50 Dollars Change

It is a well known fact amongst my circle of guy friends that I frequent (though not frequently) establishments that cater towards men that have an expendable collection of one dollar bills and a penchant for boobies. My M.O. is a bit like this:
1. Go out drinking
2. Leave early
3. On the drive home, find your car is taking the long way, which happens to drive past establishments which have such words as Pink, Gold, or Kahootz in their neon marquee.
4. Call Acton.
5. Leave a short, but precise message about where I will be and that I hope he can join me.
6. Stop at the ATM
7. Enter nudie bar.
8. Spend money
9. Go home smelling like vanilla, cotton candy and sin.
10. Retrieve message from Acton 12 hours later asking if there was any trouble.

For me, there’s never any trouble at the nudie bar. I’ve heard testimonials about a friend’s friend who got laid in the back or a buddy who swears they took a stripper home with them. For me, I never even get close to that. Oh wait… I’ll have to piece together the story about the layover in Canada… that’s for later.

On this particular night, I had made it all the way to #6 on the list. I stopped at the drive through ATM and got out $50 fast cash. $50 fast cash turned out to be a single $50 bill. I was dismayed.. A $50 bill now calls me out as a big spender. I like to be the lowly guy in the club who doesn’t attract attention. You walk in with $50 dollar bills and that makes you a mark. Not really, but I thought that at the time.

I was tempted to swing around through the ATM again, but I was very interested in getting to step #8.

I parked and entered the club. This particular club is called Sirens. It resides in what used to be an Asian restaurant. The girl at the front counter was bantering with the coat check guy. As I walked in, he vaporized. We traded our hellos and the girl said, “There’s an $8 dollar cover charge.” I handed over my $50. She stuck it in the drawer and counted back my change.

“Two makes ten. Ten makes twenty. Twenty makes forty, sixty, eighty and one hundred. Did you want some of that in ones?”

Pause for one second.

“Nope. I’m fine.” Walk into the club.

I immediately went into the bathroom. I’m not sure what level of protection a bathroom offers. It seems to have kept the ISI from finding the attendant. I fake peed and gave the guy a buck. This gave me the opportunity to see that I had $91 in my wallet when there only should have been $41. Gracias.

Walking out of the bathroom I expected to be confronted by Goon in Bar #1 and Goon in Bar #2. At some point the girl up front would figure out her mistake have said Goons track me down. I believe I have coke or meth to thank for the scatter brainedness of the counter girl. I went to the bar and bought a drink.

Skip ahead to step #9. (I could talk about the dollar bill folding technique or the avoiding the strung out stripper method, but I think that’s for another time.) I left the club and walked to my car. I had several drinks and gave away a large number of neatly folded bills and I still had $30. I had about two hours of girly fun and drinks for about $20. Not bad at all.

I mentioned this story to John then next day when I returned his message to my message. He couldn’t believe it. A few years before this, John and I went to a nudie bar and on the way in, he found $80 lying right outside his car. He was kind enough to share that money with me and we spent it very quickly. When that money ran out, he reached into his pocket to get the $100 that was in there and all he had was a $20.

He suggested to me that I try the $50 trick again. So I did.

One week later. Step #6. Get money. I drove through the ATM again. Hit $50 fast cash. To my surprise, I was dispensed two 20s and a 10. This bank had a dual ATM system and the one side gave out 50s while the other, as I just found out, did not. I looped around and went to the original ATM. Bing, a $50 bill.

Park. Door. And guess what… the same strung out girl.

“Two makes ten. Ten makes twenty. Twenty makes forty, sixty, eighty and one hundred. Did you want some of that in ones?”

Pause for one tenth a second.

“Nope. I’m fine.” Walk into the club.


This time around, I spent all of it. I had many drinks. I even had the private dance or two. Good stuff.

On my way out, I had $5 left in my wallet. All that fun for $45.

$45? Think again. I forgot about the original $50 I took out that came in the 20s and 10 variety. I actually spent $95 of my own money. Crap. Oh well, it was worth the story.

1 comment:

Dustin said...

ah! Sirens is/was the gentlemen's club that was right down the street from my college! although last time i went back for homecoming, they'd changed the name (though probably not the smell) and there was a headline performance by "Bridget the Midget" on the marquis out front. yikes. good times, good sirens. glad to hear you enjoyed yourself!