Directly from the Anchorage airport, I went to the strip club where I am now working. It’s a two story wooden building that looks like an old western whorehouse. The walls are covered in dingy red and gold wallpaper, discolored from decades of smoke. There is a balcony with a wooden railing surrounding the perimeter of the main room, which is completely open to both stories. Strippers sit up there like guardian angels in bikinis watching the action below. Downstairs on the main floor, topless women peak up from the labyrinth of the wooden seating area as they’re hovering over their customers during dances.
I left my suitcase with the doorman and quickly found one of my girlfriends from Vegas with whom I planned to meet up. It was a Tuesday night and it was packed. I keep hearing of these tremendously high ratios of men to women. It’s seven to ten men for every one girl, they say. The odds are in our favor. There is a saying here that “You don’t lose your girlfriend. You lose your turn.”
It was late at night when I walked in. I had been traveling from Vegas since early that morning. I stayed up all night at my girlfriend’s house because I never sleep before traveling. Never. I have too much anxiety. I’m scared that I packed too many socks or no toothpaste or that I’ll sleep late and miss my flight. So I stayed up all night drinking, swimming and eating bleu cheese stuffed dates.
I was waiting for the strip club to close so that I could go home with my friend. She went off to work the room and I found a free stool at the bar next to the ATM and planted myself there with my carry on baggage. I felt especially haggard. I wasn’t wearing any makeup and I was wearing my gym clothes. My hair was messy and loosely pinned back. I sat there, plain as cheese pizza, and a guy who walked up to the ATM suddenly diverted his attention to me like I was a super model sex goddess.
In no more than a few words he was completely hooked. It was just strange. I felt like a water balloon after all the drinks he bought me. I went to the bathroom and in the mirror reviewed my appearance. I could confirm that I was, in fact, totally plain looking. The guy wasn’t some ugly old loser either. He was a good-looking pilot in his twenties who was suddenly convinced I was God’s gift. Slim pickin’s in the lady department here, apparently.
Anyway, I’ve sworn off men for a while. I need to heal and be alone and not attach to anyone because detaching is misery.
I’ve been here for a few days now. I’m hiking, fishing and stripping as planned.
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