Bikers beware: Strippers lurk in the dark of night

Brian Kimmes

Brian Kimmes

Recently, I had a disturbing incident happen to me. I was biking home in a light rain from the Union at about 1 a.m., when I noticed a car turn behind me. I was initially cautious. I figured the chances a car just happened to be going the same direction as me at one in the morning were slim. Sure enough, the car pulled up to me and stopped.

Now, at this point in time, I had slept for less than three hours in the past 36. I was in no mood to deal with whatever was coming at my way. I did not foresee the conversation that would take place.

I peered into the car to see a college-aged woman behind the wheel. My initial concerns were put to rest. Then, she asked a question I did not expect at all. She asked me how to get to Watertown. Confused and slightly flabbergasted, I told her to head north on the interstate. She said her sunroof fell off on the interstate and she did not want to go back on it. She wanted to take back roads. Not having any information for her, I thought this would be the end of the conversation. I was wrong.

It was at this point in time I realized the woman was intoxicated. She told me that in order to get back to the interstate, she needed to go backwards. She started to back up. She attempted to turn around in a driveway. It took her three tries to complete the turnaround. Before she left my life, she stopped and said something else that completely shocked me.

“I’m a stripper … I have my heels in my trunk.”

Now I was faced with a woman who was probably drunk and freely offering the information that she was a stripper. What exactly is a single, 23-year-old male supposed to do with that information?

I figured I had three options.

Option one: I could go home to bed and hope this woman didn’t get into an accident. It may not have been the ethical thing to do, but was very appealing. This was what the lethargic and apathetic parts of me wanted to do.

Option two: I could catch the license plate as she drove away and call the police. This option might have been more ethical but, at the same time, it would take more work and more caring than I felt like putting in, but the responsible and civic part of me felt this was the best option.

Option three: I could tell this woman that because it was raining and her sunroof had blown off, she would be better served spending the night at my place and we’d get directions in the morning. This decision again probably wasn’t very ethical. I had a drunk woman, who knows how to shake her stuff, telling me she had her stripper heels with her, and where and when she works. Sounded like an invitation to me. This was where the single, 23-year-old male in me acted up.

Now what would you do with that situation? I know what I did, and so does the stripper.

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