Alright, so now that I've got my public service announcement out of the way... on to the fables.
Why Women Dance
Okay, so everyone has their own personal reason for getting up on that stage and strutting around without their clothes on and taking money for it. But two of the most common are:
"I like the finer things." - Li'l Bit
and:
"I get high off the attention." - Twinkle
If I were to get up on someone's pole/stage (and I will not no matter how many of my customers try to persuade me into it), my reason would be a mix of the two. I do, indeed, like the finer things. And considering that the dancers where I work make between $500 - $1,000 a night (depending on the day of the week and how much effort they actually put into dancing), I could afford a lot of very fine things, indeed (including this pair of Prada stilettos that I want SO very much. Sigh. Reminder to self: you are supposed to be saving your money). In addition, I really do thrive off of attention. I love being center stage with the spotlight on me. I enjoy putting on a show. So yes, if I decided to strip, my reason would be a mix of the two. But you also have to have some other career lined up... you can't sell your body forever: eventually not enough people are going to want it. Everything has a shelf life.
So... That's What You're Saving For?
Li'l Bit, the one who said she strips because she likes the finer things, was late to work on Wednesday. When dancers are late, there's a $50 fee; when they don't come in without finding a replacement, there's an $80 absence fee. Now, Li'l Bit was 8 minutes late, but late is late and time is money. When she was called on her lateness by Li'l Mama and HWIC she first, threw a tantrum, but then when she saw that wasn't working, she began crying.
"You don't understand," she mourned tearfully, "I'm saving up to get my breast implants and I need all the money I can get!"
HWIC looked at her blankly for about a second. "I really don't need to hear about your breast implants. I really don't."
And really, how are you gonna cry and expect people to feel sympathy because you're saving for breast implants, of all things? Not college tuition. Not helping your family. Not even paying back an insane amount of debt. BREAST IMPLANTS. No one gives a damn about your personal "improvements" to your body. No one.
And for that matter, she doesn't even need breast implants! I can see getting them as an "investment" when your body is you business, and yeah, she's an A-cup, but she makes her money regardless. I really don't think the customers really care about breast size as long as you've got them. And judging by the number of customers that come by the bar and ask "is Li'l Bit workin' tonight?" she's one of the highest tipped dancers in the place. She's cute, and that works for her, so she needs to learn to work with what she's got and not try to be something else. Personally, I think implants would look rather ridiculous on her. Oh well.
More Tales From (Read: "Only Heard In") the 'Hood
So, there's a guy that comes and gets the dancers' food orders and brings them food from Olive Garden, Ruby Tuesday's, etc. He just got back from jail. So, he leaves with their orders and not 2 minutes later does Initial, one of the doormen, come by the bar like, "yo, I think Delivery Man just got locked up."
"What?" Li'l Mama asked. "Didn't he just get home?"
"I'on know," Initial shook his head, "but I think the cops just stopped him on the corner for sellin drugs."
"Call Mumbles and see if it's true. Damn. That's Elle's boyfriend."
In a few short minutes, the news that Delivery Man had possibly just gotten locked up again had spread up to the dressing room. You Can't Handle It came downstairs indignantly, "uh-uh! I know he better give me my $20 back before he goes to jail!"
But it turned out that Delivery Man hadn't actually gotten arrested. He returned with the food. And I was glad. I hadn't ordered anything, but it's a damn shame to just get home from jail and be locked up again for selling drugs on the corner where I work. Mainly because the corner where I work is crawling with cops. There are literally at least 10 squad cars and 3 vans within a 2 block radius at all times. It would be really effing dumb to sell drugs out in the open like that in that type of environment (unless of course, the cops are crooked/don't care... but then you never know what kind of a mood they'll be in).
(Allow me to make clear: I do not advocate the sale or use of drugs. I've seen the havoc the drug trade wreaks on individuals, families and communities. I'm just saying... if you're going to sell your soul and sell drugs to kids, etc. ...the least you could do is not be an idiot on top of that.)
Other Side Notes
So, some guy finally got the message about the tipping scale. He was just talking to me, asking me if I could write down the address of The Club so he could put it in his GPS (I HATE GPS systems. I think they're possibly the most crippling device, ever.) and he suddenly told me, "you look good," and put some money in my jar. Thank you! You get it!
I work at a strip club... what kind of a girl do you think I am? Clearly I'm quite comfortable with sex, fake sex and money. And if I don't want to have sex with you (which, I can guarantee you, is the case 100% of the time), then CLEARLY all I want from you is money. Duh.
QUOTE OF THE WEEK:
(The strip club has aided my comfortable descent into raunch.)
"Do your braces get in the way of your relationship?" a customer asked me.
I was a bit shocked at how forthright he was, but I recovered quickly. "Nah," I said, with a wink, "I got skills."
Eep!! I can't believe I said that to a total stranger! But then he laughed and tipped me, so I felt better about my dirty mouth. Blame the club!