So, you’ve been to a strip club before!
Only once, when I lived in our capitol city with several young men during the early 80s. The English-Irish woman who owned the multi-level house had her husband, grandfather, and us guys bundle into their econo-van and we traveled south of the city along a state highway, the highway that at the time was famous for gun shops, liquor stores, vintage diners, and the occasional strip club.
I disliked the idea of the woman encouraging bad behavior, and at the first show club, we bailed out of the van and walked inside, hands in pockets, looking sheepish. I didn't want to be seen with the guys, who waited patiently for the show to begin. I stood at a distance in the hallway leading to the kitchen, and didn't speak. Soon, the club owner stepped out and said the show would begin in 55 minutes, and we'd need to buy alcohol if we wished to stay. The woman calculated the timing and said, "Thanks but no," and we headed back to the van.
The next stop, the woman said, "Bahb, saunter on inside and then tell us if it's worth heading inside." I was like, "You've got to be kidding me," and I walked across the parking lot and took a peek inside.
Way off in the distance (the building was shaped like an old airplane hangar) was a stage with a couple girls pole-dancing. The place was brightly lit (surprisedly) and there were several drunks trying to reach up on stage with money. The bouncers were strong-arming them keeping the drunks in line. The club hostess was sitting behind a glass window booth filing her nails. The place reeked of sweat, smoke and booze.
Walking back to the van, the English-Irish woman said, "Well, what's happening?" I replied, "Couple drunks trying to paw the girls on stage. Bouncers were cracking their heads. Wanna go in?"
The woman said, "Mmmm, I think not. Let's just pack it in and head home."
The only thing of note that stuck with me that evening was the club hostess, scantily clad, looking over her glasses, filing her nails. Bright red, pointy things. I couldn't wait to high-tail it out of there and arrive home, safe from that atmosphere.
Truthfully, it's OK to respect people who use their "talent" in lawful ways. When I watch a woman filing her nails, that's a big "Uh-oh" in my view. At that point, I'm extra careful to not be doing anything wrong.