Whenever I meet a new person for the first time and tell them I live in Hollywood the first question I always get is ” Ohhhh that’s cool, have you ever seen a famous person?” It’s like they think Los Angeles is a Zoo and all the famous people are the exhibits ? Like I can just walk into the Hollywood Hills and there’s a three acre Nicholas Cage Exhibit? Actually that does exist. Costs 25 bucks to get in, but it’s the only guaranteed way to see Nick Cage up close and personal. Usually he’s just in his cage eating hay, but sometimes if you’re lucky enough you can get a glimpse of him playing with his dinosaur skull or toy trains. Totally worth the price of admission.
Contrary to popular belief, LA residents actually don’t see famous people every time we venture outside our overpriced shoebox apartments. However, if you spend enough time in Los Angeles you’re bound to bump into a person society deems important and ohhhhh what a joyous moment it is! Nothing like seeing fuckin’ Carrot Top at a Whole Foods check out line. What a thrill! No offense Carrot Top, you’re awesome, I know you’re reading.
Look, all I’m saying is when I see a celebrity, it’s usually underwhelming. I can’t comprehend why people get all jazzed up when they see a celebrity at a red light or ordering an Americano at Starbucks. Seriously, if you’re using those types of stories to break bread or sound interesting to a group of friends, guess what? You’re the most boring person on the planet, congratulations! Which makes me second guess telling the time I met Quentin Tarantino at Crazy Girls Strip Club, but maybe it’s interesting enough to be told, you be the judge…
When I met Kill Bill himself it was my 25th birthday. I was never big on celebrating birthdays past my 21st cause ehhhhh you’re an adult after 21, ya know? But it was my first birthday in Hollywood, so I figured I’d use it as an excuse to get liquored up. I planned on meeting a few girls I knew from my college days at the University of Arizona at a club called “Hyde” on the Sunset Strip. I was green to the city, and didn’t know much about the place, but figured I could slink into the joint since I was with a pack of lovely ladies.
Once we got to Hyde each girl got in without question. One after the other were greeted by a bowling bowl of a bouncer with a smile and a “Welcome to Hyde! Have a fun night!” After graciously allowing every girl I was with to enter the club, the bald man with the clipboard (every nightclub bouncer ever) quickly separated me from the group. I was a helpless baby Orca separated from the pack by an evil SeaWorld executive.
This was our discourse..
Me: Hey, I’m actually with that group of girls.
Bouncer: You have a table reservation?
Me: Well no, but I’m with that group you just let in, think I could get a pass on the table reservation?
Bouncer: You on the list? You know anyone inside?
Me: What is this Dorcia? Yeah, I know those 6 girls you just let in
Bouncer: Sorry, we’re at capacity (he lets 4 more girls in)
Me: They don’t count towards the head count?
Bouncer: Sure don’t. If you don’t have a reservation or aren’t on the list I can’t let you in.
*keep in mind all the girls I was with are standing on the other side of the rope watching me get my dick kicked in. Emasculating is an understatement.
Me: There’s no leeway here? Just trying to have a fun night.
Bouncer: There’s a Dave and Busters about a mile from here.
Me: Super, thanks.
My first attempt at getting into a Hollywood nightclub thwarted by a Vin Diesel stand in and a velvet rope. Pathetic. Honestly, it was worse was than being in this Night at the Roxbury scene, fuck I wasn’t even offered the option to stand in line…
After checking my phone I realized it was only 11 o’clock, new born babies don’t go to bed before midnight in Hollywood. Taking this into consideration, I refused to let Mr.Clean ruin my night, so I tapped into my unearned and overinflated ego, swallowed my pride, and hummed Jay-Z’s “Onto the Next One” while I waited for an Uber to bring me to my buddy’s apartment. He had just gotten back from an underwhelming Tinder date, so we were both somewhat down in the dumps. Like most 20 something year old men lacking confidence, we decided to self medicate with alcohol. We cracked open a fresh bottle of George Clooney’s Casa Amigos tequila hoping it would work in the same manner Bugs Bunny implemented “Michael’s Secret Stuff” to the Tune Squad. And much to our surprise it did work, the sauce magically teleported us to LA’s premier strip club, CRAZY GIRLS!
“I’ll have a Tequila and soda, please” I told the busty topless barista. Is barista feminine for bartender, or is barista anyone who works at a coffee shop? A debate for another day. Anyways, she slid my Tequila Soda down the bar and into my awaiting shaking hand. A heavy pour, thank you busty barsita. I was loose, feeling good, it felt like an eternity had passed since my balls were clipped outside of Hyde. I was content, some would even say happy.
Only a few minutes had passed before a lovely asian woman named Cherry (for sure not her real name) came over and sat on my lap. She whispered something into my ear, which was stupid of her because Pour Some Sugar On Me was blasting so loud you’d think I was at Live AID (a horrible concert to use while telling a strip club story, but alas, the blog must goes on). Coupled with the fact Cherry had a HEAVY asian accent, I couldn’t understand a damn word she was saying. Luckily there was a lull in the music, and she tried again
Cherry: “You actor?”
Me: Ehhh, depends who you ask..
Cherry: You out of work actor? You have money?
*a fair question for a stripper to ask, fuck if I was a stripper and spent 20 mins talking to someone with my bankroll I’d be pissed too.
Me: I’m working, I actually just wrapped a project with HBO.
* a blatant lie, but solid enough Hollywood buzzwords to get a pass.
Cherry: Oh, Nice! Entourage! You see Quentin?
Me: Who?
Cherry: Quentin! He right there, sitting at corner of bar.
Who is this crazy stripper talking about? Quentin? It can’t be THE Quentin. To humor myself, I glanced towards the corner of the bar Cherry was pointing at. HOLY SHIT! Like a private detective hiding in the shadows of a dimly light parking garage there he was Quentin Tarantino! I didn’t believe it was real at first, the director of Pulp Fiction, sitting, by himself, at Crazy Girls strip club, wild.
Me: Wow! He’s one of my favorite directors.
Cherry: He come in all time. Wanna talk to him?
Me: No, no I can’t. He doesn’t wanna talk to me. He’s here to see ladies like you.
Cherry: He fine. Don’t be baby.
Before I knew it, I was following Cherry’s neon green g-string towards one of my childhood idols. Thank god, I had overindulged and wasn’t anywhere near sober or else it all would have been too much for me to handle.
Cherry: Hi Quentin!
Quentin Tarantino: Cherry, how are you darling?
Cherry: I good. This is…
*I Quickly realized Cherry didn’t even know my name, I managed to jump in..
Me: Hey, I’m Scott, huge fan.
*I boldly stuck my hand out in what I thought would be a failed attempt at a handshake, but much to my surprise, he shook my hand. Great grip, filmmakers grip.
Quentin: Oh, thanks!
Me: I’m sure you don’t want to be bothered approached by a random guy at an establishment like this, kind of counterproductive, right?
Quentin: Haha, very much so.
*Did I just make Quentin Tarantino laugh?
Me: Well pleasure meeting you, enjoy the night.
Quentin: Likewise.
I didn’t have enough money to spend on a lap dance, so I over drafted my account. Cherry had just introduced me to one of the greatest directors of all time. She deserved my 150 dollars. When she took me to the back of the champagne room, I couldn’t help but ask more about Tarantino. Trust me, nothing sets the mood like talking about another man while a stripper rubs her ass into your crotch.
Me: So do you ACTUALLY know him?
Cherry: Sort of, only through work.
Me: Wow amazing, so do you introduce everyone to him?
Cherry: Only the ones that tell me they actors..
* Smart play. I can’t imagine how many people had the same exact encounter I just had. Cherry’s a genius, that’s a fail proof way force a person into paying for a dance. Respect, Cherry, respect. Being selfish I knew I had to work my angle. She has the in with Tarantino, this could be a career changer..
Me: Sooo, who would you rather go home with me or Quentin?
Cherry: You much cuter, but probably Quentin. Me: A compliment and a slight, I can live with that.
At the end of the night I thanked Cherry for the dance, but more importantly the introduction to Tarantino. She couldn’t have been nicer and said “you come in again, we talk longer, ok?” I went back to Crazy Girls a few times in hopes of being privileged enough to talk with Tarantino again, but every time I went back the only thing I left with was an empty bank account.
For a guy who had been living in Hollywood for only 2 months I thought people were full of shit. Hollywood would be the easiest town to conquer ever. Flash forward 3 years and I’m now battling crippling depression and loneliness, but hey I did meet Quentin Tarantino at a strip club once. That will help me pay for a down deposit on mortgage, right?
PS- This is one of my favorite clips of Tarantino, I’d be remiss to not post it. What a gangster!
