Pope's Nude Bar

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  This dive done dove off da deep end...
  
  With no plans a for the evening and an expectation level so low you could just step over it, my roommate and I jumped in the car and set out on a Tuesday night epic quest. Armed with cashed paychecks and seeking adventure, we decided that rather than selfishly take Palm Springs by storm like a couple of immature frat boys, the much more gentlemanly route would be to donate our time and money to local performance artists showcasing their talents here in the  Palm Springs area. We somehow found ourselves at Pope's Nude Bar...
  
  The thrill of an unlit, sketchy parking lot set far back from the comfort and safety of the bustling downtown nightlife only fueled our sense for excitement. We were unsure if the other 2 cars parked in the area belonged to fellow patrons or to tenants calling the small, crumbling apartment complex with shattered windows and littered garbage adjacent to business 'home'. Suddenly wishing for pepper spray or background training in martial arts and self defense, we locked my vehicle and pushed on to our dimly lit destination as a sea of paranoia swept over us.
  
  No colorful lights, upbeat club music, or seductive beauties to welcome us to paradise, but rather a smug, stoic, featureless and unfriendly chap who emerged from the shadows and quickly collected our $20 cover. Inside was dark and musty and I thought for a moment we had mistakenly entered a condemned stash house. That is, until I noticed the oddly constructed, high-rise performance stage with a collection of mismatched, tattered bar stools that were just as uncomfortable to look at let alone sit on. Another employee - who I assume was the bartender yet possessed little, actual bar tending ability and many of the same outstanding qualities as the doorman - seemed irritated that the two of us had disturbed their busy evening of doing absolutely nothing. He provided us with an expensive beverage and little explanation as to where the girls might be. In fact, after we finally tracked down the ladies huddled in a cold, back room chain smoking, their demeanor was far from welcoming for guests who were here to give them money. They haphazardly made their way to the performance area offering little conversation and charm.
  
  The saving grace for the the evening, however, was a performer by the name of Chevy, which, I'm sure is her real name of course. The only hospitable one of this cast of characters, this gal made us feel at home without the pressure of being the only two paying customers. Perhaps the most memorable moment of the evening was conversing out back, swapping life stories and future plans, genuinely engaged in the life and times of my roommate and me. Not that one typically looks for pleasant conversation when frequenting such a club, but, as a member of the service industry myself, it was certainly a refreshing spin on showing a gentlemen true hospitality. I'm sure we'll be back.
  
  ...and shame on all of you for thinking my usual dirty and perverted thought process was going to take this review in the direction you thought Id take it.

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  Posted on 03.24.12 Timothy G.

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  The place is small, not very friendly, and not worth the $20 cover.  They weren't at all willing to negotiate the last point for a group of 15 guys at a bachelor party. Didn't really see any girls worth remembering.

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  Posted on 08.08.10 Enrique W.

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  I came here with friends.   One was named Ryan.  He barfed in the sink.   I got a free can of coke.   It was BUSTED.

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  Posted on 04.20.10 Max P.

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  This was the first strip club I ever went to. And after that first visit, I promised Jesus it would be my last.
  
  Luckily I've adopted agnosticism since then.
  
  My best friend Aceop and I were freshly graduated from our Christian high school near Palm Springs and bored out of our minds. When we found out we were old enough to go to a strip club, we decided to give it a try. We chose Pope's since it was the only show in town.
  
  We were nervous, but there was no way we were backing out. Aceop parked his truck in the shaaady lot, we paid our $20 covers (pardon me, $10 cover plus $10 for two non-alcoholic drinks) and went in.
  
  There was one other customer and one totally busted stripper. I had my first good in-person look at real-live, um, female genitalia and was ready to leave. Aceop was too.
  
  We bounced, got to the truck, and Aceop disclosed something horrible: "I don't have my keys."
  
  We looked all over the parking lot. We went back inside and looked around the floor. Gone.
  
  We ended up calling a friend to pick us up, because we didn't want our parents to find out where we had been. We decided God had taken the keys as punishment for this sinful activity and swore never to go to another strip club again.
  
  Aceop never did find those keys. Maybe we were right about God taking them...

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  Posted on 05.29.08 trey c.

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