Goth Night at the Topless Bar

The bizarre contrast of cultures in the club was so extreme, I feared it could disturb the Earth's magnetic field or create a quantum particle storm, which might cause time to flow backwards or boil into a whirlpool and suck us all into oblivion.

Let me explain.

When I got invited to Goth Night, I agreed to go before I learned that the event took place inside a topless club. To prepare for the evening I put on a black dress, combat boots, and some heavy black eye makeup.

I was confused when Byron, my date (was this a date? I never figured that out) pulled into the parking lot of said topless club, but didn't ask questions. We walked inside and a large black man behind a cash box got a look on his face as if he were thinking, are they going to figure out they're in the wrong place on their own or am I going to have to tell them?

Right then a fat, pasty white guy dressed in black came out from a side door and said, "You guys are over here."

This was when I learned that topless bars are just like churches - some are for whites, others are for African Americans, and pretty much all are segregated by choice. But this African-American club was making some extra income by renting half its space to Goths for a few hours once a month. On one side of the club, Brothers dressed in jeans and t-shirts drank beer and watched Sisters in spangly thongs and high heels dance. On the other side, (very) white folks dressed in their finest makeup and S&M gear sat around tables and drank from bottles in paper bags (Goth Night was a BYOB event). The novelty of this situation was exhilerating.

All the same, I felt too old to be there. I hadn’t brought any of my own alcohol, and I'd quit smoking, so I didn't have anything to do. Byron ran off to talk to friends, so I sat and looked around. Hmm. Folks in very studied costumes, looking like they walked out of The Matrix. I was surprised to see a couple of African Americans among them. They were both quite striking - he had Hollywood cheekbones and was dressed sort of Sci-Fi Victorian in a top hat and long coat. She was wearing a short kilt and making out with another girl near the door, where they could both seductively eye all the men as they walked in. It was the most heavy-handed flirt tactic I'd ever seen, kind of like mowing down bunny rabbits with an anti-aircraft gun.

Eventually I got bored and went looking for Byron. I went through a door and walked past some bathrooms, just as one of the dancers walked out of the Ladies'. We exchanged hellos. She was fascinating. I thought, how does she balance such a generous bust and derriere on those high-assed heels? How can she be so well endowed and so skinny at the same time? It's not fair.

I found Byron in what must have been a lap dance room. It reminded me of a submarine. There was a large plastic bubble on one wall, which created a sort of artificial window. Chunks of artificial reef like you see in aquariums was stacked in the back if this window, and they glowed eerily thanks to a black light tube which shone from the ceiling. The white bootstrings in somebody's Dr. Martens glowed purple, and Byron's teeth shone green.

So Byron introduced me to his friends, some of who sat on the lap dance couch (luuuuuuv seat, ha ha), others of whom started to leave when dance music started up in the outer room. I left with them. They were nice kids from Guilford College.

"I really like your pants," I shouted to one of them over the music. "What are the made of?"

"PLEATHERRRRR!" he shouted back with relish.

Every now and then you could see guys from the other side of the club come and look over a set of wooden swinging doors to check out the crowd. I wanted to know what they thought of it all, but never asked.

Finally a really crummy band from Atlanta arrived. I wondered if it was the first time they'd performed on a stage with a runway and pole. The bass player looked like a lumpy Hell's Angel, but the rest of them appeared to have eating disorders or parasites or both. The singer was too wasted to be out of bed. Their music sucked, but they'd brought a very large and very geeky contingent with them. The singer flailed about and knocked the mike stand off the stage periodically, and a member of the contingent soberly picked it up and put it back as if she felt honored to drive five hours just to do that. One of their songs was about having raucus sex with one's mother, if I remember correctly. I thought, holy shit, dumbass, Jim Morrison did a much better job with that topic almost 30 years ago and people actually cared.

The show ended and somebody put on some Sisters of Mercy and I got my dance on. Byron took his shirt off and whirled it around his head.

When he said Goth Night was over at 1 a.m., he wasn't kidding. At 1:01 a.m. the dancer who'd spoken to me before came out and started gyrating around the pole, and all the goths cleared out.

That was my last outing with Byron, and it was about five years ago. I've often wondered if Goth Night is still going on somewhere. There were Goth refugees from darkest Davidson County there. As far as I know, it was the only social outlet for non-golf-shirt wearers in this town, so I hope it's survived in some form. Greensboro used to be an oasis for people of various counter-cultures, but not any more. I think the diversity fairy has turned her back on us. Though I hope to be proven wrong about that.

Comments

[Danny]

I've heard they have a monthly Goth night at the club in the basement of the Coliseum Motel. Then there's that traveling leather and fetish show that comes to the N Club on occasion. You could probably find a few Goths at that.

[verona]

Ah, the Coliseum Motel. I liked it better when the sign spelled "Colisevm." That's where all the homeless guys used to go stay when they got some money.