Note: This story is set in a strip club. I know it’s shocking that I would stoop to such a level in choosing my entertainment options, but in the interests of time, I will forgo the lengthy and highly justifiable explanation as to why I happened to be there that evening and just move right into the story --

I was living in Eugene. A new strip club had opened up over by where Franklin Blvd. and the Ferry Street Bridge almost meet, and my friend and I went to check it out.
We walked in and looked around. It seemed bigger than most, and more upscale -- several stages, colored lights and mirrors everywhere, a full bar. We sat down and ordered drinks.
I was sitting there watching the woman onstage take off her clothes -- don‘t ask me why, it‘s just what I find myself doing when I’m in those places -- but for some reason I was feeling a certain restlessness, an urge for something more, something bigger and better. I happened to look up momentarily from the region I had been focusing my attention on, and there, way over on the other side of the establishment, in another big room with another big stage, I saw a dancer who was even hotter than this one! A small crowd was gathering. It definitely seemed like more action was going on over there on that side.
I told my friend I had to go to the bathroom and went over to see what I could see.
I started walking over. By then I’d had a couple of drinks, and I was having a bit of trouble walking. Somehow, as I got closer to the other big room, I wasn’t seeing just how to enter it. There’s the wall, there’s the outside exit, I thought to myself -- but how do you get into the room? Where’s the entryway? I had to stop for a second. It was like my eyes were playing tricks on me, or the interior design of the place was just weird. Lots of lights and railings and framed facades and latticework. The alcohol wasn’t helping either.
Finally, I spotted what I was looking for -- over to the left, past the gold metal railing -- the way in! I strode over, ready to immerse myself in the sensual carnival of debauchery taking place in this other room.
I walked pretty much straight into that mirror.
It didn’t really hurt that much physically, it was more of a psychic, emotional pain. The realization that there was no “other room” at all.
We left shortly after that. The glamour and romance of the strip-club world had lost a bit of its lustre for me by that point.