I completely understand the concept “Money good, poverty bad. (The most intelligent thing ‘Bob’ has ever said!)” It would also stand to reason that most people would want to maximize there earning potential when at all possible, especially when all you have to do is sit next to someone and look pretty…
There wasn’t a day that went by, that a manager didn’t come to me and tell me to go sit with customers and constantly remind me, “You are missing out on money when you don’t sit with the customers…”
Some may think I was a lazy stripper… and I may very well have missed out on alot of money because I refused to sit next to customers… but my refusals probably kept me out of jail and prevented the club from being sued. Bottom line is; I made what I needed. Besides I have never ever said I wanted to be rich! Only that I want to have enough money to get by without worrying.
I hate fake people and I am not a good liar. Yep so, stripper is the ideal job for me!!!! (Sarcasm at its finest again!) I avoid socializing most of the time because I am a little too honest and sometimes can’t help pointing out that you are an idiot if you are. And I certainly couldn’t sit there and pretend I am interested in what the customers were say nor could I let the customer think he had a chance of actually taking me home… I also have a hard time sympathizing with the guy who wants to sit there and complain about himself and exaggerate about how great they are… How can I sit there and agree when you’ve left your wife at home, lying to her that you had to work late? Ok so maybe not every customer is like that and sometimes I would sit with a customer…
I’m not big on chaos, so working in totally nude clubs and on day shift, suited me just fine. Not only was day shift a slow relaxed pace but also didn’t have as much competition. A lot of the time it was dead, so we sat around smoking and waiting for customers. Even when things picked up, I got away with a lot of slacking… any other stripper would have been fired! Why did I get special treatment? Well I was a different kind of stripper… Where do I start? Let’s see…
I was always early for my shift… I was ready to walk on stage as soon as I got to the club… Timothy new he could always count on me to cover the stage if needed (once we only had three girls on shift and I wound up on stage every six minutes)… I would dance to just about whatever the DJ wanted to play (with the exception of Rue Paul)… I always tipped my DJ and Waitresses well and I never participated in drama!
So, if I was having a lazy day and just wanted to Blah all shift long, I could. You could often find me sitting on the first couch on the platform. You have no idea how many times I was asked why I always sat in that particular spot when there were other areas that were popular hang outs. Sometimes I forget, what is obvious to me may not be so obvious to others. So until I realized this is such the case, I would answer the question vaguely.
The truth was, I liked this spot because it was under one of the few dim lights, bright enough to allow me to read.
One day I was sitting there reading when a customer waltz in… our first customer of the day. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him eyeballing me as he shuffled around to find a seat. I did not have to look up to know he was sitting somewhere in the first row of tables but purposely not at the tip rail so he could get a free show… “Foxxxy standby…” Timothy announced and I was already walking toward the stage.
I finished my set, saw no tip, exited the stage, went back to my couch and continued reading where I left off. Timothy played a long, time killer song. I could feel Mr. Cheapo staring at me… The next girl did her thing on stage… still no tip… she asked for a dance and was turned down…. Oh joy, Foxxxy’s turn again. (Why are there never any girls there when the club had customers and never any customers when the girls are there?)
No tip again. OK Timothy had already started making comments to make the guy feel like a douchebag and break down and tip; ok my turn Mr. Douche…. I sat down on front center stage tip rail, staring Mr. Douche down. They always start to fidget a little and shift their weight when my stare is getting unbearable. It almost took the entire song before Mr. Douche finally gave up two bucks… Exiting stage, I returned to my book. Out of the corner of my eye, again I saw him approach. I looked up at him and understood how animals at the Zoo must feel.
Mr. Douche was definitely confused. Then he asked the stupidest thing… “Ummm are you reading??” I thought to myself, no dumb ass the book is a cover for what I am really doing… “Yes…” I answered…. He stayed there for a moment in silence, then repeated his question.
I wanted to ask him if I were unknowingly speaking a foreign language but instead I answered, “I know it is hard to believe but I can feed and dress myself too!” Just when I thought, he couldn’t possibly say something more stupider, “Really?”
Smartass by nature, I simply said “No not really…” and ignored whatever he said after that…