At an exquisitely trampy, trashy club. Think: type of place like Lipstixx in Drew Park, Tampa, only one reason to exist, full-service in the back rooms. I have been there so many times, you might as well say I'm a regular. I know, I admit it, total PL. Anyhoo ...
So, it's almost after-hours. Weekend late, maybe about 3 a.m., when I arrive. I pay my cover. I stumble across the threshold. Instantly, sorry excuse dancer number three disentangles herself from the short queue of please-don't-ever-get-on-stage ageing dancers whose only job is to escort each new entering patron over to a seat. As we turn a short corner near the front door (basically a door-blind to keep outdoor passers-by from viewing inside) I spot a waitress arriving with tray and napkin to take my order. I do NOT want to be escorted by sorry excuse dancer, not number three, not any number, because she will sit down and expect me to buy her a drink and then whale me. So, I zip over toward the waitress as quick as possible. She recognizes my tactic, cooperates, no doubt thinking "extra tip possibility" for saving me from the whale.
Waitress makes first overture for conversation as she walks me toward my new chair:
"Hi. Do you come here often?"
ROFL. As if that's not enough, waitress continues, referencing referring to sorry excuse dancer, who is now left behind: "She doesn't look like your type. You didn't come here with her, did you?"
ROFL. Every time I think about it I roll out of my seat all over again ...
True story. Honest. :)