Last Saturday I went to a strip club for dinner. Out of the box thinking. For many this may seem outrageous and perhapse those with weaker consitutions may find themselves disgusted. However DC provides for a great strip club meal experience. This is mainly due to DC laws banning lap dances. You find yourself able to eat in peace without being hustled.

It all comes down to what you want to spend. My friends and I spent money on food and libation. Prompt exit.

Strip clubs are fascinating environments. Everything is crafted to create a land of hope for the weak. Only those with hawk eyes and strong mental prowess recognize strip clubs for what they are. The rest go to sleep happily naive to their pathetic plight.

When we first entered the club and sat down, our waitress looked upon us with eyes of scorn. In her mind we were just another group of 20 something friends that came to a strip club to act like “grown-ups.”

She would quickly change her tune and find herself giving us glances of disbelief.

My friends and I were sitting waiting for our food. We found ourselves with looks of indifference. Our gazes would periodically shift from the games on the TV screens and the nude females dancing around us.

Her first surprise was when we promptly asked for a menu. She hovered over us while our heads were engrossed in the menu, oblivious to the nudity around us.
Her second surprise was at us chating while we ate. Periodic glances at the dancers and games to check the score.
Her third surprise would be when we gave her more attention than the dancers that would walk around attempting to talk to us.

At the conclusion of the meal she gave us a warm smile. We did not act like the rest of the poor soulless peons in the strip club.Exceptionalism.

We did not walk up and stared at the whispering eyes of the dancers. We did not hungerily inhale the scent of a female while our pupils dilated in false pleasures.

We do not find ourselves jonseing for female companionship.

We did not exchange greenbacks for a short lived ego high brought upon the illusion of an attractive girl talking to us.

When a dancer came to us she was met with neutral gazes. No oogling. No smiling. Just a nod and a brusque compliment. “Good job” was sufficient.

We came. Ate. Enjoyed the ambiance. Left.

Strip club dinners reiterate an important lesson: never be hungry for anything but success.

I thought I had seen men at their weakest. Nay. Nothing is more pathetic than a man with a fist full of Washingtons staring at a vagina with hopes that maybe she’ll pity him enough to let him fingerbang her for a second. Enough to get the scent on his finger. A finger he swears he would never wash again.

Every girl there avoids looking these guys in the eyes. She avoids feeling repulsed by how broken these men are.

The only looks they give are to the guys that could care less whether she’s wearing clothes or not. Guys that aren’t even looking at them most of the time.
The guys that came for the burgers because they’re better here than the Five Guys in Georgetown.

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