Cloudy, with a Chance of Rejection

The weekends started to whiz by and the money kept me coming back.  Even by myself.  I was getting the hang of things…walking in the door looking confident, having my hair done, proper breakaway thongs, better shoes, nodding at people as I passed by and they said hey.  I had swagger.  I was in.  And the money was none too shabby.  At the time I wasn’t greedy, not that I ever became so.  I mean, I got bitchy but still maintained the perspective that I have to accept the good and the bad and be grateful.  Until I had my first really bad night.  The shine had worn off of my booty.  I could take no’s here and there, but this was the first night I was batting 0 and 37, at least.  I couldn’t give it away!  What happen?  I tried harder.  I watched what other girls were doing.  I got pushier.  And soon realized that that was not the way to go.  Some girls could get away with it…I called them the AGGRESSORS.

The aggressors are the ones who have no shame and they treat working in a strip club like a numbers game.  The more guys they ask, the higher the probability one of them will say yes.  And from there, who knows?  A dance turns into more dances and with the right wording, it could turn into a champagne room.  The possibilities were endless to these women!  Now how can one pick out an aggressor?  She’s probably sitting on your lap right now.  Yep, they step right up, sit down and order a drink before you (the customer) can get a word out.  They take over, monopolizing your focus completely until all you can see or hear is them.  It’s pretty clever and can be very effective.  The minute the word ‘no’ escapes his lips, she bolts like the road runner and instantly appears on your friends’ lap.  Unless it’s occupied by what I like to call the BABYSITTER.

The babysitters will find a home and sit either until the guy leaves the club or excuses himself to use the bathroom and slyly snags another table.  And sometimes that doesn’t even work because, guess what?  She’ll find you and sit some more.  She puts on a good front of trying to show interest in whatever you’re blabbering about but she couldn’t repeat it back to you to save your life, or hers.  She’s indifferent.  She figures if she sits long enough, you’ll offer up a pity dance for her trouble, which sometimes works but be very careful.  That doesn’t mean she’s going to leave your table.  You might have set yourself up for a CRUMB SNATCHER.

A crumbsnatcher is a friend of the baby sitter.  She’s usually pretty shy and doesn’t like to approach anyone by herself or anywhere she doesn’t know anyone.  How does she survive in the tumultuous world of exotic entertainment?  She waits for a table where another girl is getting a dance.  In her mind, there are pretty lights above each table.  Most are red and some are green.  The minute one goes green, she’s up.  Once she approaches, she’ll more than likely try to get a dance with the guy who already got a dance because, hey, he said yes to that girl so he’s going to say yes to me too.  If he says no thanks, she’ll do one of two things: she’ll park herself on his lap to wait for him to change his mind, turning herself into a baby sitter or she’ll return to her perch and be a SULKER.

The sulkers are just that.  They look like they might slit their wrists if they have to sit there any longer.  They just look so sad.  And if you ask them what’s wrong, their response is always, ‘nothing.’  And they sigh, play with their hair and slouch.  That’s one of my stripper peeves: don’t slouch.  It’s not attractive in street clothes so imagine what it looks like when you’re half naked.  Anyway, the sulkers are always by themselves, waiting to cash in on some other girls’ efforts.  But when more than one sulker gets together in a group, they become the COMPLAINERS.

Do not, I repeat, do not get sucked into this group.  It’s easy to do when the club is slow and there’s nothing to do but talk with your buddies.  Talking is fine but the minute the bitching starts, your momentum slowly drains like a sieve.  You start to question your whole existence, the existence of the club and you start to resent the one guy who finally comes in to hang out.  I got stuck as a complainer a few times.  It made me not feel so bad when others weren’t making any money either.  Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I did the entire night.  Bitched.  No money.  And this is a slippery slope.  In any given evening, once a girl becomes a complainer, she has the option of breaking from the masses and forging on her own for a dance.  It’s usually done as a final fit of anger.  This is quite a sight.  As she lumbers through the tables, her demeanor slowly changes from slightly sexy, to pissy.  If one observes, you can almost physically see the transformation as she collects more no’s and becomes one of the RAVING BITCHES.

You can’t miss a raving bitch because she’s loud.  In fact, if you just said no thank you to her, she’s probably cursing you out right now.  She is the girl who has to be removed from the floor and possibly sent home to cool off.  It happens.  Rejection can wear on you like a lead vest, weighing you down until you’re a puddle of nothing at the end of the night.  Some say don’t take it personal, but it’s really hard not to.  You’re standing in front of someone asking if they’d like to see you naked and then you get turned down.  How is that not personal?

My first horrible night I drove 1.5 hours back home with a whopping $8.  Yes, that’s eight dollars.  It happens.  And I took it personal.

I made a commitment to myself that I needed to remain focused at all times.  My fellow entertainers, you only need one guy to make your night…maybe two.  And they could be sitting there waiting while you’re bitching about how horrible it’s going with so-n-so.  Break away.  Save yourself.  No one will be mad.  Jealous, but not mad.

That brings me to my first VIP.  I had no choice, really.  I wanted the big bucks.  After watching numerous other girls count stacks of twenties, pick up VIP/credit card money from the bar, or have two garters with money strapped to it, I decided that I had to make some concessions.  But I still wasn’t sure I was ready.  So when the customer walked up to me standing by myself and asked how much for the spaceship upstairs, I mumbled an unintelligible $200.  When he said okay, do you wanna go, I felt very light-headed.  I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded.  He let me lead the way, which wasn’t a good idea.  I have a horrible sense of direction, had only been upstairs once on the tour and I was incredibly nervous.  I found it, though and we made the trek upstairs.  That was the longest flight of stairs in my life.  They were curved, carpeted and I was wearing heels. I made a mental note that it was only a matter of time until I bit it down all of those stairs.  And I was right.  Approximately 3.5 months.

If you’re waiting for some super sexy, nasty, dirty VIP…sorry.  I got my heart rate up for nothing.  In a good way, of course.  He was such a gentleman and he tipped me since it was my very first VIP.  I got all hyped up and all I did was dance.  And then I got the money.  Yay, the money.  It’s one thing to have a good night that adds up to 3,4, or $500.  It’s another to get it in a chunk.  I was so appreciative I didn’t know what to do.  My fate was sealed.  The Lay’s bag is open and I’ve eaten one chip.  I wanted more VIP’s.  Here is where the money is.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Cloudy, with a Chance of Rejection

  1. thank you, epic. i still read this one and laugh because i can visualize each of them at the various clubs i worked at and even now when i hang out. i can just pick them out. and this can definitely be applied to almost any job…i don’t like being around negativity, it’s infectious.

I know, it's simply fascinating! What's better than that? Feedback. So let me have it...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s