The Weekend of Little People

Okay. I didn't really suggest this little excursion to New Haven, CT. I just showed the picture I found in some free magazine absconded from the store of ill repute near my apartment to a friend and he took it from there.

Meet the "Little Sisters", two little person strippers named, respectively, Little Lacey and Little Pixie. The Little Sisters were headlining some random club called "The Catwalk Cabaret" in the bowels of New Haven this past weekend.

Anyway, around 10pm on Saturday night, I found myself in the back of a Volvo and travelling to see this tiny duo on stage. I was curious as to see what sort of pole work they might do, or if they really built their act on being "midgets".

It's a good thing we didn't arrive at the Cabaret until 1am, because this appeared to be the first time the Little Sisters took the stage (I was told they would be performing shows from 11pm until 5am). This was one of those BYOB places and we had no alcohol. I had consumed some red wine before I left my apartment, followed by a decent White Russian at this diner/gourmet truck stop somewhere along the way.

The crowd at the Cabaret was bored and unenthusiastic, sans for one middle-aged man who was most likely a regular. The stage was not impressive, with one pole in the middle. The dancers seemed to spend their time in the back, sometimes just leaning over the rail of what may have been the "VIP" section (it was reminiscent of a backyard deck).

Judging from their press pack, my group expected that Pixie, the blonde was going to be more the dishy attraction. Not so. Perhaps it was like that when they first started their act, but it was apparent Lacey was now the star performer. Maybe it was because Pixie was broken.

When they both got on state, Lacey went front and center to the pole and began dancing in some two-piece ensemble (none of the gals at this place wore those obnoxious polyester gowns). Little Pixie went straight to the back. She seemed to have put on weight since those pictures were taken, or perhaps her stomach was distended because she was incredibly inebriated. She was also wearing white, K-Swiss-like sneakers.

Lacey did her thing. She was entertaining, especially when compared to the club's regular line-up. I didn't know what they were doing most of the time. I guess you really don't have to do any sort of dancing in these places anymore. All you have to do is show certain things to your audience. And that's about it. Not even much mixing up, or flipping sides. Nope. None of that.

Meanwhile, I wasn't quite sure what Pixie was doing near the VIP area, but the large bouncer ended up walking her off the stage. At first I thought she was upset. Perhaps those "VIPs" made fun of her. However, I soon realized that Pixie was broken. Little Sis was wasted beyond belief.

Lacey remained on stage. She never went nude, but she finished her act wearing a g-string which housed a Solo cup in the crotch area. You could win a free picture if you successfully landed a dollar bill in the cup. After launching about 20 ones, Middle-Aged-Regular-Man finally figured out the best way to achieve the feat would be to ball up the bill and then toss.

She didn't even appear next to her sister for the photo opportunities. That's right, folks, for $20, you can have your own Polaroid. I went over there when the DJ said it was the "last chance". There was no line, only Lacey hanging out with a club employee wielding a Polaroid camera. I had already wasted $20 to get in this place, but I felt bad there was no line so I ponied up another $20 to get my picture taken with Lacey.

I wanted to ask about Pixie. But I didn't. It just didn't seem right.

My two friends then got their picture with Lacey. As photographers, they obviously have higher standards then most people, but anyone would have been disappointed when finding, as the Polaroid developed, that Lacey's eyes were closed. They asked if they could have another and she obliged. She even let them keep both and did not charge extra.

(In case you were wondering, she signed the pics, too. I will be scanning and posting mine on this blog soon.)

When we were finished, Middle-Aged-Regular-Man had come over, his hands trembling as he held the prized picture of the "Little Sisters" in his hand. He ponied up another twenty for something more personal.

We tried watching a few more of the dancers, but it was obviously getting late. It's not so much that I enjoy these types of places. I think I enjoy them less since taking up pole dancing since it always disappoints me that these women don't ever actually dance. The crowd wasn't even fun to watch. You would think two little strippers would have commanded a big, boisterous group. Not so. When the DJ named the winner of a raffle for a free private dance with one of the dancers, he called about 30 numbers in rapid succession before someone finally got up.

We left and drove back to Boston, stopping only at a TA truck stop off Ruby Road. The same TA where I was imprisoned for an hour 2 years ago when the driver of the charter bus I was on accidently hit a car and tried to outrun the cops to no avail. For some reason, I love truck stops. I love looking at all the random items available for sale, whether Vanillaromas or die-cast big rigs. The music and DVD selections are always a pleasure to look through, too. As a thank you for driving, I bought my friend a tape of trucker stand-up poetry done by some guy named "Thunder Britches" (she only has a tape deck). This kept the 3 of us awake for most of the way home. We also learned what "crackerheads" (still not sure about this one, but I think its just a word for a jackass trucker) and "lot lizards" (they're hookers that wait in the truck stops for drivers to pull up for the night) were, and that cops and dispatchers are not well liked in the trucker community.

I'm trying not to dwell on the money I spent, perhaps $60 after food and beverage, because I could think of much better ways to spend $60. I thought about calling the Catwalk and demanding half my entry fee back since we really only got one Little Sister for the price of two.

Although I'll always remember the experience, I was thankful to crawl into my bed.