I Reminisce Over You, Part I

Well, it’s official, or at least as official as it feels it’s gonna get.

I went on one recent idle Wednesday evening to BJ’s just to hang out with my wang out (without my wang literally being out; all lap dances are out in the open and the strippers dance clean), and I was able to get lappers from three of the four women (all hot) on this shift. And those three, each independently, said what I and many regulars suspected and feared: BJ’s will close after the New Year.

It is a goddamn shame; this place has been around so long the goddamn National Register of Historic Places should swoop in and save this titty bar. Every time my parents passed by this eerie-looking hole-in-the-wall when I was a teen, I felt this allure to go in and see what the hell this place is. I had been to other stripclubs before BJ’s, but those were, you know, stripclubs – places that had girls in nightgowns and guys in tuxedoes and clip-on ties because they wanted you to know they were “classy.” BJ’s was not classy at all. It was a place where you weren’t shaken down for a $10 cover. It was a place where you weren’t charged an arm and a leg just for some fucking O’Doul’s. And it was a place where, if you wanted to, you could come in in your dirty clothes, buy a can of beer (no taps here) and watch the game or talk with friends and management wouldn’t hassle you for a two-drink minimum … but, if you did want to enjoy the topless dancers, you had a different four to choose from every three hours. No extras were ever promised, but that was because BJ’s, for the most part, took no BS. You knew what the rules were, and they never changed in all their years there. Oh, and lap dance was always $20, too.