one of the girls all about his Teddy Bear Collection. She had seemed interested enough that Tim thought he would try to impress her by putting them on display. I guess a strip club would certainly be the place for putting things on display.
Tim asked me if that particular dancer was working that night and I had to inform him she was not. I felt really sad for him as I saw a look of disappointment wash across his face. He had set up his teddy bears in the perfect order and had been very meticulous in their placement and poses.
I always felt really bad for guys like Tim, who were blinded to the concept of why strip clubs exist. The guys who thought maybe, just maybe, the fantasy could become more than a reality. I don’t mean sexually. For these guys, the fantasy was to have a friend. Someone to talk to and cared about who they were. For these guys, the fantasy was to be heard, because someone wanted to hear them. Not because they were being paid to give someone attention.
A little later in the evening, Tim approached me and asked if I had seen who had stolen one of his teddy bears.
Me: “Huh?”
Tim: “I went to the bathroom and, when I came back, one of my teddy bears had been stolen.”
(I think he might have told me the teddy bear’s name, but I’m not sure.)
Me: “No, Tim. I’m sorry. I have no idea who might have taken it and did not realize one was gone.” (I genuinely felt horrible for Tim. Who steals a teddy bear from a guy that has enough issues to actually bring a teddy bear collection to a strip club?)
Tim was visibly distraught and I wanted to help. “I know! Maybe Robert could help or might know something.” I told Tim. Honestly, I was feeling incredibly awkward and wanted to help, but also wanted to remove myself from the weird situation.