Sam's Redux

I returned to Sam's on a Saturday morning about 5am. No cover, no door girl, no questions, nada, just strolled right on in.

This time I found about ten girls working and about a dozen or so men. The girls were indeed pulling rotations on stage. The men looked to be regulars, not exactly a surprise, most were just bellied up to the bar in T-shirts, ball caps or whatever. I would say three or four of the dancers were just flat-out fugly and should be finding other work pronto. I would say three of the others could be called 7s, maybe one of those even an 8.

Eight landed on my table no sooner than my @ss hit the chair, she was on something, molly is my guess. She seemed oblivious to what little I said, said nothing when I stopped speaking, stroked my inner thigh approximately once per minute, as if programmed to repeatedly do so, constantly looked around the club instead of engaging me, then in about five minutes finally got around to asking for a dance. I said not yet and she stood up and left. Leaving the drink that she just asked me to buy her, but never took a sip of. Then she just paced the length of main aisle of the club, back-and-forth, like a hungry leopard, as if there were actually potential on her path, when in fact all the men were not sitting anywhere near the aisle in striking distance. They were at the bar, talking to other dancers, or back towards the private dance area of the club, getting dances or with a dancer in their lap. And she came back to me twice more asking for a dance, apparently oblivious to the fact she had even sat with me before. I had to just use the word "No" repeatedly for it to sink in.