For a change, I ventured over to Leopard's on Monday night. There is no cover on Monday or Tuesday nights, although the bartender still administers the disgusting and demeaning ripoff ritual of making you pay $10 to use the VIP room and affixing a paper bracelet as a receipt for your tribute.
There were about a dozen customers, many like I, were alone. The nine dancers liked that, because guys alone were good prospects for dances, unlike groups of frat boys, black dudes in hoodies and floppy pants and assorted others who, in keeping with stereotypes, wasted the dancers' time and had more time than money. I had a dance with a lovely blonde European babe who advised me that she performed no extras but spent five songs playing stick shift with my shifter until I had to cry uncle. I later also got a dance with a tattooed blonde who gave me the most tepid performances on two songs, looked me in the eye and asked if I wanted to hear a Billy Joel ballad called, "Six Greens." Like any aficionado of music, I agreed. The coverage was not exciting but she sang very fast and furious and completed the song while the accompanying music was still playing.
On the way out, I was caught in conversation with a lovely blonde babe who advised me that she was on the house educational plan, funding her tuition and books for a possible degree in drama. She, unlike many dancers, seemed to be aware of the world. It probably was due to her having an undergrad degree already. When I was walking out, she followed me a bit and told me that she was a very sexual person. Sadly, I was out of dough and I had to go.
