Anyone wanna be a party consultant?

Sometimes you want a steak, sometimes you want McDonalds. Caddy’s a dinky little building right off of 146, next door to the Home Despot and right around the corner from Foxy. Can’t miss it, it’s got a big ring of purple neon around the roof, and the entrance around back. This is the run down industrial section of town, with panhandlers at the intersections and too many billboards advertising lawyers. The club butts right up against the train tracks for some gorgeous scenery. Could be worse, back in the old country, there were a few clubs that literally sat right next to a swamp.

There’s some parking by the entrance, but on a busy night most people will park next door. Daytime there’s no cover, and the bouncer usually lets you in with a token waving of the wand. At night it’s $15, and you’ve got cosplay cops in tactical vests from Spirit Halloween standing out front to pat you down and wand you before you go in. Aggressively. Like, they must be auditioning for ICE aggressive. Oh, and they scan licenses, if that’s not your thing.

The main room looks like what you’d expect from a ghetto strip club. The carpet looks like they stole it from a 70s casino in Atlantic City right before they demoed the place. You have a big stage in the middle that looks like an old timey barbell, with a pole in the middle of each round stage, and the stairs in the middle part. The dumb thing is that despite the huge published lineups, they’ve never had more than one girl on stage at a time. The bar is along the back wall. Wait service is very sparse here, but at least no one has ever enforced a drink minimum, at least during the Doc’s visits. And while the other clubs hire hot bartenders, the wait staff here all look and sound like they were boxcar hobos that fell off the train right while it was passing by this building.