Bad Club ? Nah....Bad You

Pumps is located in an industrial area in the heart of Brooklyn. It exists within a little triangular cutout of land flanked by fairly busy mid-urban streets. It's near a few music venues in a modestly secluded area wherein I saw a dude was recently murdered and ditched in one of the snaking waterways. New York, I love you.

I've been to Pumps a few odd times here and there and feel that I've gotten a fair amount of mileage. Never anything beyond lap dances, so if you're in the market for a little extra I would try somewhere else. One of the ladies actually told me that she preferred this location for the lack of pressure to give dudes head. In terms of lap dances & sexy company though, the club is solid. A rectangular horseshoe bar with three poles and mirrors opposite the one long side that comprises most of the bar' seating and space. Decent mix of music. Largely a heavy metal and heavy rock playlist. Some rap is mixed in to taste, but not as much as I like at clubs. I find it better for ass shaking. Tip parade, ladies get pretty grubby. More on that later. $20 for a 3 min dance. The dancers only make half so they expect tips there too. No options for any extended sessions that I've ever encountered. I might just not be handsome enough. Oh well.

Went recently and had a very negative experience, negative enough to merit this review. Went Halloweekend with a young work comrade of mine completely green to strip clubs. I gave him some of the rundown with some emphasis thrown in about being fairly generous with his tips and fairly conservative with his hands. We get into the club around 11 and take the only two open seats, all the way to the right-hand corner of the bar if you face the mirror. Immediately to our left a wicked fine latina/black woman noticed the situation and went, 'Hey guys, I see you just sat down, will let you get comfortable' then left with a smile and small flourish. Awesome, no problem with that. Then, after about a song's worth of barely shaking anything, a young woman with vacant blue eyes, red-ish brunette hair, and big heavy titties came off the nearest pole and asked for tips. We told her we'd just been sat and needed to get drinks first to make change. She was visibly annoyed, said something akin to 'hurry up' and went to beg from the next hairy outstretched hand. We get drinks. She comes around again, 'Did you guys get change?' I nod and reach out, holding the corner of an upturned dollar bill. Angrily, 'A dollar ? ... that's it ?' I said 'Yeah, since you kind of harangued me for it' and then she grabbed both my hands very patronizingly and talked down to me about how the dancers make only tips, and so by not tipping they're 'dancing for [us] for free.' I didn't and don't mean to be an asshole about tipping. I'd intended to be as generous as was possible for my anemic bank account. Had even lightly lectured my young ward companion about the importance of tipping and being respectful to the babes. I just wanted a little goddamned time to settle in and drink my Miller. I want to go to a business and feel like I'm CHOOSING to spend my hard-earned money, man. More than that, I want to feel for five seconds in this lord-forsaken American wasteland that we spend our days in like I'm actually getting my money's worth.