I once had a friend who worked at Chippendale’s who invited me to a show. I don’t think I understood that he was actually a Chippendale’s dancer. Up to the point my friends and I arrived, I had thought that he was performing in a play using the Chippendale’s venue.
When you go to a Chippendale’s show, they make you wait in line outside so all the bumper-to-bumper traffic coming out of the Lincoln Tunnel can gawk at you, which can make you feel weird, desperate, or maybe just plain normal (?). I mean, I would also be curious to see who is lining up to see those buff men in bow ties and tight shiny pants.
All the young gentlemen of the club greeted us as at the door when we entered, trying to make nice chitchat and you know, your eyes don’t know where to go when there is just so much darn naked flesh. Of course, one of the dancers spotted the most socially proper friend of the lot, my pal Becca, and actually physically picks her up and carries her to our table, like a groom carrying his bride over the threshhold. I feel confident in saying that she was HORRIFIED.
But truly we all were. None of us had ever gone to strip show and did not know what to expect, and oh boy, the show did not disappoint. I think the best part was that each number had a theme. Here are the one I remember:
* A simple introduction number: one guy randomly thrusting and stripping to a Bush song
* A navy theme: Set to “I Believe I Can Fly,” a line of men dressed in white from white shoes, suit, to hat like Richard Gere in “An Officer and a Gentleman.” The number is complete with coordinated salutes and stripping.
* A ninja jewel thief scenario: One man breaks into a museum and steals a precious gem, gets caught. Security guards grab him so that he has no choice but to fling around his long blond hair and…strip (?)
The last one especially gives me joy. When I remember it, I will giggle, wondering about who has the ninja thief fantasy. My Chip friend was the MC for the event, so fortunately, I did not have to see him in his undies, although I did witness a woman in her fifties throw herself — literally — at him, which was disconcerting.
In between the numbers, they brought the house lights up so that the dancers could mingle with patrons for lap dances. None of the girls at my table requested special attention. We were as quiet as church mice among the more clamorous tables. Actually one of my posse knew a dancer (ex of her friend), which led to her complimentary dance. My Chip friend, responsible for keeping the ladies riled up, called out several table numbers through his mic, but then eventually, just zoned in on ours. “Table 32! Come on, Table 32!” but then just resorted to calling out “Tina Lee! Come on, Tina Lee! You know you want a lap dance,” you know, which caused a swarm of mostly nude men to overwhelm our group.
Now I’m glad I went, because it was such a fun thing to go through, but things were never the same between me and my Chip friend.