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What really stung was that it was our first date night in quite some time. It was our night to revisit that dormant party bug that had been recently overwhelmed by the not-so-dormant intestinal bug. As we left the bar, even without a buzz, Mary was a sport and agreed to sample one club.

I chose the club that I thought would give us the most bang for the buck, Super Pussys. How could you go wrong with a name like that? We saw some Westerners, including women, coming down the stairs as we ascended. I think that gave Mary some reassurance. Hey, if other women did it, so could she, right? She was still nervous. The whole place was lit by black light, and we were met at the top of the stairs by a waitress who officially notified us that there was no alcohol being served, but then whispered that she could provide us with a whisky and coke if we so desired. It was easy to tell the waitresses from the other girls, because they were fully clothed.

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Supposedly, you were able to come in for a "free" look. That's what it said on the card given to us by a tout. However, as we were presented with our first round of drinks, the waitress presented us with two little laminated cards. They explained that it would be 300 baht (about $8) each for the first drink and watching the "sex show", which she presented another laminated card to show what would be seen. A little voice in my head said, "Doh!" I knew we had been had, or that I had let us walk into a trap. We decided to play this one out, and no sooner that we coughed up 600 baht, than a scrawny "dancer" slid up to us and tried to get Mary to buy her a "cola". OK, that one I was familiar with, however 20 baht soon turned to 100 baht, which seemed to vanish along with the dancer. Not two seconds after, another dancer came around for a bucket requesting a 100 baht tip for the sex show girls, of which we had seen none of so far. In the course of about 5 minutes we had parted with 800 baht ($25 dollars), and seen very little of the show.

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We settled back, sipping our weak drinks, to watch the show. To say that we, especially Mary, were unimpressed would be an understatement. The dancers on stage, which looked about as bored as we were, lacked energy, appeal, and that all­important element, rhythm. Ten of them shuffled around stage, looking tired and very un-sexy. Then came the "sex" show. A plumpish, homely woman around 40 walked on stage. With very little pomp she started to pull strings with stars on them from her nether regions. We were startled, only because it was all so blasé. A British couple had been sitting next to us. The woman, her teeth glowing in the blacklight, leaned over and exclaimed, "I'm not impressed."

The next star of the show was a gangly woman who came on stage and wrote something, we couldn't tell what, with a pen that was not held by her hands. The real kicker was when the same woman placed, lit, and proceeded to puff away at two cigarettes, not from her mouth. I couldn't help wondering to myself what kind of cancer you could get from smoking that way. Shooting ping pong balls followed. Mary was bored, bordering on annoyed.

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The big transition of the night came when all of the tired, homely looking dancers slouched off the stage and the bird-like "good looking" ones pranced on. They had been hanging around the fringes, dressed in all sorts of lingerie, keeping mainly to themselves. This was their time. They were quite attractive. The only spin was that we spent the next few minutes playing "Spot the lady-boys" with the British couple. In the end we figured it was half real woman and half lady-boy. They could at least dance!

We had had enough. As Mary exclaimed after one of the titillating shows, "It's so clinical." It was time to move on. We said our good-byes to the British couple, and made one last attempt at a drink before going home. No luck, the Irish bar we had passed earlier was dark. After securing an illicit beer from the old lady who ran the corner fruit stand, we settled into our AC hotel room and watched the remainder of "Raising Cain" on HBO. So much for our wild night in Bangkok.
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Epilogue:
After Will composed portions of the above in an email to a close friend, we decided that this should become a dispatch on Millennium Snapshot. Alas, as a Westerner had just been beaten to a pulp for taking a camera into a girlie club, we had gone to Super Pussys sans camera. For journalistic purposes, we decided to go back to Patpong to get a few shots and do a little bit more investigative research.

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This time, I chose the bar. I had no real interest in seeing female dancers, but I did have a somewhat sociological interest in returning to Patpong. As a woman, I wanted to see a place where the dancers seemed - I know it sounds corny, but - happier. I had read in the paper that most dancers came from remote Thai villages. They send the money that they make home to support their families. The practice is quite common and the women are often venerated as local heroes for providing so much to their poor communities. Over dinner one night a friend and I had discussed the book Patpong Sisters which further fueled my interest. It delves into the lives of the women of Patpong, giving personality and humanity to the girls on the bar. Although we were only on our second visit to Patpong, I wanted to see women who were not upset, and maybe even proud to be working in the oldest profession.

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Two Fridays after Super Pussys, we waltzed into the Thigh Bar. There was no drinks scam; they were just expensive. And, thankfully, they were available. The main and only attraction was 10 beautiful Thai woman dancing on the bar­come­stage in fluorescent colored Rio de Janeiro thong-style swimsuits and the occasional pasty. Twenty other women, interspersed with a few well­disguised lady boys, milled around talking to patrons and laughing amongst themselves. After about fifteen minutes the dancers on stage would exit and 10 replacements would relieve them from the floor. The lights pulsed in time with the music, ranging from hip hop to rock.

Two US Navy enlisted men sat down next to us. About 22 and straight off the boat, they were a real hoot to watch. One was asked to come on stage and dance. The dancers seemed to enjoy his bumping and grinding as much, if not more than, he enjoyed being up there with them. He was still boogying when we left the bar. The other sailor was a real boy next door. He came in carrying two dozen red roses, which he proceeded to pass out to all walks of women at the bar: ancient-mean faced madams, beautiful dancers, past­their­prime bartenders, not­so­pretty waitresses, you name it. Occasionally, he leaned over and concurred with me about whether or not a dancer was a lady boy. Then, however, when the girl he thought was 'real pretty' did come and sit next to him, he was shy and unsure of what to do.

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Will and I talked to one of the dancers and a waitress for sometime. They were both from small villages one in central and one in eastern Thailand. The dancer had been sitting next to an obese Westerner and had commented as much when he walked out of the bar. Will and I chuckled as did some of the other dancers. Our laughing seemed to open up the lines of communication. She sat down with us to practice her English. However, as soon as some likely customers entered the joint she bid us farewell. The waitress, Jim, not of dancing material, was a magician too and gave us his/her card. Jim practiced her English and magic tricks on us; we bought her a drink.

The Thigh Bar experience was actually quite enjoyable. The dancers, in fact everyone working, seemed to be having a good time. There was camaraderie, energy and fun. Will was able to experience the Bangkok underground scene and see some very beautiful women (and lady boys). And, I now can say I have been to a girlie club, and maybe have even met some local Thai heroes.