“Man, you must LOVE working here! All these hot chicks everywhere. How did you land this gig? This gotta be the best job!”
Not really, but you can certainly see a thing or two, and you can learn a lot.
People put a lot of effort into coming to this club. They often travel thru heavy highway traffic. They park in a parking lot that is frequently visited by thieves, vandals, and drunk drivers, potentially exposing their vehicle and property to theft and/or damage. The club often has minimal security, we do not search for weapons, and it is conveniently located close to one of the more rougher areas in town. Yet men of a wide age range, from nineteen to over sixty come to this place. Why do they come? They come because of the strippers – no pun intended.
These ladies who provide the entertainment are our customers fantasy come to life. Well some of them. Often guys will spend money on these girls just to have them sit and chat. Most go for the private dances, which to me as a straight male makes more sense. Many men arrive flowers for the girls, they buy them drinks, they buy them gifts, sometimes expensive gifts, they even put themselves at the service of these girls. Behind the bar I hear it all. Things like “hey if you ever need a drive” or “you’re moving? I’ll help you move, I’ve got a truck!” even “hey if you want I’ll kick that guys ass”, and on occasion “hell I’ll shoot the bastard for you if you want! I mean it, I’m fuckin’ hardcore!”
To say some of these girls have these guys eating out of the palms of their hand is an understatement. What is really miserable is that some of these guys are married. Some are married and successful and can afford gambling hard earned cash to potentially score with a dancer. Some losers are married and poor! They sacrifice what little cash they have on buying these girls their drinks, gifts, whatever they request. I really can’t decide who disgusts me more, the dancers who exploit these morons, or the morons themselves.
Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of customers who are wise to all this. They come to have a beer, watch the show, and then they leave it at that. Younger guys generally can’t afford to splurge on dancers, and the older streetwise biker or gangster types seem to be immune to this stupidity as well. It’s the ‘nice guys’ that get caught up in this. And we all know being a ‘nice guy’ really means you’re a Pushover.
Many of these ladies get serious relationship offerings from these ‘pushovers’. It’s pitiful. Countless times there have (and will be) successful, good looking pushover-dudes coming to the club day after day trying to woo some dancer, only to be endlessly lead on or refused. Yet these same girls will go home to some drug abusing boyfriend who beats them, or at least makes their lives somewhat of a living hell. You would think you would need to ‘have it all’ to get with these girls, but you really don’t. In fact it helps if you're a loser and a dope-fiend, because having lots of drugs is a sure way to obtain some stripper action. (***Important Disclaimer: not all dancers are like this - just some of the ones at the bar that I work with - some of them are normal girls - but who wants to read about the normal people?***)
So you see, it’s different when you work for a stripclub and you're behind the bar. You see how some of these girls behave, you see how they treat people like suckers. When you’re behind the scenes and know what goes on, the novelty wears off fast. Ever hear of a fast food place staffed with burger-flippers, who for some reason refuse to eat there? It’s a lot like that.
It's difficult to believe that people still fall for this, but this stuff happens constantly.
And a perfect example presents himself...
The customer was a younger dude. He didn’t seem to have logged much time in stripclubs before and the dancer Chloe was milking him. He was in love! He had already taken two cash advances from the bar to buy drinks for; and table dances from Chloe.
He was talking to me now. “Hey man, this place rocks, Chloe is so fuckin’ hot man!”
“Yes she certainly is.” I said.
“She took my phone number, she said she’d call me. She says she’s stripping just to pay her way thru school, she’s taking Interior Design.” He was so proud of himself. I had already heard it all because he had also told the other bartender working with me the same thing.
“Good for you! Go for it dude, she rocks!” This was what I do. I continue to feed the flames; “I’m surprised she took your number my man, these girls NEVER do that, but then I hear she is single.” I'm just shoveling it at him. I’ve turned evil because of this place, and I doubt I’ll change. This guy is acting like it’s the greatest night of his life.
However what he doesn’t know is that Chloe has a boyfriend. Some bad-ass, dope-using, loser of a guy, whom she supports. She had a kid but the grand parents raise it, or The Children’s Aid took it or something - the point is she's a bad mom and it's gone. She’s not in school because she’s too lazy, stupid, fucked-up; you name it – to finish anything that would require even the tiniest amounts of concentration or discipline. And by the way buddy, I’ve worked three days in a row this week, and that is the same damn thong she’s been wearing each day. Yep, no hygiene needed here. She wears the same fucking underwear all week. And this bitch is your fantasy? Your dream girl? Could your standards get any lower? I will never stop someone from blowing off their own foot. It’s my entertainment. Watching these fools chase poisoned shadows gives me my laughs.
The night ended. The love-struck customer departed with a huge smile, knowing with certainty that this stripper babe was going to call him. The club was emptying. It was quiet and peaceful. The lights were all on. Chloe was walking by so I waved her over to the bar. You could see the acne rash on her face now that we had the main house lights up.
“Hey Chloe, I got a question. Why do you wear the same fucking thong all week?”
“You think I give a shit about this place, I don’t give damn, it’s just stupid customers so what the fuck do I care.” She repeated the answer again, then once again. Then she called a cab.
Now that’s what I call a catch!
