As we finished up our food, I overheard a man sitting near me talking to one of the dancers who was hanging out with him and, presumably, getting him to order her a drink. He was complaining that his wife got off work at 8 p.m. and it was only 8:05 and she was already calling him, and the dancer responded supportively. I commented to my dining companion that I probably wouldn't have the patience to do the emotional labor it takes to work at a strip club, to buoy men's egos and flirt with them endlessly in exchange for tips and drinks, regardless of how attractive or engaging (or married) a man actually was. But then I thought back to that first trip to a strip club in Prague. I hadn't gone alone—I'd gone with an American man I'd met that night who had been buying me drinks and assertively flirting with me. And on my first-ever trip to Scores, it had been to meet up with a man I'd met once before, who had approached me at a bar and bought me a few drinks, and who handed me some dollar bills at Scores with which to tip the dancers. These were, in some way, transactionary interactions too—not as money-driven as the interactions between the dancers at the strip club and the customers, obviously, but there still existed the expectation that I would deliver some sort of emotional or physical attention in exchange for the drinks and attention that these men had given me. Weren't the women here just better at capitalizing on and monetizing the constant objectification of their bodies? Or do strip clubs, with their sports, burgers, beers, and boobs, aggressively reinforce expectations of masculinity and men's power over women? Or is it both? I'm not sure, and I wasn't about to ask the men sitting at the bar if they'd be willing to delve deep into their psyches so I could parse out their perceptions of women. Like pretty much anything involving gender and sex and money, it gets messy to try to parse the meanings of it all. Perhaps it's just better to enjoy your food, tip well, and remember the dancers are workers too.