Folks could meet at TGI Friday's for dinner before the show, and for the men, if your date decided not to join you for a nightcap, you had your pick of nudie bars to sexually frustrate you even further for about the same amount of cash. If the date went well, you couldn't beat the fact that Night Dreams was the only place in Charlotte where you could pick up a glitter-filled vibrator at 11:30 at night. Hell, those sales people would even pull it out of the box, put the batteries in and make sure it worked before you left. It wasn't exactly a customer service issue -- they just wanted to make sure you weren't going to return the contraption. Even better, the whole evening could be commemorated at the Rock and Roll Emporium with matching body piercings.
Even though The Comedy Zone has been voted, many times over, "The Best Place to Take a Date" by several Charlotte publications, I personally wouldn't recommend it for a first date. There is something inherently wrong with sitting through a show with a guy you barely know, have never kissed, and with a comedian on the stage doing a graphic and grotesquely accurate re-enactment of an orgasm more powerful and amazing than any you've ever experienced yourself. It makes my blood freeze to hear stories such as "The Grinch That Stole Rubbers" or to hear the real reasons why women keep two sets of underwear in their lingerie drawers. It's enough to make a girl crawl under the table and gnaw on a shoe. The only date that's more excruciating, is to go on a first date with a guy to The Comedy Zone and then realize that he's a self-proclaimed heckler.
When you sit in the front row at one of these shows, you assume the risks. Getting blasted for falling asleep during the act because you've consumed too much brew, or having to get up to go to the ladies' room, well, you're just asking for trouble. Women suffer a lot during these shows and we try to become as inconspicuous as possible. It's all for nothing when we bring Mr. Doofus along who decides that if he can't be on stage, he'll still be the center of attention.
Now, seeing that the purpose of the date is to see if there's any sexual chemistry between a couple that could perhaps evolve into a meaningful relationship, you have to wonder if the heckler approach really works for these guys. Is it just me, or do women find no level of substance in a man who throws out half-witted drunken punchlines to a trained professional, only for the comedian's comeback to make him look like more of an ass than he was before? If men are into public humiliation, strong-willed professional women like myself are more than capable of dishing it out to any degree they desire. We all know who the local gossip is of our social groups, and information about his bedroom skills can have its own way of slipping out. Gossip doesn't have to be accurate.
The embarrassment deepens at the end of the night when the lights come on and everyone gets to see what type of women are desperate enough to make a public appearance with these men. You try to blend in. You try not to make eye contact with anyone who may want to chat about the show. You attempt to ditch your date and bolt for the bathroom to hide so that everyone else can leave before you have to show your face again. Turns out he has to go tinkle too. Now you get to go to the bathroom with Doofus in tow.
What makes matters worse is that this same guy is the type who just can't leave the show and go elsewhere. He has to stop and speak with the comedian, get his autograph, buy his t-shirt. . .he'll find anything to prolong your stay and refresh everyone's memory: "Yup. . .that's the one! That guy just wouldn't shut up."
Now, with the new uptown location, you get to walk out of the club with your date, who you have every intention of getting rid of, with a line of girls down the street dressed in strappy, backless dresses, ultra-short skirts, and thigh-high boots. With clubs like The Time in such close proximity, it's an open invitation for your date to suggest continuing the torturous evening with drinks and dancing. This is the point when I "suddenly" develop a sick migraine and beg to be taken home to get my medication.
My "cure" is to have him drop me off at home, get out of the car quick to avoid any slobbering kisses, and run for the freezer to down a couple shots of vodka before calling a cab to take me back uptown to meet friends at Cosmos.
Whew, what a girl has to go through!
