First Time and Last Time

For the top-ranked club in a place as legendary as Detroit, I was ultimately disappointed in what would become my first and last experience at PHC DTW. I've always hated attending the strip club on Saturdays because the ratio of customers to dancers are abysmal--ten guys to one girl, easily. It didn't help that the club was surprisingly smaller than FC in Inkster, too. So there I was, standing room only on a Saturday, after paying a mandatory seven-dollar valet fee and fifteen dollar cover charge. I bought a twelve dollar house liquor whiskey ginger that left a bad taste in my mouth. And it took several hours until I saw a single girl worth taking up to the VIP room.

The VIP room is nothing more than a cubicle covered by a curtain on the second floor. I mean, It's really tiny; the couch takes up eighty percent of the space. You can hear customers and dancers walking by constantly. After negotiating the menu with the dancer upstairs, I was appalled that the bouncer would check in on us between songs--every five minutes or so. Forget that I tipped him twenty dollars for some privacy. I couldn't possibly stay aroused when you think someone's opening the curtain every few minutes. Wasted money. No refund, of course.

Never again.