Damien Galeone

The blue lights at the Casino Royale are dimmed by smoke and the hazy thrill of nudity without the necessity of buying dinner to procure it. There are ten of us from three different Anglophone nations – US, UK, and Australia. We sit under the televisions, drink beer and chat while we wait out the last few minutes of a ‘football’ match that is keeping the strippers from making their appearance.

Finally, after an extended overtime period of ‘football’, as if this is something that any person needs in their lives, the first stripper begins to select her music on the jukebox. The ten of us hush in the universally subdued manner of men about to see strippers, as though we are trying to portray a cool exterior to hide the little boy inside chanting, “Boobies! Boobies! Boobies!”

The song begins and the stripper steps onto the small circular stage that is in the middle of the ten of us. She’s dressed in a black teddy and fishnet stockings, a glint of silver shines on her hip. Her black hair and beak-sized nose emit a bewitching aura. Just as she begins, she snaps out of her pre-game stripper mode and gets her first good look at the likes of us. Her mouth falls open and she rolls her eyes. “Ty Vole,” she says.

You see, Anglophone tourists in Prague for bachelor parties are not a terribly popular sight. Even the stripper hates it, who, it is assumed, should be excited about the prospect of making money from rich foreigners. Part of this is surely due to the classic, grumpy Czech attitude towards service industry best summed up by this comment: “A kurva, zákazníci.” Oh fuck, customers.

On the other hand, the stripper could be worried about being treated like crap by a bunch of lusty idiots who can’t even make their leering suggestions to her in her native language.

In any case, with a brave countenance that in hindsight could have been boredom, she grabs the pole and leans into her wiggly death throes.

We slowly disarm her.

As the first song ends, UK1 stands at the jukebox and asks her in Czech what song she’d like next. She chooses one and he plays it. US2, US3, US4 and AUS1 step off to the driest roulette table east of Death Valley and US5, UK2 and US6 begin chatting with the stripper in their broken Czech. UK2 has returned to our private pole dance and sat down. With the third song he begins clapping along to the music with a lack of rhythm that proves his whiteness. Nevertheless, he has marked himself as harmless as chewing gum.

The stripper lets down her guard enough to stop rolling her eyes and has even taken her hand off her hip dagger (possible mobile phone).

All of the US, UK and AUS representatives drink shots, tell stories and talk about wives, kids and work. I offer the stripper her first compliment of the evening, “Miluju tvůj nos.” I love your nose. She is confused until my animated body language and repetition clears things up and she turns away so that I am faced with her rump. I offer little complaint.

She puts away her weapons and we all chat with her throughout her dancing. When she’s finished, we help her off her stage like gentlemen, and she says goodbye. She waves to everyone and laughs with us.

She could be laughing at us, but then it really doesn’t matter. Next girl’s coming up.