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Booth at Video Lovers. (David Covucci)
Underneath the Gowanus Expressway, in an area generously included in Sunset Park but really not much more than a detritus-strewn, completely forgotten, and rarely traversed stretch of 3rd Avenue, sit a curious collection of shops, glass windows and brick walls routinely rattled as 18-wheelers hurtle by just 10 feet above. Along on a stretch between 39th and 24th Streets, there are eight of these shops, a rate of nearly one per block. Sunset Video, Video City, Candy Hookah Love, Golden DVD—the names are different, but they're all the same inside.
They're sex shops, like the ones you could once find in Times Square. The kind that advertise private viewing booths for when the laptop is busted and the WiFi is out and the lock on your bedroom is broken and the bathroom is in use and your imagination is unable to conjure up anything and… you get what I'm getting at.
Who the hell uses these things in 2016?
More importantly, how do these places, with a clearly dying business model, sustain themselves? And why did they all wind up so close together?
I spent a week trying to figure it all out.
It's a matter of zoning: In 1998, when the city's new regulations for adult shops went into effect, the businesses were banned from residential areas. This sent many of the shops in Manhattan to areas zoned for commercial and manufacturing, including this part of Sunset Park. There were a number of strip clubs not far off—most of which are now gone—so they had a bit of a seedy community thing going on.
Many of the shops are owned by immigrants from Sri Lanka. Indeed, two stores include Sinhalese in their names. The clerks, too, when I went, were almost exclusively of Sri Lankan descent. The largest Sri Lankan population in the city is in Staten Island, which makes for a quick commute back and forth over the Verrazano.
The owners are elusive: I figured this wasn't like walking into a Starbucks with the expectation of seeing Howard Schultz. These are small, independent businesses, and you'd think at one point in seven days, making regular visits, you'd have one encounter with the head honcho.
But in trips to all of them, talking to dozens of counter workers, not a single one professed to know the owner. The answers ranged from the plausible, "This is my first day," to the laughable. "This is my first day," said the same employee the next day when I popped in.
"He'll be here at 10 tonight," a clerk at Jayoda Video told me on a Monday morning. When I arrived that night, another said he always came in at "10 a.m." The next morning, the clerk from the previous day said he was there last night.
One shop was closed at the appointed hour I was set to meet the owner, despite a sign attesting to its 24-hour nature. On my third trip, the clerk at Golden DVD ("best prices in 3rd Avenue"), said the owner had "just" told him the shop was going out of business "tomorrow," after two days of my hectoring him. It's still open, though I wouldn't be shocked if it did close tomorrow.
With the redevelopment of this area of Sunset Park, these businesses may all soon be gone.
In 2000, when streaming video and online purchasing didn't exist, people couldn't get their porn any other way. The technological innovations of the past 15 years have obviously not been kind to the adult video store industry. At almost every shop, the people I spoke to said they averaged fewer than five paying customers a day. Whether changing hands to avoid paying taxes or rent, or rebranding to be more appealing, the businesses constantly turn over. What was Blue Door Video in 2005 is now Video City. Nilwala Video in 2011 became Candy Hookah Love, with the exact same signage and colors, just a different name.
Customers are few and far between. In the eight shops I visited over seven days, I saw scarcely more than 30 patrons total. I never saw more than one person in a store at a time. Only once did I see a patron make a purchase—a lone DVD at Video City.
The customers aren't in the mood to talk: "I don't know anything about that," said one man, when I asked him why he had just been in a private booth, as he waved me off. "I don't know anything about them." Not a strange reaction, really.
Speaking of those booths: They are always "out of order," though nothing seems to be broken. When I asked about the booths in the back, how many people used them, or how they worked, I almost always got the same answer. While each store has a sign out front explicitly advertising booths, the clerks all denied the booths were there. At one shop, after being told there were no booths, I walked back to see the booths, then returned to the counter and said, "I thought said you didn't have them." The clerk continued to forcefully deny they existed. That may have been because because the booths have a reputation as a spot where people can very discretely hook up. I must have seemed like a horny 16-year-old, inquiring whether this was where I get the sex.
After a while you start feeling like the pervert: At Sunset Video, when I asked why anyone would still use a public-private masturbation booth like that, one clerk said maybe people can't do it at home. What had initially struck me as odd (why leave your house to masturbate?) made a lot more sense. If you have a family or share a room with someone, you can't exactly come right home and have a quick jank to calm yourself down, like us single masturbators like to do. Swinging by one of these shops isn't that odd a thing to do if it’s your only chance to rub one out in peace.
You might even think it's strange that other people have moved away from this model of self-gratification. If you masturbated for the longest time in the privacy of a locked room far away from family and roommates, in a spot where no one bothers you, why would you switch to using your own device at home. Why risk dirtying your computer when someone else's screen will do?
What's to be ashamed of? Indeed, the few patrons I saw didn't give me sheepish glances or avert their eyes. The only person who was embarrassed was me. Perhaps there's a lesson in that.
Still, I have no clue how they make rent.
David Covucci is a freelance writer living in Brooklyn.
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"Private School" redirects here. For privately funded schools, see Independent school.
Private School (also titled Private School ... for Girls) is a 1983 American teen comedy film, directed by Noel Black.[2] Starring Phoebe Cates, Betsy Russell, and Matthew Modine, it follows a teenaged couple attempting to have sex for the first time, while their friends engage in sexually-minded practical jokes.
Christine "Chris" Ramsey (Phoebe Cates) lies in bed narrating a trashy romance novel to Betsy (Kathleen Wilhoite), her roommate at the Cherryvale Academy for Girls in Northern California. Meanwhile, three students of the nearby Freemount Academy for Men, including Jim Green (Matthew Modine) and his overweight, slobbish friend Bubba (Michael Zorek), sneak into Cherryvale to peek on the girls. Jordan Leigh-Jensen (Betsy Russell), showering at the time, sees that the boys are peering at her and enlists Chris and Betsy's help to drive them away; the three boys fall off the side of the building. In response to being disturbed, the roommates light a bag of horse manure on fire and put it in front of Jordan's door.
About a week later, at a co-ed dance, Chris reveals that Jim is her boyfriend; as the couple are dancing, Chris tells Jim that she has decided she wants to surrender her virginity to him. After a speech by headmistress Miss Dutchbok (Fran Ryan), the band plays a slow song while Jordan dances alone and conspires against Chris. Bubba, sporting an erection from slow-dancing, sneaks off to the headmistress' office with Betsy to drink and have sex; however, the two are caught in the act by the headmistress and her friends. The following day, after morning aerobics, Chris books a hotel for Jim and herself.
After another period of time, students of the two schools are riding horses together. Jordan trots past where Chris and Jim are talking and flashes her breasts at Jim. In revenge, Betsy steals Jordan's shirt, forcing the latter to ride topless in front of the headmistress et alumni. That weekend, Jim goes to buy condoms, but is confused by the pharmacist (Martin Mull in an uncredited role) and ends up buying dental hygiene products; when Chris goes to buy the protection herself, she is distracted and eventually seen by Miss Dutchbok.
After playing video games for a while in the arcade, Jim is embarrassed to talk romantically over the phone to Chris, while Jordan swears greater revenge. The following day, Jim, Bubba, and another friend dress as women and sneak into the girl's dorm. Jim is caught by Jordan, who teases him with a cold bottle and forces him to give her a massage. Meanwhile, Bubba meets up with Betsy for a tryst, but he leaves to smoke a cigarette before they have sex. As Bubba is on the ledge outside of Betsy's bathroom, he peers into Jordan's dorm room where Jim is massaging her on the bed. When Betsy goes to look for him, he is startled and falls off the ledge. Meanwhile, after Jim confesses to Jordan that he is in fact really a boy (which was already known to Jordan), she pretends to scream and kicks him out of the room, leading to Chris finding out about their indiscretion. Chris leaves the girl's sorority house, embarrassed and heartbroken.
After several weeks of unsuccessfully trying to get Chris back, Jim asks Chris' father for his help in the matter during parent visitation day. After he and Betsy tell Chris to take Jim back, she does. Chris and Jim then leave for their night of romance at the hotel. After failing to have sex that night because Chris finds the hotel too kitschy, as well as getting sick from the room-service food, they have sex on the beach in the morning.
Meanwhile, Jordan's father (Frank Aletter) has sex with her new stepmother while the chauffeur Chauncey (Ray Walston) listens in. Not long afterwards, Miss Dutchbok, who has mistaken Chauncey for Mr. Leigh-Jensen (Jordan's father), has sex with him in the back of Leigh-Jensen's car. Bubba and Betsy, looking to have another tryst, climb into the front seat and turn on the loudspeakers, ensuring that the chauffeur and Ms. Dutchbok's indiscretion are known by everyone present at the program. Upon realizing what Bubba has done, Miss Dutchbok lunges at him, eventually resulting in the car rolling out of control down a hill, and going into the pool. Afterwards, Bubba begins hitting on Jordan, eventually leading to Jordan paying him a midnight visit; when Betsy catches them together, she is apoplectic. The film ends with graduation day, where the graduating girls in the first row moon the Headmistress, Miss Dutchbok.
Phoebe Cates as Christine Ramsey
Betsy Russell as Jordan Leigh-Jensen
Matthew Modine as Jim Green
Michael Zorek as Bubba Beauregard
Fran Ryan as Miss Dutchbok
Kathleen Wilhoite as Betsy
Ray Walston as Chauncey
Sylvia Kristel as Ms. Regina Copoletta
Jonathan Prince as Roy
Kari Lizer as Rita
Julie Payne as Coach Whelan
Frank Aletter as Mr. Leigh-Jensen
Frances Bay as Birdie Fallmouth
Lynda Wiesmeier as Schoolgirl
Martin Mull as Drug Store Clerk (uncredited)
Private School was initiated in the wake of the surprise success of Private Lessons in 1981. Universal, which had licensed home video and cable TV rights to the independently produced comedy, financed Private School as a follow-up project. Though not a direct sequel to the previous film, it retained multiple parties from it, including R. Ben Efraim as producer, Dan Greenburg as screenwriter (along with his then-wife Suzanne O'Malley), and star Sylvia Kristel, who played a cameo as a new character. Don Enright, the son of Private Lessons co-producer Dan Enright, was a co-producer on the film. Private School was directed by Noel Black, who had found success in 1968 with the thriller Pretty Poison.[2] Phoebe Cates, star of the 1982 hit Fast Times at Ridgemont High, was cast in the lead role, while Betsy Russell was second-billed.[2] Pop star Paula Abdul, then head choreographer for the Laker Girls, received her first film credit for choreography.
Private School was released on July 29, 1983. Janet Maslin, writing for The New York Times, gave the film a negative review; she stated that the material seemed to indicate the makers' understanding of film business, as sex comedies "usually make money, no matter how sleazy or derivative they happen to be."[2]
Roger Ebert with the Chicago Sun-Times gave the film two stars out of four, writing that the "smarmy-minded movie" was "much better than average" [for] teen-oriented sex comedies, but reflected a trend of "anti-woman" films in the genre.[3] Jeremy Wheeler gave the film a mixed review for Rovi in the late 2000s, arguing that although most of the jokes "fell short," Private School was "good for a few shocks along the way."[4]
An alternate version of the film aired on television, with many of the scenes replaced with less explicit scenes, and deleted scenes to make up for the lost run time.[5]
^ "Private School". Box Office Mojo.
^ a b c d Maslin, Janet (July 30, 1983). "Private School (1983) 'PRIVATE SCHOOL'". The New York Times. Retrieved January 27, 2012.
^ Ebert, Roger (April 25, 1983). "Private School". Chicago Sun-Times. Archived from the original on January 27, 2012. Retrieved January 27, 2012.
^ Wheeler, Jeremy. "Private School". Rovi. Archived from the original on January 27, 2012. Retrieved January 27, 2012.
^ christophernguyen726 (2019-04-14). "Private School: DVD Vs. Network TV Version". Bootleg Comparisons. Retrieved 2019-04-30.
Content is available under CC BY-SA 3.0 unless otherwise noted.

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