SOP Special Report
I figure since I'm at home recovering from getting my wisdom teeth removed I'd rehash this story. Awhile ago I wrote this breaking down Jada's quote: "Start with straight shots and then pop bottles/flirt with the hoodrats and then pop models" and later I wrote part two but I never shared the night that started it all until now...
The night started off simple enough. I planned on meeting up with some of my fraternity brothers to celebrate our founder's day. We met at a taco spot and got wings and beer which is odd in itself (going to a taco spot to get wings but ok). We ate. We sipped. We joked. All of the cheerful backslapping and revelry that would be expected of a fraternity gathering--nothing out of the ordinary here. So as the night is concluding and the checks are being payed out one of my line brothers proposes that we got to Pin-Ups, a shall we say night establishment with shoe models in Decatur, GA. I tell him I'm broke. He says he got me and since it was Wednesday the table dances would be $5 along with the bottom shelf drinks. So I say fuck it, why not.
So we head over there. I walk in and dap up the doorman because he also happens to be in the frat. Remember that. The first thing we see besides the homely woman occupying the cash register is a 6'4" 250+ dark skinned man in a cheap 3 piece suit--think Steve Harvey-ish except lower tier. So he greets us and proceeds to telling us that the VIP is wide open. Given the fact I only had the $20 my line brother spotted me I figured that was not in the plans. So I get a drink or two or three, end up puffin' a black and mild and chillin'. My first mistake was I didn't have any sunglasses on. When strippers can see your eyes they know what you're thinking. So I get a few dances and the cats I was with did the same. Keep in mind it's a Wednesday. And it's already 12:15am. So the doorman I mentioned earlier his name is Tiny. No jokes necessary. He approaches us and asks about the VIP and if we wanted in.
I referred him to my partner and the turning point of the night comes here...My partner agrees to cop the bottle of Moet--mandatory for going VIP--and we end being shown the "private" rooms. So he's like you can either go in the private rooms or the area on the main floor that's roped off which was a no brainer. Why the fuck would we pay to be moved to a different part of the floor we were just on. So he tells us to go pick some chicks and we pick the most random, scarred up, gutter butts available just off the strength that we were rookies.
So back there's it's $10 per dance and we have 3 strippers. So we're drinking the sham-pania, they're drinking it and we're just kickin it. Then they start dancing. Of course, the typical ish that goes on in the private room goes on but as Mr. Rock says, there's no sex in the champagne room. 15 minutes go by. 30 minutes go by. An hour passes and I'm starting to do the numbers in my head. And I'm like yo we're fucked. I have no money left and barely anything in the checking account. So my partners go to the bathroom and the scrippers huddle up. This is an hour in. I'm like oh shit we're about to get hosed. And one comes up to me and says we're at $200 per person. And i'm like okay you know real nonchalantly. Like oh that's it. In my mind I was nervous as fuck and thinking about how I could jet out of the strip club without getting bodied. So my partners come back and I tell them how much we're at and for whatever reason we just allowed them to continue dancing until I was like yo we needs to bidounce now! So he's like how much? They're like 300 per and we're like whhaatttt. So we tell Tiny to come over. He does and the chick wants a dub per dance and Tiny's like nah, it's $10 so she comes down on her price to 2 yards per chick. At this point I'm totally panicking in my mind. So my man goes and gets the dust. 4 bills and gives it to 2 strippers. One says she's short 1 bill so the other stripper gives it to her. As soon as she gets her guap she's out...like gone, not on the floor, not in the backroom. She's gone or so they said. So my other guy brings back 2 more bills and the other one's like I'm short now I must have miscounted the money. And they're like we don't have anymore money. So she starts saying shit like yall better find it. So we just get up like okay and I presume we were gonna make a dash but like most strip clubs, there's only one way out and in and it's never a situation where you can just dip out without running into some deebo ass nigga. So they can't find this chick who apparently dipped with 3 bills while the other strippers had 2 bills and 1 bill respectively. And we're arguing back and forth with the chick and trying to find the one that went ghost. So we keep inching towards the door and right before any more money was bled and presumably before we got thumped, the bouncer who was our frat brother stepped in and said it's cool I'll talk to her. Y'all can go. So that's where my usage of the mantra emanated from. The idea that we should've stayed our broke asses on the main floor and drank bottom shelf rum and cokes as opposed to going to VIP and getting raped for the price of a cheap cash car.
Fin
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