Objects in stripper pole are closer than they appear

I got the text message first. My friend K., my beautiful little Jersey spitfire, was hurt. K. is a dancer you see, and had gotten hurt before – but this time she was dancing at Kiss & Fly on the same night as Crystal Waters. You know…the “back to the middle and around again, I’m gonna be there to the end, 100% pure love” lady. (GOD don’t you love that song).

I asked R. if he knew what happened. He had spoken to K’s man the day after the injury – Saturday – and apparently, a hospital visit was involved. “Jesus,” I thought. “What the hell happened?”

K. is fine, but currently has eight stitches right above her EYE. Not eyebrow: the crease of her eyelid. That is what I’m talking about. A few hours ago at a friend’s party, I tackled her in hug upon arrival, relieved those stitches weren’t a centimeter lower. “HOW DID YOU ALMOST BLIND YOURSELF?” I asked.

Alright. So every few weekends, K. and her fellow dancers are hired to dance all night Kiss & Fly at various levels of the club. But they aren’t exactly in the crowd, mind you. Sometimes they dance in cages, sometimes on platforms. And sometimes, Reader, they dance on poles.

Three nights ago, K. was one such pole dancer. Now K. is very good at what she does, but she’s not a dirrrrrty dancer. At all. She is a gorgeous girl and knows how to entertain, but keeps it classy San Diego. This does not mean, however, that she doesn’t approach the pole with zeal. If you are as flexible as K., and are a former gymnast, there’s really no excuse for half-assing the pole dance I’m afraid to say.

So equipped with gymnastic ability, flexibility, and exceptional arm strength, K. grabbed that pole with both of her hands. She prepared her next move. With feet grounded and knees bent, she leaned back…..ALL the way back. And, with her head nearly touching the ground, hands still gripping the pole, and body arched beyond what you or I could ever hope to do, she popped back up like a many-coiled spring. Grinning – no doubt – from ear to ear.

And promptly smacked her face ON THE POLE.

“Oh—! Oh HOLY what the —!!,” said K’s friend, standing nearby. (“My gay guardian angel” as she now refers to him). “Girl, come with ME.”

He grabbed her hand, pulled her out of the dancing throng and hurried her into the bathroom.

K. looked up into the bathroom mirror. Saw blood all over her face. (PS, are you reminded of our Carrie story yet?) And – this part’s funny, I think, in a gross but hilarious sort of way – saw blood dripping all over the dollar bills stuffed in her waistband. And if that’s not a metaphor for something I just don’t know what is.

The rest of the story is about what you’d expect. K’s sweet and wonderful boyfriend immediately picked her up. Took her to a hospital, where she was treated, stitched up, and is perfectly non-blind now. THANK GOD. I have long asked K., who possesses the most amazing true stories one person could ever hope for, to let me write her memoir. I believe this shall be the opening chapter.

But the best part? K. joked tonight that she’s waiting for the video evidence of the whole affair to appear on YouTube. So just for kicks, I got on YouTube and typed in “pole dancing accident.” Wait for minute 0:31.