It's amazing how quickly fear and adrenaline can kill a buzz.
The first time, the trick is to be just drunk enough to take your clothes off in public, but not quite so drunk as to fall off the stage, a complicated balance of blood volume to alcohol that is no simple task for the uninitiated.
My first time, dancing and crawling around half-naked for the amusement of lonely software engineers and salesmen, I came away with eight bucks, all ones. Still dazed and undecided about whether I should be humiliated or proud, I stepped off the stage to congratulating pats and smiles.
Since I can't take it back, I may as well be proud.
Without my glasses, faces around the stage look blurry. It's just as well that I can't see. I've become completely paranoid about being spotted by someone from my office. It's only a matter of time before some clandestine bachelor party comes up, and there I'll be in all my glory. I can just imagine my boss dragged in by some client or company man to schmooze, looking completely bored and embarrassed until he sees me here.
"Excuse me, Dr. Bartlett, don't I pay you enough?"