Skip to content

Stripper’s shoes were not leather, says story-teller

Joyce Walter details a lunchtime conversation about strippers
Reflective Moments by Joyce Walter

There I was, sitting at the table with friends, eating my sandwich and drinking my chocolate milk when the conversation turned to strippers.

I was so engrossed in dipping my sandwich into a mountain of ketchup that I must have missed how the conversation turned from mundane matters such as the weather and what goodies a friend’s spouse had made for a church bake sale and tea to an in-depth discussion of strip clubs and sideshows at local exhibitions.
I must hasten to add that the companions at my end of the table were all male and of an age where they might disrespectfully be referred to as “dirty old men,” if that were still a politically correct term.

At any rate, the discussion was led by a distinguished gentleman from the community who indicated he was out of the city when his colleagues suggested they go for lunch. He accompanied them to their chosen spot and discovered the entertainment for the lunch hour was a strip show.

In great detail he described the show and various attributes of the ladies who lost their bits of clothing while guests ate whatever patrons find on the menu at a strip club.

His descriptions were vivid and had the males in the group held speechless and spellbound, then I started to laugh at the image of this rural Saskatchewan boy being thrust into such a situation in the big city. He didn’t seem to mind and by the time his recital was finished, we were all in stitches — more stitches than the ladies of the stage were wearing.

He had paid attention to all sorts of details, not the least of which was the shoes one of the entertainers was wearing. “They weren’t leather,” he explained as though describing a stripper’s footwear was a regular lunch time topic.

Not to be outdone, another gentleman at the table told his tale of being at the exhibition in Swift Current as part of a visiting community band and by some adventure or mis-adventure ended up in the girlie show tent. While he was studying his surroundings, he noticed his father walk in. That produced another round of laughter from us and even more guffaws when he explained that his own son later took him to a strip club in an Ontario city. “He twisted my arm . . . but I couldn’t wait to get out of there,” he explained.

Then it was Housemate’s turn to describe his “coverage” of the girlie show at an Alberta fair before moving to the safety of Moose Jaw. Of course it wasn’t in his plan that the strippers would plop on his lap just as the newspaper photographer snapped some photos. “They had their clothes on,” he advised as he was teased that the photo was likely the reason he had never run for public office.

By then our laughter had attracted the attention of friends at the other end of the table and they tuned in to hear some additional stories about a line-up of strippers in a Winnipeg location plus more details about shoes and add-ons to enhance various attributes.

Before the meal was over, and not to be outdone by my compatriots, I admitted that as a young reporter I too was forced to attend the girlie show at the Moose Jaw fair.  Even though I hovered at the edge of the tent, I figured this was one assignment I should have declined.

Thankfully my parents and more thankfully, the local police department didn’t walk in and see me there — I was under age at the time and I doubt the policeman would have believed I was there only because of my job.

Joyce Walter can be reached at

push icon
Be the first to read breaking stories. Enable push notifications on your device. Disable anytime.
No thanks