Completely Inappropriate

Tonight was just the night for inappropriate behavior, apparently.

If You Like Her, You Should TIP (Not Touch) Her

So, one of the dancers tonight had a problem with a customer who kept trying to touch her inappropriately while tipping her (you're not allowed to touch at all in DC strip clubs.  No touching, no lapdances).  Instead of getting off of the stage or actually saying something to the DJ/security, she just gave them looks and expected that they would do something/say something to the man.

It's been my experience that subtlety just doesn't work with most (read: all) men.  If you want a man to do something, you can't drop hints... you have to say, "I want you to get this drunk fool who keeps cursing at me and trying to touch me away from me!"  So after the DJ finally noticed that she might've been in distress (the 3rd time ol' dude came by her stage acting belligerent), she jumped off stage in a huff, yelling about how she was disrespected and the DJ/security wasn't worth the money they were paid.  

Then, later, the same dancer had another instance where a different customer tried to tip her by placing a dollar bill on top of her "sorta like another way to call a cat a kitten" (OPP - Naughty By Nature) and pressing down on a very sensitive spot.  Instead of getting huffy and indignant, she turned around and gave a coy smile, wagging her finger, all "ah-ah-ah!" like.  Hmm.  =/

Look Around.  Where Are You?  A Strip Club... So Be Prepared to Spend Money.

I understand that our liquor prices are ridiculous, but I mean, really.  If you come in here asking for $40 in ones, clearly you're prepared to drop forty singles on a naked woman that's not going home with you.  Why are you about to be a cheapskate when it comes to buying liquor?

This man asked me the prices for every damn thing behind the bar.

"How much is plain gin?" 

"How much is Tanqueray?"

"Bacardi?"

"How much is a shot?"

"How much is Grand Marnier?"

"Henny?"

"Beer?"

"A drink?"

I don't think people realize how bloody annoying they are when they do that.  Just GET WHAT YOU WANT and stop being such a MISER in the CLUB.  I don't know, maybe it's a personal thing, but I get REALLY annoyed at people who are extra concerned over price when they go out.  Like... you went out to enjoy yourself, so do what you want!  Being hung up over dollar signs is pretty much the most annoying thing you can do when/if you go out with me.  Tell me... what sense does it make when:

-You really want Bacardi and Coke ($8.25), but you decide it's too expensive, so you ask what the cheaper rum is...

-The cheaper rum is Ronrigo Rum (who the hell is Ronrigo?) and it costs $7... you HATE the taste of Ronrigo, so....

-You settle for a Heineken (also $7), but one beer doesn't give you the same buzz as one shot, so you...

-COME BACK, for another beer (also $7)

Well damn, if you cared about price THAT much, for 2 beers and tipping me twice ($18) you could've had 2 Bacardi and Cokes, 2 whiskey sours, a rocks drink or a tall mixed drink (and doubled your buzz).  Nonsensical.  

We Are Not Friends.

If I had to name a waitress that's my least favorite to work with, it would hands-down be Silly Girl.  She's just so... silly.

Even though I'm both new and younger than her in age, I had to snap, "WAIT!" at her as I was taking an order from another waitress.  She likes to interrupt you as you're taking orders for people in front of her, or shout, "and I need 2 Miller Lites and a margarita for me!" at you while your back is turned, making a Long Island Iced Tea.  But if you're handling 2 waitresses at the same time and  take money from, or finish an order for, another waitress before you get to her, she'll cry out, "heeeey-uh!  I was fiiiiirst-uh!"  She also spends ample time talking to her boyfriend on her cellphone in the bathroom.

Today, after Silly Girl related her latest drama to HWIC, HWIC turned to Li'l Mama and said, "she must think I'm her friend."

Fried.

QUOTES OF THE NIGHT (Yeah, I have two):

1.  After surveying the scant scenery inside the club (there were only 5 girls on set; 3 in one set and 2 in another), a customer appealed to me:

"We need you up there."

That's some real Uncle Sam "I want YOU!" shit right there.  Be all you can be!  Take off your clothes!

2.  After telling me it was her birthday and asking me to hook her up with some real strong Zombies, a customer told me she would hook up my tip jar in return.  (Side note: bartenders DO NOT hook you up by putting extra alcohol in your drink.  We can get fired for that.  We just fiddle with the ratio of mixer-to-liquor and fill it up with more ice.)

"Ay!" she called out to me, making sure I saw her drop the money in my bucket.  "I'm hookin you up."

$2 fell into my bucket.

Two dollars?  Who the HELL do you think you're hookin up with that?  

Why Women Dance (And Other Fables)

It's been a long week and Friday and Sunday weren't really that interesting, so I'm combining it all.  On the up side, Friday we only had to split our tips 3 ways, and Sunday Dallas didn't get to interfere with my tips that much at all.  I also found out that he's only 39... he looks like he's 60 and sounds like he's 80.  If that's not enough of a reason right there, then I don't know what else to tell you... DON'T DO DRUGS and DON'T DRINK TO EXCESS.  

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!  

...So Maybe I SHOULD Serve Water After 9.

Tonight was my first experience with customers that walked into the club already twisted. They were also really WEIRD and CRAZY, so it was hard to tell that they were already drunk on top of that.

So, a man and a woman walk up to the bar. (Yep, this is the beginning of a great joke). The man is swaying back and forth a bit, dressed like a 'hood Steve Urkel (+ a chronic blink, - the glasses). The woman is waddling like a pregnant woman, dressed like a bum (+ an extra couple of bumps, - a baby). They start throwing money around, all up in my face, speaking rapid-fire.

"Let me get five 1's. Let me get a Hennessey. Let me get twenty 1's. Here's your tip, 'cause you're so sweet. Let me get another Hennessey. Can I get ten more 1's? Wait, I gotta pay for my drink. Oh, I paid? Where's my drink? And a Heineken!"

At first I thought they were trying to hustle us (the man was throwing money at me; the woman was throwing money at my manager), but then once I saw him literally TOSS quarters up in the air, aiming (and failing HORRIBLY) for my tip jar, I realized... this man is either crazy or drunk off his ass.

As I watched them stuff dollar bills down the shirt of one of the waitresses (whose face bore an expression of barely tolerant annoyance mixed with acute wariness) and one of the strippers who had leaned against the bar to change out some of her singles, I came to a conclusion: drunk off the ass. And damnit, they just wouldn't go away! I appreciated that they kept throwing money in our tip jars with wild abandon, but seriously, they were making me nervous. Drunk people are unpredictable.

"I'ma need them to get away from the bar," I said to my manager as I turned around to fix someone else's drink.

She shook her head. "No; I'ma need her to get her eyes fixed. Did you see that shit?"

"Nah."

"Her eyes are cocked all the way to the side of her head. I don't like that. I can't tell where you're looking or who you're talking to. Uh-uh."

The pair of them wandered off with their drinks in the direction of the stage.

The same waitresses who had been so randomly, yet generously, tipped returned to the bar, shaking her head. "That woman's eyes are cocked like a pistol!"

I watched them spilling drinks and stumbling over themselves. Yeah, but that's not what's wrong with her, I thought to myself.

"It's 'cause they're inbred," my manager nodded her head sagely. "Their mama and daddy are cousins."

They kept coming back to the bar at random over the course of the night to chit chat about how upsetting the price of beer was (yeah, I think it's over-priced too, but you're at a strip club... whadaya want me to do? I'm sorry!), and said something about how...

"I can't get nothin' right now; we gotta wait 'til 2 am 'cause we reached the $500 limit on the ATM..."

(um, the club closes at 2 am...)

"...Hey, can I get twenty more 1's?"

(so... you can't buy a drink with the $20 in your hand? Not that I think you need one; I'm just questioning your logic.)

The last time she finally came up and asked me for a Malibu + pineapple I just had to tell her. "I'm not allowed to mix any drinks until my manager comes back."

I gotta come up with another line to spit to persistent, drunk-assed people, because RIGHT then, my manager came back.

P.S.

I enjoyed... having one of my customers pop his pecs for me. I told him he should get on stage. He said, "I've been trying to, but they aint ready."

I listened... when people gave me good advice (1) take care of your feet, (2) don't cut your hair, and (3) live an easy life- that's how you stay young-looking.

I like... working more than I like school. Class is just so boring and pointless. I'd rather be behind the bar. I'd rather be at the shop designing dresses. Ugh. GIVE ME FREE!

Deuces :-*

I Have to Count? ...By Myself?!

Sorry I've been gone so long, but I've been on my hustle.  The places I applied to all wanted more experience, but I kept at it and... I finally got a bar job!  Woo hoo!  Now you can expect plenty of alcohol-infused juiciness to come =)

I'm working another strip club; it's located in the 'hood rather than DC's power-district, but the money is still good.  And the dancers are better.  I swear, the girls at the (mostly) white club just sway back and forth and make faces.  The dancers at this strip club put on a show.  ...Not that I see much of it anyway; I pretty much just see the endless line of people in front of me requesting drinks.  And let me tell you, getting behind the bar "forreal" is completely different from bartending school.  I've definitely learned some real life lessons:

1.  How to count.  

It's my not-so-secret shame that I cannot count.  At all.  In fact, numbers tend to make me nervous.  When I walked behind the bar at the club I was confronted with a cash register that must date back to 1975.  There are no electronics involved in that hunk of metal.  You have to know the prices of everything off the top of your head, punch the dollar amount in using typewriter-like buttons in denominations of 10, 1, .10 and .01., and then count out the change yourself.  This presented a serious problem for me.  It's been so bad that the waitresses usually help me out by telling me the correct amount of change to give them.

The first two nights I counted up things incorrectly, but the third night I got it right.  I was so proud of myself when my boss told me, "and by the way, the money's right," after he finished counting down the drawer at the end of the night that I pumped my fist and said, "yessss!  I'm proud of myself when I can count correctly."  At this, one of the strippers replied, "we're proud of you too bitch!"  I smiled and said thank you.

2.  The only thing bartending school really gives you is drink knowledge, and even then... the bar you're working will probably have it's own way of mixing.

Apparently, the way I learned to make Zombies, Mai Tais, Blue Motorcycles, Blue Hawaiians and Apple Martinis no longer applies.  And I can only imagine what else isn't consistent.  It's hard to remember drinks when you can't write them down too, but I've been managing okay.  As well, we don't serve our shots or drinks the way I learned to either.  All of the bottles at the bar have "measured pours", meaning the spout pours out exactly one ounce of liquor and then stops.  Well, I poured it that way and the bar manager informed me that that wasn't a shot.  We fill all of our glasses to the brim; no "lip line" like how I learned in bartending school.  Whatev.

3.  Personal selling skills.

I learned at a very young age that as long as you smile real big and bright, they'll love you.  One of the strippers at work put it best: "God gave me a great smile and a great ass, and I talk so good I'll talk a hole in your pocket."  God didn't give me a great ass, but I did come away with a sparkling personality.  I'm far from innocent, but for some reason, that's how I come off no matter what I do.  And I leverage that.  I can act interested in anyone and they'll believe it.  Okay, so some customers take the "building relationships" thing a little too far (no, I will not have sex with you), but I've been able to smile my way to $12 tips on a $11.50 bill and convince unsuspecting men that they should have a double shot of Ciroc as I get into a conversation with them about its superior, ultra-smooth qualities.  (Upselling!)  And this is only in my first four days; one day I shall be a master at personal selling, coaxing tips even out of the cheapest bottled-water-drinking, no 1's-having cheapskates in the place.

4.  Never let 'em hustle you.

Like I said, I look innocent.  I talk innocent.  I've got angel-light shining from my eyes.  I've had two customers try to hustle me so far.  One tried to act like he didn't have enough to pay for the drink I'd already fixed him.  The bar manager called him on it because she heard him whisper, "watch this," to his friend.  The second one I fixed myself.  This Negro tried to confuse me by talking fast, ordering a drink, not paying for it, requesting that I give him 20 $1 bills, and then trying to walk away.  I was like, "uh... you need to pay for that Heineken."  And then he tried to act clueless, "oh?  I didn't pay for it?"  No.  You didn't.  Cough it up!

5.  The Shakin v. Trickin Asset Turnover Ratio

I'm a business student, so of course, when one of the strippers said, "man, I know this girl who turns tricks and doesn't have a car.  What the hell is that?"  I immediately thought that the 'ho lacked the business sense to price her goods and services correctly.  She went on to say, "I mean, how much are you supposed to sell it for?  Man, if I were to sell my shit, you'd have to give me some permanent money.  Some shit I can use.  You'd better buy me a house, some stock, somethin!"  This I related to the value of assets versus the revenue stream that comes from your business activities.  You can leverage assets, but revenue can only be used to buy assets... and if you aren't making enough to do that, well, you're in a pretty sorry position and you need to reevaluate your business strategy.  She then said, "I don't see why any girl would turn to trickin' any way... I make so much more just shakin' it, shakin' it, shakin' it... and I aint never had to open my legs for no man.  I mean, I guess they make their money faster, but they make less.  And what they go through..."  That's a lesson in asset turnover ratio right there; it's important to get the most out of your assets, making them generate their value as many times over as you can... but if you set the value too low, it doesn't mean anything.  Case-and-point, her last thing to say on the subject was, "and you know, a nigga will talk about you if you let him get it for $200... but let it cost him $2,000.  He aint braggin' to NOBODY!"

Mixing Drinks Is Secondary

I took a deep, steadying breath as I walked through the door.  Here goes nothin, I thought to myself.  As soon as the door closed behind me, my eyes swept the room, but focused on the doorman; the first fully clothed person I saw.

"Hi, I'd like to apply at a bartender here," I tried to adopt a deeper, more sultry voice than my usual bright, perky chirp.  It came out a little more Britney than Beyonce, but no matter what I did, I supposed I'd always look younger than my age.

"You're looking for Joe, right?  Does he know you're here?" he asked me, looking slightly worried.

I assumed he was referring to the owner or the manager... someone with the authority to hire me.  "Er..." I replied, "I didn't know I was supposed to call beforehand."

"Nah, nah, it's my fault.  Here, take this application; you can fill that out.  I'll go get him."

He handed me the sheet and I sat at the bar, reading over it before filling it out carefully.

Though I tried to project an aura of cool relaxation, I'm sure I looked slightly out of place.  For one, I must've been the only person in the place not looking at the stage.  Not even once.  It didn't matter though; once you walk into a strip club, unless you close your eyes, you're going to see naked women twirling, bouncing and winking.

I bit back a smirk; after the usual "first, middle, last" name prompt there was a line where you could fill in your stage name.  The lyrics to "Circus" by Britney Spears played through my head, I'm a put-on-a-show kinda girl.  If anyone ever asked me, I would probably say I did it for the money, but the real truth was more along the lines of, "I like to play dress up."

When Joe, the owner/manager, came out a while later, he led me upstairs where it was quieter and he could actually tell me about the duties and responsibilities of the job.  We talked for about ten minutes or so, but a few things stood out to me:

1. Unlike the ones you see on TV, real, upstanding gentleman's clubs do not allow touching.  I'm not allowed to sit on anyone's lap either.  
2. Job interviews can include the statement, "your butt and nipples must be covered at all times."
3. Mixing drinks is secondary; your primary duty as a bartender is to build a relationship with your customers.  Play into their fantasies.  Flirt.  (Of course, I told him I had theater training as well).

I really hope I get this job; yeah, the pay is $200 on a BAD night, which is tres attractive, but it also gives me the outlet I need to get that Naughty Nikki energy out in a setting that's appropriate for it.  I need to be in an environment where I can be an actress because that's my job, not because I have to to keep my sanity.  

There's only so much Nikki that the "real world" can handle. 

PS: I'm keeping my drink knowledge up, though!