Of Vegas, Strippers and Birthdays

11:49 AM PT, May 30 2006

This holiday weekend was my birthday. And, so — as is the inevitable result of being a single, straight guy in Las Vegas — I went to a topless bar. Actually, my birthday tradition of going strip clubs is fairly recent (being single stretches back a good ways longer).

When I turned 37 my editor at Las Vegas Weekly had me try to spend 24 hours straight in a topless bar. I was sick and on antibiotics and had a generally miserable time. Of course, the story became a minor sensation in Vegas and I am still always asked about it, my greatest hit. For a while Jeff Beacher, the headliner at the Hard Rock, used to introduce me to people as the guy who spent 24 hours in a strip club. The result? Every year since, on my birthday someone insists on taking me to a topless bar to celebrate.

This year I turned 39 (amazing how many people feel the need to do math in front of me to point out how close 39 is to 40). And this year my friend John insisted on taking me out. John wanted to go to one of the popular tourists clubs like Scores, Treasures or Sapphire. I just wanted to get it over with and go to the place nearest to my apartment: the Library. It was my birthday so I won.

Located on Boulder Highway, the Library is one of the few remaining topless bars in the Las Vegas area geared more to locals than tourists. In fact, with the closing of the Centerfold Lounge earlier this year (the last topless bar in Henderson), the Library, I think, is the only local topless bar left in my area of town.

What is the difference between a topless bar for locals and one for tourists? Primarily, location. The Library is sitting right near the locals’ casino, Boulder Station, far from the tourist corridor. There is another difference too, one that my friend John pointed out repeatedly: the strippers aren’t as hot. As with most things in Las Vegas if you want the best follow the tourists. (This is not like other vacation towns where you want to find that cool locals’ spot and avoid the tourist traps; Las Vegas is one gigantic tourist trap.) Of course, with stripping it isn’t all about or even primarily about looks. Seriously. What few fully realize and appreciate is that strippers are salespeople and that is especially true of the dancers at the tourist clubs.

You could generalize — with a degree of accuracy — about the appearance of dancers comparing local and tourist topless joints like my friend John does. But looks breed confidence in strippers, duh, and I think it is more accurate to generalize about aggression and the fact that the primary qualification of dancers at the megaclubs is not really looks but the ability to hustle dances and especially expensive VIP dances.

Not being a VIP who throws cash around, I prefer a laid back club. Last time I was at Cheetah's with some tourist friends I felt like I’d just arrived at a lot to look at new cars and all the salespeople were swarming around me (except they were in high heels and bikinis).

The other reason I like a quieter vibe: The strippers in Las Vegas have some of the most interesting stories of any folks I have ever met in Vegas. You sit at a table and the strippers come by and make conversation which, of course, always leads to them asking if you want a dance. I like to pass on the dances and just buy a dancer a drink instead and hear whatever story she chooses to tell.

The odd social conventions of a topless bar allow for the sort of questioning that you don't get to do of your local grocery checkout clerk or the car lot sales guy for that matter. Without fail, every time I am at a strip club a dancer will sit down next to me and with a little prodding open up with a story I never forget. Yeah, I know you can't believe everything a stripper in Las Vegas tells you but except for certain specific information (real name, marital status, home address, kids) dancers can be as exhibitionistic in their speech as in their work.

On this trip to the Library I met a 23-year-old dancer from Bulgaria who got a green card in the annual State Department lottery. This was my first encounter with a Bulgarian. Her English was perfect, with only an accent to hint at her origins. Her enthusiasm for the opportunities she’s found in the United States was catchy. You may not think being a stripper in Las Vegas is the best job this nation can offer a smart 23-year-old, but she has her own apartment and is clearly enjoying the show business aspects of her job. I asked her what she saw herself doing in a few years and she replied that she wanted to own a brothel. I wonder if she realized that she is in the only state in the country where that odd take on the American Dream can be realized legally.

I also met K. who has a very different view of her job. "There is nothing glamorous about doing this," she said. "I have kids and I have bills." She also has stretch marks, which bikinis don't hide well. K. has experienced all sides of the adult industry. About four years ago she made a number of adult movies, and she danced at the tourist clubs. That was then. She is now 29, she says, though I am not sure I believe it.

Anyway, this night at the Library turned out to be a special night for K.: her last working as stripper. "I've saved enough to go to massage school. My body can't hold up forever. I need to do something else."

The reference to her physique is not what you are probably thinking. Her boobs were fake enough to handle the years fine. It was her knees. Dancing is terrible on the knees. And many a dancer hits 30 with knees like a pro-football player. We watched K. do the last stage dance of her career, put on her civilian clothes, hug everyone and leave.

"She'll be back," one girl predicted.

I wonder.

As for myself I vow to end this silly birthday tradition next year if for no other reason than 40 will be too old to be talking to a 29-year-old about how ancient she feels. My next trip to a topless bar will be like most locals: I will go when a tourist drags me there.

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