A stripper friend of mine recently tried to get me to pay her a visit at work. I mean this, of course, in the most literal of sense: she wanted me to drive to Lexington and hang out with her, all for the pre-determined costs selected by this particular establishment.
I politely declined, realizing it’s a sad man who would pay money to talk to a hooker, a sadder man who would pay money to talk to a stripper.
Having never actually attended such a place, I found myself a bit intrigued by the setup, so before I officially rejected her offer, I asked a few questions. First, I should clarify: she’s not really a stripper. She’s a “waitress/dancer.” I guess her clothes accidentally fall off. Perhaps she needs a better tailor.
In order to entice me to her business, she promised I would get in free and that she would waive the regular drink-minimum. Business was slow, she told me, meaning we could sit and talk for hours.
So long as I was willing to pay.
And how much, exactly, would it cost me to enjoy her dancing (or waitressing) and/or company?
“It’s $15 a dance or three for $50,” she said.
“Wouldn’t I be better off buying three individual dances for $15 each, thus saving $5?” I asked.
“I don’t set the prices, babe.”
She then offered another option (one, I might add, that sounds highly more suspect): “You can have me for $200 for a half-hour or $500 an hour.”
“Who sets your prices,” I asked, “and have they ever even heard of math?”
I haven’t heard from her since. I guess she’s just busy with her calculator.