Do not invite me to strip clubs in SF because I have been scarred for life

12 Jan

What does Barack Obama, Latina Strippers, and mobs of homeless guys have in common?

Absolutely nothing, but they were all integral characters in the Shakesperean drama that took place in my life a couple years ago in San Francisco (The Real City of Getting Weird).  I rehash this story because I recently got the invite to go up to SF for a night out with the intention of hitting the strip clubs again, which I will never ever do there. Here’s what happened.

We’ll start the timeline at 5:00 PM.

I just left work and am walking about 2 miles back through the financial district of San Fran towards the train station to go back home to beloved San Jose, an hour away. Upon arriving to the train station area in South Market, I’m finding numerous streets are blocked off, with cops everywhere. Whatever. The train I’m looking to take doesn’t leave for an hour so I call up “Mr. Monterey” and “The Lovable Liability” for some post-work brews.

6:30 PM
After leaving the dynamic duo’s place we head to The Chieftan, a bar on one of the closed off streets. Upon arriving at said pub, we find out from one of the cops that Barry Obama is speaking several blocks over. We’re kind of down with that and enter the pub.

After downing numerous PBR’s we attempt to leave the bar, however upon trying to exit the bar we are stopped forcefully by a SFPD officer whoordered us to stay in the bar. Repeat, stay in the bar. The “lovable liability” lamented “The Humanity!” and we reentered the bar for more brews.

I am half way to the danger zone on the BAC scale. Liability leaves to go to home while Mr. Monterey and I decide that a visit to the promised land of North Beach, the crown jewel of debauchery in the city, is the only way to continue the night.

11 or so
With the help of homeless man Big Mack (pictured above) we finally get a cab to North Beach and enter some strip club. We pick up a third musketeer in Kieran the Irish dude, who helps us enter for less money and helps with drinks, life is good. Even better, the owner is from Brockton, Mass. Ahh, a Masshole.

We’ve had a lot to drink and my companion keeps getting the drinks. Money grabbing strippers keeping making passes at us but I explain I am more broke the CitiBank, yet they seem to stick around and enjoy our company because we are the only guys younger than 40 in the place that night. Shots are consumed and then the point of no return happened. It comes out that I just graduated from college and my buddy is taking me out. Hungry eyes dart my way…

I am dragged by two blondes to the private area, where hands search me lower extremeties and it is explained that “tonight only” there is a deal for college grads on tag-team private show…$300. As much as I am enticed, I explained they have to run it by my buddy, who upon hearing said request, told them to royally fuck off. Blonde one leaves, but latina blonde sticks around because I am making her laugh. She encourages me to stick around as she is on stage next. I oblige and she comes out to Shakira’s “She Wolf.” Magic happens.
I immediately fall in love and throw what remaining dollars I have on the stage.

After her dance we saddle up at the bar to chat. My jokes are not that funny, as you all know, yet she keeps laughing. I keep reiterating that i have little to no money yet the Masshole owner keeps comping me Coor’s Lights. Mr. Monterey has had his fill and wants to leave, I demand to stay and talk to my Shakira look-a-like “Anita” (if that is even her name). Monterey gives me 10 bucks and says, “you know the way to my place,” and leaves. I continue chatting away with “Anita” who then says she has to dance one more time and asks if I would like to “grab a slurpee or something” when she gets off her shift in 30 minutes. I am speechless. This stripper totally understands what an absolute dog I am and she DIGS it.

2:30 AM/The Strip Club is closed
I meet “Anita” in the lobby where she is decked out in a Pink Velour track suit. The outfit screams look at me, so naturally as I walk with her to some 24 convenience store, every asshole getting out of the bars is sizing me up. Anita seems not to notice or care and happily asks me about myself and laughs at random shit I’m saying. I’m without question in Narnia.

We grab some month old tacquito’s and fake slurpees from Su Hong’s 24 hour joint. Anita then says that she appreciates me walking her home, as her apartment is just a block or two away. I say it was my pleasure, to which she asks where I’m staying tonight. I answer with my buddy in South Market (legit 30-40 blocks away). This shocks Anita who says that that’s “too dangerous to walk,” and offers to let me stay on the couch as long as I get up in the morning, because she has class. Apparently she’s a student at U of SF and needs to pay the bills. Tuition really is a bitch.

Upon arriving upstairs, my head (both of them) is spinning as she offers me another beer and I sit on the couch and tell her about I don’t even remember. After about 5 minutes of this she stops laughing and just stares at me, deadlocked. I continue talking like an idiot. Finally she gets up, walks over to me, and lifts my chin and lays a big ole smackeroo on the lips.

Stunned/Drunk I ask if we can be Facebook friends. She laughs and ushers me into her bedroom closing the door behind us.

After fooling around for a little while and getting off one shot at the death star, I am gearing up for round 2 when all of a sudden I hear a man shout her name and pound at the apartment door. I am completely confused. Man then enters the apartment and starts pounding on the bedroom door (thankfully locked), screaming “WHO THE FUCK IS IN THERE?!”

I pee a little bit as Anita hands me my wallet, shoes and pants explaining that i need to get out fast. I ask where, to which she points to her window (mind you 3 floors up) to the emergency exit stairway on the outside of the building. I bolt towards the window and climb down to the alley way, still the hearing angry boyfriend/pimp upstairs screaming at my boo. Now fully dressed and several blocks away, I attempt to hail a cab to get the fuck out of dodge. However upon opening my wallet, I find that my remaining cash perhaps 20 bucks is gone. Absolutely gone. It appears Anita ganked my remaining cash to add insult to injury. Forget that facebook request/poke Anita. Now I began the long trek back to GI JOE Headquarters, no money, wearing preppy work clothes, with a backpack in the middle of the gheto, at night. To say I was a mugging target is an understatement. Truly a lamb amongst the wolves.

3:30 AM
I am halfway to home and am getting harassed by every night creature, selling themselves, drugs, baloons, dreams and candy at every block. I need to get the fuck outta here.

4:30 AM
Finally I enter the green zone of the surrounding blocks where Obama is staying and near my buddy’s place. There is literally cops on every corner, I finally feel safe. The events of the night are still being replayed in my head, so I decide to ask the cop if said story is commonplace. I repeat my story, to much laughter and he asks if my credit card was stolen. No. ID? No, not that either. How much money she take from you? Ahh 12 bucks or so officer? Cop starts dying laughing and cannot believe I banged a stripper for 12 bucks. Turns out it’s common place that these vixens of notcurnal thievery will invite clients back to their place, start the raindance, then mid-coitus will have a pimp or boyfriend enter and try to “beat up” the client. While panicking, the stripper will steal said items, then help the client get out. Often times this leads to identity theft, credit card fraud and many other things. However, I banged a stripper for a Hamilton and two Washingtons. The Cop radios in a few other guys over (Presidential security could wait) to hear the story. I tell it again and they are doubled over.

Especially the fact that I bought her tacquitos at 2 AM. One officer asks what’s my name. BLYNCH, Sir. BLYNCH.

4:40 AM After the laughter died down, Officer Anderson (the original cop) asks how many blocks I need to go to my buddies. 3 down, 3 over I answer. He radios that he is escorting “person of interest” out of the area. I say farewell to the other boys in blue and continue walking.

4:41 AM We arrive at the next block where I am greeted by two cops clapping towards me.

4:45 AM
Next block again two more officers giving me thumbs, and one “YTM” comment. I’m drunk and confused.

4:47 AM
By the time we get to the third block and I am greeted with “BEST 12 DOLLARS EVER SPENT!” comment, I realize that Officer Anderson had put me on the police bandwith for the area when I retold the story to the other officers. All the SFPD officers in the a 12 block radius heard my story. The San Francisco Police Department definitely came out of the bullpen and picked up the save.

10:24 AM

I wake up

10:25 AM
I throw up in the bathroom.

11:00 AM
I somehow manage to make my way home on the train back to San Jose without paying. Leaving the city and my starcrossed lover Anita behind, I knew that this had been the greatest night of my life, that the Capital of the Weirdness Universe was San Francisco…and that I would return again very soon.


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