Surviving a Club Shooting

The topic of mass shootings and gun control have been all over the news as of late. In the last few years we have seen mass shootings in churches, elementary schools, high schools, grocery stores, theaters, and nightclubs. Read the news on Google and you will see at least a few violent crimes taking place at gentlemen’s clubs every week. Given the high occurrence rate of violence and crime at American strip clubs, why have we not seen a mass shooting at a strip club yet? All of the elements are there: Frustrated losers who can’t get laid. Shady people and criminals. High testosterone. Heavy drinking. Drug usage. I think it is only a matter of time before we see some nutcase like Elliot Rodger come into a strip club and mow everybody down. I have never been in a shooting with mass casualties, but I wanted to share my experience at a nightclub I was at where there was a shooting. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw there was an argument between a customer and a security guy. The customer was shown the door, but resisted every step of the way saying he did nothing wrong. He finally went to his car. I have no idea whether the business was right or the customer was right. About two minutes later, gunshots started ringing out. Everyone in the club starts running, hiding under tables, and lying prone. You could hear glass shattering and the whole front of the building taking fire. I jumped behind a couch in the section reserved for the VIP high rollers. I must have laid on the floor for four minutes, but it seemed like an hour. There was silence and then more shots rang out. Someone screamed that the shooter was back and going to come inside and kill everyone. Panic ensued. Some of the women ran and hid in the washrooms thinking that it was the safest spot if they could block the door. I laid on the floor asking God whether this was going to be the end for me. My family would learn I was murdered on the dirty carpet of a nightclub. Eventually the shooting stopped and dozens of police cars showed up. I finally knew it was safe to get off the floor when police walked in with their flashlights and guns drawn. Everyone slowly got up off of the floor and emerged from their hiding spots. The nightclub closed for the night and kicked everyone out after they had a minute to calm down. Some of the women were screaming and crying. There were bullet holes and shattered glass at the front of the building. Nobody was dead or shot, but some people suffered injuries. A guy either broke his leg or snapped his ankle trying to run for cover. He had to be carried out by friends and taken to the hospital. One of the waitresses was bleeding from glass that had been sprayed on her. From everything I heard, the perpetrator got away before the police arrived. I never heard whether they tracked him down with security footage from inside the club. This experience shook me up. I still go to nightclubs and strip clubs, but I am much more selective now than before. I take into consideration the type of clientele and the neighborhood, whereas before I didn’t give it a millisecond of thought. I would rather go to an Electric Cowboy type place than an electronic dance club full of drug addicts and Russian gangsters. I would rather go to a white strip club in the far out suburbs than a twerk club frequented by inner city African-Americans. I’d hate to lose my life just because I wanted to go out for a drink on a Saturday night. This is the new reality in America.