Saturday, November 17th 2007

Normally I would not be found out drinking on a Wednesday night, but I had guests and the venue promised strippers in addition to an underwear contest. You may find it surprising that the strippers are what interested me the most. Upon arriving with my posse I took notice of a tall, hairy, somewhat plump looking man flailing himself around the torso of an older gentleman with a vacant expression on his face. I naturally assumed this toad was one of the strippers. As I turned around to return home for an episode of “Sex and the City” and a frozen pizza, my friend assured me that this was one of the contestants getting a “jump” on the event. He explained that the winner is chosen by the reaction of the audience so it pays to gain a fan base before the contest begins.

I ordered a round for us at the bar and discovered the advertised stripper in my line of sight. He was physically perfect. No fat anywhere, not a blemish or a misplaced hair. I immediately hated him and fantasized that he had an eating disorder or recently had a hump removed, anything to give my insecurities some comfort in the hot glow of his flawless appearance. After five minutes of glaring and internal turmoil I thought it best to ignore him and concentrate on my friends and our evening together. While we sipped our Newcastles I began to draw up my chest workout for the next morning in my head.

The contest began and the announcer looked all of 13. He was appropriately dressed in black, square-cut Calvin Klein’s and nothing else. It must have been his first attempt at using a microphone because he held it so close to his mouth that all of his words blurred into a muffled mess. It was hard not to appreciate his enthusiasm though. Amidst the breaths and sighs he seemed very eager to get the crowd into the show or at least into their underwear.

There were three men of various shapes, sizes and levels of intoxication that lined up on the stage ready for their turn to turn it out for the crotch-starved crowd. The first guy was the scary one that nearly caused my premature departure. He had an ear-to-ear Cheshire cat grin on his face and appeared to be really happy to be on stage. I suspect he took notice of his competition and was already calculating just how he was going to spend his winnings.

The second contestant was the smallest and drunkest by far. He was about 5′5″ and 115 pounds soaking wet. A very, very thin man, the sky blue bikini bottoms he chose as his costume practically drooped on his fragile frame. The poor guy almost lost his balance as he undressed in the spotlight. We’ve all been there, right? Trying so hard to be suave and sexy while making extraordinary effort just to remain vertical? He meandered out of the spotlight following his drunken introductory salute and began to walk away. The announcer politely herded him back to his position next to the Cheshire cat guy who was still appearing confident and poised.

Number three was my favorite and the one who got my vote in any category. He too was very short and very drunk, but not as thin. He reminded me of Jim Henson’s Fraggles; short, pear-shaped with bright yellow hair that was sticking up everywhere. Now this guy had set out to win. As soon as he was announced he strutted on stage in a red baseball cap with his bright yellow tufts pointing East and West. He wore a Hawaiian print shirt in the same tone of red that hung to his knees overlapping a pair of shorts in the same style. To cap his Pacific fashion motif he wore bright red flip-flops. He started to remove his pants midway through a turn on his heels and I was honestly looking forward to seeing what was beneath his shorts. Keeping true to form a bright red thong was revealed – much to my delight. I held up my beer and hollered in enthusiastic approval of his thoughtfulness and dedication to the ensemble.

When it came time for the winner to be decided I got butterflies and a wave of embarrassment swept over me. I was nervous for them. I stood there watching them and realized that I was alone in my shallow pool of shame. They were happy to be there, proud even. Who was I to feel anything but happiness for these guys? If they were enjoying themselves then I should be excited for them. When it came time to cast our “votes”, everybody in the house voted for all the guys in claps, hoots, hollers and cat calls.

Somebody had to win however, and it was, as expected, the Cheshire cat guy from Long Beach, California who, by the way, was named Ed.

I finished my beer and thought of how many times in my life I watched somebody in outlandish dress or manner and felt sorry and embarrassed for them. It dawned on me that the feeling of sympathy and shame stemmed from my own insecurities and internal rubbish. We should be so lucky to have the courage to present ourselves to the world without regard for judgment and scorn. I envy them. They are all winners.

This entry was posted by Johnny on Saturday, November 17th, 2007 at 5:36 PM and is filed under Anthropology, Friends, Local Color & Atmosphere, Out & About. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.

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