When I was still dancing, I worked with this girl. Her name was E. We knew so many E’s at the time, we started attaching adjectives to their names, to tell them apart. There was Cool E, Hippie E, and the E that we worked with. She came to be called Dumb E.
E Had a serious lisp–the worst lisp I’ve ever heard. She was also incredibly stupid. She was a year older than me (20 at the time) but she had the I.Q. of an 8 year old (maybe). And when you talked to her in the dressing room, you just thought of her as an eight-year-old, and everything was OK.
However, ten minutes later, that same little girl would be completely naked (it was an all nude club) climb up a 30-foot pole, flip upside down, slide to the floor and show the guy in the front row her p***y for a dollar. She had surprisingly good motor skills, for a complete moron. No rhythm, but she didn’t fall and bash her head, very often.
I should also mention that E bore a striking resemblance to Robert England. Robert England played Freddie Kruger. She was not an attractive girl. But titty-bar lighting can do wonders.
When dancers are on their periods, they have to use tampons and cut or tuck in the string. There’s no other option. Dumb E didn’t know how to use a tampon. I felt bad for hert, so I sat her down (on the toilet) and tried to explain the fairly simple process to her. As we were doing this, we heard the D.J. announce her name, meaning that she was next to dance, and had about a half of a song before having to strip down to nothing in front of a crowd of strangers. She jumped up and ran out of the bathroom with the string hanging out of the back of her thong.
The D.J. booth was my favorite place in the titty bar. The D.J. was a doctor, but not practicing because he hated it. To this day, he is one of my best friends. Strange as it may seem, it was my common practice to bend over and have DJ check out my stuff with a flash light to make sure there was nothing on me, such as toilet paper, lint, etc. Most of the girls did it. DJ had no complaints.
I followed E downstairs, as she ran to the D.J. booth, and arrived just as she was bending over, with her hands on the floor saying,”Can you thee it? Ith it in?”
It was not in. Half of the entire tampon is hanging out, not just the string. DJ didn’t know what to say. We’re both just staring at this girls crotch with a flash light and there was, like, 15 seconds before the next Kid Rock song. I mean, this was an art I had mastered long before I was dancing for dollars. Why couldn’t she figure it out?
As Violet gathered her red dress and bra, and strutted off stage, E just stood up, ready to go on stage–tampon, string and all. I told her that she should wait until she got this whole vagina business sorted out, but she wouldn’t listen. I think the last bit of advice I gave her was, “Just keep your legs together!” as she walked through the curtain.
Violet threw on her clothes and we ran upstairs to the balcony. We knew we had at least two songs until she brought out the goods, but sure enough, when we got to the top of the stairs, she was already spread-eagle in front of some wasted dude, with her underwear down. We could see the guy pointing to her crotch and mouth the words “What’s that?” In her defense, the guy did have a sweet mustache and she probably couldn’t help herself.
I don’t know if everyone is aware of this, but strip clubs are full of black lights. Under a black light, pretty much everything white glows. This definitely includes tampons. DJ turned down the lights especially low when E was dancing, for obvious reasons, but it didn’t hide the glowing tampon. In fact, it was the only thing you could see. Glowing bright purple and bobbing up and down, it might as well have just been a giant tampon dancing up there.
We stood there squealing in disbelief until the end of the last song and she was picking up the dollars she’d dropped. At that point, it was more sad than funny, but still pretty funny
We found our way through the dressing room and back down to the D.J. booth, where she was making her exit through the tinsel curtain. We acted like we hadn’t been laughing hysterically, seconds before. I didn’t really know what to say, so I just smirked at the D.J. She didn’t seem phased by the experience, at all. She seemed, in fact, proud. Like she had accomplished some stripper feat.
I was wondering how someone could survive to the ripe old age of 21 with an I.Q that would not allow the comprehension required to use a tampon applicator. I mean, monkeys can create and use more complex tools than that.
While I was contemplating all of this, a real gem snapped me back into reality. “Yeah, he thaid ‘Wha’th that’ and I wath like ‘it’th a puthy glowthtick’ and he believed me. Ain’t that great?”
But I don’t think that guy believed her. I think he saw the same thing that I saw: A giant tampon, just dancing away, spinning and kicking her legs in the air. At one point, the tampon climbed to the top and crawled like a worm down to the floor. It had surprisingly good motor skills, for a tampon.