Thanksgiving night. (Sorry it’s a...

Thanksgiving night. (Sorry it’s a wee bit late, I forgot to give a review of this club earlier.) Parents decided to go away to Vegas again. I was at my loneliest and my most loathsome. I didn’t have the money to go, but there was no good TV on, and all the football games were on cable, which we don’t have. What could I do to escape from my personal fortress of solitude? And then I pick up the latest issue of the local alternative weekly. Schieks, one of the two upscale clubs in downtown Minneapolis that I’ve shunned (Rick’s is the other), advertises it will be open Thanksgiving night. For pathetic losers like me. Might as well go.

Schieks is housed in what used to be the Farmers and Mechanics Savings Bank, which is on the National Register of Historic Places (I wonder how many stripclubs are national historic landmarks: http://nrhp.focus.nps.gov/natregsearchresult.do?fullresult=true&recordid=0). It’s on a one-way street that goes into downtown, so you don’t have to worry about traffic if you want to go there after a hard day at work or under the cover of the night. However, the cross-streets, Marquette Ave. and 2nd Ave., remain under construction, so keep your eyes peeled for sudden merges and conspicuous jams, especially if you’re driving when the Twins game lets out. There is a parking ramp right next door. (When I worked downtown during the late shift, I’d make a point to take a break just after Schieks closed to check out the strippers leaving work. For some reason, seeing girls in their normal clothes when I know their jobs are to take their clothes off gets me off.) There are also some free street meters a few blocks away in all directions; if you are going on a weeknight, this is the way to go, because the area around the club is lit and fairly safe.

You can’t miss Schieks; it’s the spot with the marble columns, the limos and taxis and Hummers idling on the curb, and the women in their billowy jackets sitting at the outside tables grabbing a smoke. Tuxedoed bouncers usually greet you outside the front door underneath the awning to check ID. The partitions force you to take a left, where the cashier takes your cover (I forgot what it was that night, so I’ll just guess ten bucks) stationed inbetween shelves of Schieks merchandise. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy at, say, a corporate picnic sporting a polo with a logo of a stripclub, so I don’t know how the hell any of them make money off of merch.