A Ranking Of The Most Awkward Things That Happen In Strip Clubs

I love strip clubs.

My answer to everything is to “go down to the skrippas.” I shit you not, back in 2007 I said “When I die, I want it to be at Magic City.” If I had recorded that …

A few months ago, an associate of mine decided that the best way to deal with being asked to leave a bar was to wild out on the manager – who promptly said “Oh really?” and walked away in the manner that usually indicates you’ll soon be visited by a large man who doesn’t use his words much (I call him the Ghost of Ass Whoopins past). I told her it was time to dip off before we got bounced. Her response: Fuck bounced!

And that is how I knew she a) was drunk as fuck and should never accompany me out after 11 p.m.; and b) had never been to a strip club. If she had experienced that awkward moment when Refrigerator Perry’s people’s run up on you with nostrils set to maximum flare, she’d not be so reckless.

See, I know something about strip clubs, including that they’re real good for awkward ass moments. Getting bounced is just one of the roughly 493 awkward moments you can expect to have at least once at a strip club. Below, I’ve detailed the Top Awkward Moments that can take your strip club visit to the left, quickly.

5. Dude next to you is about to get bounced

The only thing more awkward than getting bounced yourself is watching the run up to someone ELSE getting bounced. It usually begins when dude next to you starts asking the stripper if he can eat Skittles out of her booty hole or some other no chill bullshit cats do when they’re gone off that brown.

Tension builds. Around the time you’re estimating how many degrees to move your chair north by northeast to avoid catching collateral elbows, Stripper signals Chick at the Booth who signals Manager. The Kracken – usually some big-ass-stackable-washer-dryer-shaped ninja named LeTron – is released.

The homey’s snatched up and tossed out the door, by his collar and shit, like a cartoon character. Straight Wile E. Coyote’d. They might even toss the man’s coat behind him.

Alright, I’ve never seen the coat toss. But I’ve seen enough general yokings to know the shit is all the way not cool. So when yet another associate of mine began taking cell phone pix in the strip club – with flash! – I automatically started humming The Upper Room.

LeTron and them swooped in us locust-style with the stark grimaces, but I’m happy to say I convinced them the top of my friend’s skull never closed.

Our asses remained intact – this time.

(Panama Edit: I actually got kicked out of a strip club a few months ago because a friend of mine who was taking a selfie in the strip club (I don’t know why either) got accused of taking pictures of the strippers. Said strip club collapsed a few months after that. I’m not saying it was karma. It wasn’t karma. My friend is an idiot.)

4. You accidentally sat in the strippa chill zone (free dirty looks and ass sweat!)

Every strip club aficionado has, at some point, found himself awkwardly roaming around a new spot trying to discreetly tell the VIP from the more desirable “I ain’t really tippin’ so don’t come ‘round here with the eye of the tiger ho” section. During said wander, there’s a great chance of sitting in the Strippa Chill Zone.

I don’t really know how exhausting clapping one’s cheeks to a trap bassline is, but apparently it’s tantamount to pulling an SUV by a chain with your teeth, ‘cause every strip club I know has an area full of wiped out dancers taking a load off. Only thing missing is hammocks.

Problem is, said section is not exactly marked. More than once I’ve sat down only to notice everyone near me happened to be ass naked and covered in glitter. And the worst part isn’t even the snake eyes you’ll get. Oh no – it’s the realization that ass sweat is real and there ain’t enough Calgon body spray to erase that fact.

And now you sat in it. Look at your life.

3. You touched the stripper’s money

Little known fact: The phrase “Ike don’t need no help!” started in a strip club. Ok, it should have started in a strip club, so that makes it true.

When cash is raining down, there’s rarely any order. I’ve been in a club where I almost slipped and bust my entire ass on cash. It was everywhere. Can you imagine what they would have said in my funeral program?!?

Anyway, strip club novices may feel tempted to “help” the girls out by moving the money out of the way. Said moment usually ends with a stripper holding a knife to your throat, Celie and Mister-style.

Remember when that bus driver uppercutted that chick into inner space a while back? Or when New Jack City boss Nino Brown stabbed Christopher Williams’ character in the hand in a naked act of anti-quadroon aggression? That’s the type of shit that will happen if you touch stripper money.

Also: Did you NOT just see her place that dollar on her ass and “blow” it off? Yeah, I’m so good on that.

2. You’re getting a lap dance

Lap dances are, by default, awkward. If you’re getting the dance, you have to cook up a suitable reaction – tricky given that 62% of all lap dances are wack (scientific fact!). Do you encourage her for giving it the ole college try – and risk 10 songs of wackness? Or do you look away in disgust, which may actually make her turn up the juice? And just how the hell do you stop a dance, good or bad? You’d best figure out quickly, because I’ve seen what happens when you’re 19 songs in and can’t pay: They’ll walk you right over to the ATM and stand next to your ass while you put in your PIN. Gotta love Atlanta, man.

I’m a cheap broad, so I already know I’d be like Chris Rock on my “one rib.” Can I get one verse please? Not a song, just a verse thanks. Do I have to pay for both booty cheeks bouncing? I really am not greedy – you can just do one cheek. Also, do you take Sacajawea dollars?

Yeah, that wouldn’t go over well.

2a. You’re getting a FREE lap dance

You will never, ever get a free dance from a dancer you like. Nope. Now, the one dancing in the white tights with the reinforced toe? Yeah, her in the old Vanity 6 “Nasty Girl” costume. She’s ready to be your private dancer. Every. Time.

A few months ago I was in a spot doing what I do (i.e. eye-pimping somebody else’s private dance) when I caught this Becky’s eye. I’m not into Beckys myself, but if I were gonna go the great white way, I’d lean away from the type of Becky who dances at a Black strip club. Because THAT type of Becky always a) keeps cocaina in her coocoocachoo or b) has flunked out of Bethel Bible College.

This one belonged in the latter group: Not sure what failed in her life, but she was now erratically body rollin’ to a tribal beat that only she could hear in a “transitional” part of Atlanta. In a sexy sailor suit. Life choices mane.

She saw me and was in love. And so began a very long evening of awkward air humping and more awkward eye contact. It was almost as awful as the time this stripper bit me in Petersburg, Va.

1. He’s seriously trying to talk to you.

Hands down the most awkward moments that you can encounter (after being bounced) in a strip club involve being a woman. From being mistaken for a dancer (because of COURSE a dancer would be sitting at a table, wearing close-toe pumps, and jeans and holding her purse and keys and cell phone…) to encountering dancers in the bathroom. What’s awkward about that last part you ask? Have you ever seen a stripper in full fluorescent light?!?!?!

But my personal favorite is when ole boy eases up to you and hits the good “How are YOU doin’?” Seriously, parties, cook outs, damned job interviews – why the eff does “Can I Holla Nigga” always have to show up blowing everybody’s high?

Moreover, the shit is just not logical. I mean, I’m not a man, but I’m thinking that if my entire goal in life was getting my penis serviced, I’d target the people most likely to comply. This might include drunk broads, or even, I dunno, the chicks who are on stage tying their labia into bows. I’m convinced that any dude who tries to holla at the strip club is actually trying to come out of the closet to me. As a rainbow warrior from way back, I know my tribe!