This past Saturday, in celebration of my girl’s 30th birthday, the crew decided to do something different. Here we were, five educated women, who originally met at an all girls Catholic college preparatory high school years ago, trying to figure out exactly what to do. We kick it, but we don’t kick it. Typically we are the dinner party, French Market fresh produce shopping, outdoor music and art fest, drinks at a lounge or blues club and neo-soul concert-going type. But we’re talking a 30th birthday here; you have to go hard, or go home.
As a group, we decided to fly my girl in from Seattle, where she had recently relocated for her career. The night started out wholesome enough, dinner at Hamada’s Japanese restaurant in Tinley Park. It was here that we collectively agreed that the party would continue at The Factory, a BYOB strip club. Now if you go to the website, and check out the girls, you get the impression that it’s primarily white, ex-porno-type ‘talent’. But don’t be fooled, it’s straight booty-clapping, ‘get down low’ girls. There were only about 3 white, latin or undetermined ethnicity strippers.
The club has been open for a few years now. I can recall how upset the nearby church members were about it’s opening. These were the same church folks (primarily black) who had to fight to get their chosen location because the neighborhood (primarily white) did not want them around either. Lately, it’s popularity has grown amongst women. It is ghetto. And until you get a little ‘oil‘ in your system, kind of uncomfortable. Once inside, with my purse strap wrapped closely around my arm, I realized, it was like a big ‘hood’ club that just happened to have strippers. So here we go...
Entrance= $30 (even for us ladies; this price increased to $40 later on)
Getting drunk with the girls and having an all out ball= PRICELESS
We witnessed and/or experienced the following...
A stripper get yanked off the stage by a female patron, while she was performing. A serious Jerry Springer-esque fight ensued. When she emerged from the floor, topless, her wig was off. Yikes!
Another fight, this time on our side of the stage. We weren’t sure who was actually fighting, but liquor was thrown and security had to intervene.
The DJ had to interject the music several times stressing that if you were not on stage, the ladies were to keep their underwear on. There was lap dances and stripping by the ‘audience’ as well.
Strippers with C-section scars and deflated and severely wrinkled former pregnant bellies. We just casually turned our heads until the ‘gross’ ones left.
Although it is against the rules, I found it beneficial to pick up dollars already thrown on the stage that landed near me and throw it back at the girls. I mean, why spend my own money when someone else has already been so kind to spend theirs?
If you are slick with it, you can actually come up on some extra cash. From time to time when the brothas made it ‘rain’, I picked up the dollars on the floor and either gave it to the strippers as if it was my tip, or kept the money for myself. Yeah, that was the liquor encouraging the ‘no one gets hurt’ thievery. Let’s just say I left with $5 dollars I did not come in with.
Also, if you go to the bathroom, and almost break your neck because there is about 3/4 of an inch of mysterious liquid on the floor, charge it to the game and pray it’s spilled water.
Will we do that again, hell no! But was it a blast that will go down in history as one of our most memorable and fun nights together, hell yeah!
Until next time...