From iiiii@ix.netcom.com

Adversarial or collaborative? It sounded profound at first, but after a while mulling this one 
over, it just sounds confusing.......

At first glance it seems obvious: Of course "collaboration" is the advisable path. Consider 
the golden rule and all.

But I never went into a strip club with a strategy or an agenda other then some fuzzy 
primordial desire to get closer to the good stuff. Just the very idea of a "winning strategy" 
seems insincere, regardless of how seemingly noble and kind a "collaborative" strategy 
would be. Adversarial? Perish the thought. Not even close. But in truth...... no plan...... an 
open book.

The "good stuff" is as changeable as the weather, the choices for pleasure as diverse as a 
Chinese take-out menu. What is it? Something intangible..... the way she throws her hair 
over her shoulder, the turn of her ankle, the way she's quick to smile and laugh at just the 
right moment. The interminable darkness and depth of her eyes. You are susceptible to 
being swept off your feet. You are prepared for lift off. That's why your hormones told you 
to be there. You just want to feel that instantaneous rush, that tingling sensation of being 
transfixed. First impressions are so dramatic sometimes. You use your instincts to maximize 
your appreciation of the moment. Or maybe you don't and wish later on you had......

end dream, begin nightmare  

Suddenly you're face to face with a real bowser and don't have the heart to say "No, I 
won't buy you a drink." You're tired and acquiescent so you make the best of it. You tell 
some self-depracating stories, act kind of sinister, focus in on the other dancers in hopes of 
shaking your newfound drinking partner, and finally try to shock her into leaving by 
claiming your herpes is itching and please be so kind as to scratch it. She laughs. She finds 
you utterly charming. Next thing you know, its time to buy her another drink, and all the 
girls you want to "collaborate" with are talking to each other about how all customers are 
pathetic losers. Later on they'll go home and bemoan the decline of kindness.

"Seven Dollars", the poker faced bar girl intones, as if to imply either that or your kneecaps.