Christmas Eve At a Strip Club

                                                      ©2016 James M. Carroll, All Rights Reserved

My business had left me longer in San Francisco than I wanted, and now I would have to stay in the city for the Christmas holiday. It was now Christmas Eve. The San Francisco sales office had been underperforming, and I was tasked with correcting the problem. Nothing can better motivate an office than the abrupt firing of a longtime employee — it terrified the herd, and motivated them to work extra hours and at a frantic pace. After the tearful termination was completed, I decided to quickly grab something to eat and spend some time at the famous Mitchell Brothers O'Farrell Theater strip club.

        Since it was hell trying to find an open restaurant, I decided on some fast food at a Quiznos that was across the street from the club. Despite my better instincts, I decided on a Philly cheesesteak sandwich and a super-sized bag of onion rings, and within minutes was inside the strip club.

        First Courtney approached me, told me that she was facing foreclosure on her house, and said she would give me a very special private show for $200. But after thinking about all the money I hadn't saved during the year, I only said: "sorry." As she wandered off, I thought I heard her mutter cheapskate. Then as I walked a little further, Katrina snuggled up to me, said she desperately needed some more cash for presents, and could give me a reason to live for just $100. But I didn't feel like reaching in my wallet, and so I replied: "no thanks." While passing the stage, I noticed that Julianne had just started her act.

        By now the Philly cheesesteak was kicking up a storm, and I felt like I was going to pass out. So I quickly grabbed a seat in the rear of the left-stage seating and got ready to ride out my digestive storm. While slumped back in my seat, I tried to take a short nap.

        But just as I began to doze off, I was approached by a beautiful stripper who I had never seen before, and she asked me to follow her. She led me down the long hallway to the club's exit, and said we had to make a stop next door at 859 O'Farrell Street. As we walked down the sidewalk my curiosity got to me, and I started to question her.

        "But wait, isn't 859 O'Farrell Street the Great American Music Hall?"

        "No Robert, it's called The Music Box. See... right there on the sign."

        And as I looked up, sure enough, the sign read: The Music Box — Starring Tonight – Sally Rand.  All of a sudden I remembered that Sally Rand was a famous stripper of the 1930's who had previously owned the building in the early 20th-century.

        "Wait, what the hell is going on... this is 2007? Where am I? Who the hell are you, anyway?"

        She turned and smiled. "Why, I'm the Ghost of Stripper Past, and the year is 1936. Calm down, we're only going to meet Sally."

        At this point I began to regret all the acid I took in college and wondered when the men in white suits might show up and take me away. We walked inside and entered a dressing room behind the stage.

        Near a lighted mirror was an elderly gentleman who was speaking to a beautiful woman with blond hair. She was having balloons taped to the bodystocking that she was wearing. With frustration in her voice, the woman began to complain.

        "Why the hell won't they let me at least show my breasts? Ten years ago this place was a bordello called Blanco's. Hey, we're in San Francisco, aren't we? It's not like I'm working at the Chicago World's Fair, or in San Diego where they drew blood from the pebbles they threw at me."