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Camelot: A Place of Fancy and VD
By Alison Burke
The dictionary defines Camelot as: “A place or time of idealized beauty, peacefulness, and enlightenment.” Perusing my newly found job options last night at a strip club by this name, I found that often the people who are stressed with the job of titling venues many times erroneously name such places. My stroll into the club was hindered at the door, when I was harassed by a bouncer who did not think I was old enough to enter the club—though I had already furnished ID. For a normal person, this would have been a sign, but not for this penniless bum.
Smoke and the rancid smell of drunken old man oozed from the velvet covered door as I opened it. I pranced in to be accosted in the darkness by a thick man in a suit holding his earphone like a secret service member. He then took me by the arm to a guy named “Joe,” who was informed over walkie-talkie that I was interested in a position. Meanwhile, a chubby, tattooed college girl shook her boobs for about 10 old men. Technology and class all rolled into one; surely this was the paradise of King Arthur.
“What position are you interested in?” He grimaced like a patron of Dior at the unveiling of last season’s runway.
“The position which avoids being lusted after by men older than my grandpa. You should keep a defibrillator in this place.”
Ignoring my medical advisement, the man continued on, “What experience do you have?”
“Well, I have been getting naked for free for the last few years, but I thought it was time to start cashing in on it. I’m already 5’8, do I have to wear the shoes?”
“You have to wear shoes—if you don’t, it’s a health code violation. Athlete’s foot.”
Was he kidding? They want me to rub my clit against a pole where about a dozen other girls have been doing it previously—girls who have been entered more than the British Museum and this dude is worried about diseases of the feet. Who was this guy? In the feudal system, I think his title would be court jester.
I inspected what was left of the club. The dankness surrounded my feet as I ascended the staircase to the main dance floor. The bad lighting and heavy drinking were all necessary to the ambiance. Retrospectively, this actually was somewhat of a tribute to Feudal times. Almost no light after 5pm, strange and impossible-to-remove smells, deadly ramped illness and minstrels blaring from the speakers. Though, I must point out that Exhibit’s rendition of “Greensleeves,” c’est magnifique!
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