Healing at the Titty Bar

A good friend of mine died on Saturday afternoon from cancer. She was nineteen years old- and one of the most amazing people EVER. Another friend of mine and I had intended to visit her that afternoon. While I was in the shower, the phone rang, and it was A (the another friend)- hyperventilating, asking what to do, talking at ninety miles an hour. I was mid-stroke on my right calf with a razor, and I stood in the shower and told her to "breathe, smoke a cigarette, and call Sue back when she was done, maybe she didn't hear right". "A" took my advice, and as I exited the shower and put a towel around me, I got another call: "I heard right. We're too late." We were too late by thirty minutes.

But, I headed into town anyway to pick up A, because she was hysterical. I've seen too much death to get outwardly worked up, but my insides felt like they'd been vacuumed out. We went to our friend's mother's house- and my heart broke there. Sorry, don't really want to say what that was like.

We spent Sunday and Monday cracking her computer and scrolling through thousands (literally) of songs to find the right music for her funeral because that responsibility fell to us.
Today, we were finished with the business of death. I had plenty to distract me- lots of schoolwork. A didn't have anything to distract her at all- she sat in the house and did nothing. She called upset because her boyfriend was trying to get her out of the house. When I called her later, she was at Olive Garden. As I ate an ice cream sammich at a gas station, I got this call: "Hey, whatcha doin?" (A)
"I'm eatin' an ice cream sammich at the Shell station. What are you doin'?" (Me)
"We're headed to Teasers. Wanna come?"
I pondered this- I have never gone to a strip club here- and in fact, I was very wary of it. Alabama ain't Michigan in any way, shape, form, or fashion, and I didn't expect that this would change at a strip club.
"Maybe. What's the door?"
"Um....five bucks. I just wanna go get blasted, man. I need it."
It became clear to me that this was A's way of not thinking about all this. Ever in pursuit of making life a little more bearable, I agreed to meet her at the club. I went into the gas station, pulled 20 from an ATM, and off I went.
A and I came with boyfriends in tow. We sat down, had a lemon drop, then it was pitchers of beer. We talked about the awesome tattoos we're going to get to commemorate our friend, we laughed a lot, lots of jokes, etc. It was like going to dinner with friends- with 90% naked girls in the background. Granted there were a few that I couldn't not look at- it was kinda like a trainwreck on a pole sometimes. But, most of the time, it was just background.
That is, until one came into the foreground. And that went something like this:
Stripper stalks up to us: "So, why'd you come here?"
We look at her in confusion and disbelief.
"Seriously, do you think this is a bar? This isn't a free show. You come here and drink and you don't tip anyone."
A: "This is a bar."
Stripper: "You and your little friends need to finish your drinks and get out of here. Seriously. We don't need you around here. You don't pay."
We had bought about $40 dollars worth of alcohol and paid $20 to get in- we spent money. There is a fully stocked bar with a bartender, and there are tables to sit down at- all the chairs are not at the stage.
Once I got over my shock, rage overcame me. (I shouldn't drink beer.) I wanted to rip the girl's face off just out of principle. I looked at A: "well, we still have a half a pitcher left. We'll leave when it's gone. And Imma wait for her to come back- she won't catch me offguard again."

Seriously, who gets insulted by a stripper who's working and trying to make money?
Apparently, we do.

But then, a few minutes later, a girl comes up to me. "You've got the prettiest hair. I wish I could get mine to do that- I want your hair..." so on and so forth. She was so nice to all of us- the girls and the boys. She and I continued to have a conversation, then she left to give the dj her music, and got on stage to dance. We gathered every dollar we had and gave it all to her- just because she was so nice. (She motorboated me at the stage, but I just laughed and asked why that always happens- she told me it was because they're pretty.) No, I don't think she had the hots for me.
We finished our beer, and walked out, but not before I told on Shitty Stripper. He promised me it would be handled. I'm sure it will be.

But either way, we all left feeling better about life. It's funny how beer, some good jokes and conversation, and a bunch of naked girls (10 naked girls and 2 ugly ones....that's what the sign says) can do that.