CRS
Chandler, Arizona, United States

There's an old saying. If you don't want someone to join a crowd, you ask them, "If everyone were jumping off of a cliff, would you?" Well, I have. So my answer would be "Yes". True story.
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The Topless Juice Bar Conversation

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

this entry brought to you by nirvana, "aneurysm"


I had a friend once who I saw naked nearly every day. I never had sex with her; in fact she was seeing someone. But she was very comfortable around me, and it was rare that I didn't see her naked-- in fact, I would say in our entire friendship, I saw her naked more often than not. Essentially she only ever put her clothes on if someone else was coming over or she was going to head out. She was smallish chested, a b-cup, and only a bit more than a handful. But again, she was comfortable with her body and I never heard her complaining about it. Nevertheless, she came up to me one day, chest pressed out and asked "Do you like my boobs?"

"...Yeah, sure," I said, caught off guard.

"No, I mean, do you really like my boobs?"

"Why are you asking?" I said.

"Didn't I tell you? I've got an interview today."

"A topless interview?" I asked.

"I swore I told you all about this. I applied to that Topless Juice Bar. I've got an interview today."

A topless juice bar? What the fuck? The idea of a strip club that served exclusively juice seemed hilarious to me. It seemed kind of like a horse track without any gambling, for people who just like to be around large crowds watching horses go around and round. It's not that you can't have horse racing without gambling, and it's not like you can't have naked women without alcohol. But the two tend to go together.

I teased her about it. The idea of a juice bar, a strange, urban trend spot for born-again hippies and health-obsessed yuppie-wannabes, combined in an unholy amalgamation with a strip club, a strange, urban spot for drunken frat boys, pathetic blue collar workers in loveless marriages, and sexual deviants with disposable income, seemed hilariously ill-thought up. I mean, what kind of calorie counting granola muncher who requests a dash of ginseng in his raspberry and wheat grass smoothie while on a power lunch could possibly be expected to stop paying attention enough to his cell phone to be distracted by naked women? And what kind of "I'm With Stupid" t-shirt wearing bonehead dumb enough to stuff dollar bills in a coked-up bimbo's g-string despite that he can see classier naked women for free on the internet is going to care anything about juice? The whole idea was ludicrous.

She rolled her eyes and groaned at me like I was unenlightened. "Well, I'm comfortable with my body," she said, that feminist inside her bubbling up again. "And I might as well take a job that uses that to my advantage. And working in a juice bar might be silly as you say, but it's better than getting my ass grabbed by drunken, sweaty old men all day."

Well, that was actually a really good point.

Realizing that I was backing down, she started giving me a history lesson. Some counties in California wouldn't allow alcohol to be served in strip clubs or anywhere else where there was nudity, and so juice strip bars started cropping up, where men could lounge and get fancy drinks and look at naked women. Without alcohol served, there were a lot less fights, and, more importantly, a lot less violence against the girls. Even though alcohol could be served in strip clubs in Sacramento (if I remember correctly), some genius realized there should be an alternative to normal strip clubs and opened up a series of three or four of them. The tipping, she said, wasn't as good as at a strip club (mostly because sobriety makes spending money a little more conservative, especially when you're not really getting much in return), but the upside was everything already mentioned and the fact that the girls were much less likely to be on drugs, so it was a more positive work environment.

"So you'd be a stripper?" I asked.

"No," she said. "It's a topless bar, not a strip joint. You come in and sit down and a topless girl serves you. There's no stages or stripper's poles, just 15 or so topless waitresses, and all you do is order juice drinks, and like, maybe a muffin."

Here's the thing: I don't drink alcohol. One reason I've never actually been to a strip club is being around a few hundred sweating, hollering drunks sounds like the worst imaginable place you could possibly waste your time and money in, no matter how good looking the girls may be. But I do love juice. One orange-lemon juice/ pineapple/ peach smoothie hits the spot any time of the day. And boobies, well, I don't even have to explain how much I love them. And finally... the girls don't expect to be tipped as much. So you are expected to ogle naked women but not pay as much as a strip club, and you don't have to worry about blacking out from drinking too much Vanilla Razzmatazz or getting your ass shot in the parking lot because you got a lap dance from some possessive, psychotic creep's favorite dancer. What initially sounded like a semi-retarded hippy idea began to sound like the best place in the entire world.
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on this day last year nothing!

with love from CRS @ 7:38 PM 

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