Pink streaks of dawn crept over strip club neon in Stone Park, the drab place the Chicago Tribune called, “a tiny west suburb with a longtime reputation for mob-influenced government”. [1] My journey to this Uber pick-up brought me past a massive railroad yard and aging industrial buildings. Strip clubs, a/k/a exotic entertainment, had already had yielded me strange and unpleasant Uber experiences. I was displeased to see I scored Gold Club.
A dozen people dallied outside the club, well-dressed men smoking and requesting Ubers on their phones. A young couple was clothed rather thinly for winter in T-shirts and light jackets, despite the current, above average for dawn, mid-40’s temperature. It was a bit past 5AM, closing time.
I stopped the car and the couple approached after confirming my license number. They piled in, appearing to be mid-twenties. The man was of athletic build, likely from weight lifting, but his voice and jerky movements suggested much alcohol intake. They presumably had been at the strip club all night.
The blonde woman was sober and did the initial talking. I started the car after hellos.
I find it odd that some men take their wives and girlfriends to strip clubs, but to each his own.
The man pulled the woman close and kissed her.
The man pulled at the woman’s top. She partly resisted and giggled. I felt the need to monitor the situation in the windshield mirror. I have no issues with passengers kissing in my Uber. As long as no laws are violated and nothing stains my upholstery, it isn’t my business. But, I wasn’t sure where he was going with her- or if she was consenting. If my law and upholstery stain rules were to be violated, I’d stop the car and demand they cease or order a new Uber.
The woman giggled and mumbled; the man kissed and fondled her. He pulled her head to his crotch. I didn’t even want to look, but had to. Clothes still on. It appeared his girlfriend wasn’t much in the mood, but he was as frisky as an alley tom in heat.
“I want to have sex with you,” he said to her. She did not give an answer.
The destination was far away; the sun poked over the horizon of suburban homes and trees bare for winter. Though clothed, the man simulated a sex act on the woman who giggled, but pushed herself back.
“I want to have sex with you,” he said.
She said, “But, what will Ashley think?”
Time-out! Who is Ashley? For that matter, who is the woman in the car? I had guessed she was a girlfriend or wife. Wrong. A female friend? Ashley’s sister? Where was Ashley now? Did she have an inkling her man had spent the night at a strip club with another woman?
Whatever the relation, the man was undeterred and continued pawing and pulling the woman, who who giggle and push him back. Then, she moved to the side of the seat by the window. She had made a decision. She said, “Mr. Uber Driver, we need to add another destination.”
The man had planned for both of them to go to one location, which I now knew was his place. This other woman had her own. “My apartment is at,” and she described where and how I would get there.
In his drunk stupor, the man grumbled and moaned. His dreams of sex with this non-Ashley fizzled.
I dropped the woman off at her complex. The man’s anger permeated the air. No words were spoken. Awkward. I sensed he was enraged non-Ashley got away and he blamed me. Sorry dude, but, I didn’t make you marry or commit to dating Ashley before you spent a night drinking in a strip club with that other woman. He glumly stumbled out of my car and walked to his apartment, without the typical “thanks” most riders say when leaving. And so ended another strange Uber ride related to a strip club.
[1] http://articles.chicagotribune.com/1997-08-05/news/9708050070_1_mob-current-mayor-police-lieutenant
Milwaukee Avenue 