Chip N Dale Dancer: Carlos

Did I ever tell y’all that one time I was a male stripper dancer for a hot-second? No? Shall I continue? Ok, if I must … the following is how I was a Chip N Dale Dancer: Carlos.

In 2000, after the #Y2KScare I was employed at Metropolitan Travel. I made friends there that still endure: Brian Maxwell, and Jeff Merly.

Much like many American corporations, every year the company hosted a Holiday Party (no longer referred to as a Christmas Party which is consider passe) The committee managed to secure Seattle’s famous The Edgewater.

Employees were encouraged to book a room and stay the night to minimize drunk folks on the road. Considering my travel-kind this was a brilliant move for safety and maximize fun.

That being said, I knew about horror stories of employees getting belligerently drunk, embarrassing themselves and never live down a moment in time that your co-workers tease you about.

I preface all company sponsored events with a one-line mental speech: don’t be that guy.

My roommate, Brian, and I musked up in the room, pregamed a drink or two, and then joined the party.

Chip N Dale Dancer: Carlos

Once we got there, it was a typical corporate holiday party. Cocktail Hour / Reception / arrival for the guests, then dinner, next music and dancing, finally games, entertainment, etc – fade to black and SCENE.

Again, standard issued, run-of-the-mill, garden-variety party. Except the end. It’s always the end.

This ended in tears: tears of laughter for witnesses, tears of pain for me.

The emcee and DJ turned down the music to have the Executives make lofty speeches of progress, and success. Afterwards they asked for male volunteers to step on the dance floor.

At this point, everyone was intoxicated, if not, at least packing a good buzz. Three guys already volunarily stepped up. It was my first year with Metropolitan Travel so I stepped back – I don’t know these people.

Suddenly, I was #voluntold by my female manager! And I was thrown under the bus by being pushed out from the crowd and reluctantly onto the dance floor.

I mentally sighed. Point of no return.

The DJ would play a song, and the emcee would offer some direction on how to dance.

Three songs were played, three different dances performed by all four of us. Then they started playing Macho Man by Village People, with the words “DANCE LIKE CHIP N DALE DANCERS!!”

Well, I’m not one to half complete a task – especially with an audience!! So I sucked in my gut, seductively took off my shirt and flung it into the crowd.

One of the three owners was Marta. She scampered across the dance floor, grabbed the front of my slacks and belt, pulled it toward her to create room, then jammed five 1-dollar bills into my underwear.

What the f*$k?

Without missing a beat, I continued to dance to Macho Man because for this moment I’m Chip N Dale Dancer: Carlos. Thankfully, the song was over. And the party, too.

I casually walked over to the general area where I watched my shirt land. Of course, Marta was holding it. I already explained she one 1/3 owner of Met Travel along with her friend, Jeff, and her ex-husband, Willie.

She reluctantly returned the shirt to me with a smile, “Nice job, Carlos. Hopefully the tip was enough.”

I hadn’t checked at this point. I was thankful she didn’t ask more from me.