The Katch Session

As I sit by my computer, I'm reminded of a story that may benefit everyone.  It's not actually my computer that reminded me of this tale, but my ink pen.  I keep trying to write upside down with this pen.  Why?  Because it's one of those pens, when turned upright, the lady strips down to her birthday suit.  If only all things could bring me such joy.

Now, I wouldn't exactly call my life stressful.  However, there are times when work and the stupidity of the oppostie sex kinda gets me down.  Don't get me wrong, this blog has been theraputic.  But, sometimes you just need someone to talk to.  Sometimes you need to hear your words and see someone pretending to listen.  This brings me to my true story.

I was in Knoxville a couple of years ago to visit a buddy of mine.  This wasn't the first time I'd been to visit him, but I believe it was the first time I went without my homegirls Erin and Kathryn.  With every prior visit, he had tried to convince me that there was a "special place" in Knoxville we needed to go.  Since the girls weren't there on this occasion, now was the time to go.

I wasn't too hip to the idea of going, but he got all his buddies from work assembled to go.  I knew I probably wouldn't enjoy it.  However, I gave in about as fast as Clint did with the field goal points in his fantasy football league from last year.  If you haven't figured it out by now, we were headed to The Katch, one of Knoxville's premiere strip clubs.

I gotta admit, I was a still a little nervous upon our arrival there.  I'd never been to such an establishment and didn't know what to expect.  It was $10 to get in, but beer was sold in a building next to the actual strip club.  Those were about $5 a pop.  Out fifteen bucks and I hadn't seen the first female.  I already didn't like this. 

Since I was "the rookie," I was talked into giving more tips than the other guys.  I don't know if this is a nudie bar ritual or I was just getting cornholed into spending my money by the other guys.  I think the latter is the case.  We took turns giving tips for a while, but when the "wee stripper" came on stage.   I'll bet you'll never guess whose turn it was to tip.

Before I go on, let me explain what I mean by "wee stripper."  I don't mean midget (though that would be awesome).  I mean the stripper who looks like she's fifteen.  I swear to God, this girl had braces.  Literally had braces.  She had black hair, cut to shoulder length (yes, very much like a little girl).  She danced to Korn's "Blind."  I overheard one of the other strippers making fun of me.  She told my buddy "I think this kid's about to go BLIND."  From this, I learned strippers are indeed clever enough to create puns.

Well, I tipped her.  At the Katch, you can't touch.  You just have to hold your money out and let them take it.  The strippers remember everyone who tips them, and they come by to thank their tippers after they're done dancing.  She thanked the other two guys who tipped her, and made her way around to me.  Apparently, I was last in line.

She came over and said "Thank you.  Soooo, what's going on?" 

A non-pathetic loser would take this as an invite for a lap dance or a shower viewing session.  I took it in a much different way.

I responded "Well, I'm just down to visit Knoxville from Kingsport."

She said "That's cool."

"I don't know what I'm really doing here.  I've never been to this kind of place, so I didn't know what to expect,"  I said.

"What do you do in Kingsport?" she asked.

"I go to school," I responded.  "It's so stressful, I don't know when I'm getting out or what I'm gonna do when I get out."

She asked me what I was going for.  I told her and she responded "Oh, that's cool.  So, you can like write and stuff when you get out."

I asked her if she went to school (I would've assumed middle school).  She did.  I felt better knowing my $1 tip was supporting her education.  Or, at the very least, it would aid her in her purchasing of Noxema or Hello Kitty products.

I also talked about work, how women hate me, and other things.  This girl sat and listened to all my bullshit through two more dances.  All this for a mere $1 tip.  She left after that, though.  She had to get ready for her next dance.

It was amazing.  I felt better by talking about things that seemed to bring me stress.  My buddy asked me what we were talking about.  I said "Life.  We talked about life."

My first and only visit to a nudie bar was certainly a memorable one.  In all, I spent about $30 at that night, but that beats $60 an hour to sit on a couch and have someone listen to your problems.  I really did feel better.

Therefore, I would suggest to anyone who needs to talk to someone about something that's bugging them and there's no one to turn to, head to the Mouse's Ear.  There's bound to be a kind, caring ear there.  I promise you, you'll be amazed by how good you feel. 

Then again, it could just be the titties.