Tagged: illegal shit strip clubs pull

the ultimate best

working with friends is the best and the ultimate best is if you both get dances at the same time and can sit within each other’s eye line.

ok so b and I were giving dances opposite each other at the end of the night, for the second time. The first time I was dancing for an annoying overly earnest little hippie man who was actually totally harmless, I was just bored and annoyed in general and grimacing and b’s customer caught me making faces at her, and then her strangling herself at me, and was totally good humoured about it.

The second time I was dancing for another massage guy—ok when it’s legit it’s amazing; yesI will let you give me a massage for 40$ for three minutes—although actually after the new and increased cut which they take it comes out to be like 30$, 70 from every hundred, and 175 from every 250, ballz old sport but anyway—yes you can pay me to sit there while you massage me; I’m like a tense person ok. Plus it means they’ll probably want to be massaged too and that can go on indefinitely like my best customers just sit there for increasing amounts of time while I zone out and work on their knots and get paid better than any massage therapist I know dreams of. It’s good to have big ol man hands.

anyway this was another German boob swiper. Have I told you that, Fredi aside, Germans and north europeans are my absolute least favourite customers? especially when they have wire-rimmed glasses. could you live down to my mental stereotype any harder. He wanted to massage my shoulders and it was not relaxing and also was mildly painful but I was too tired to make conversation so I just sat and faced B and made faces at her while she tried not to alert her customer to the fact that she was shaking with silent laughter. This was made even better by one of the moaners (god I hate moaning as a tactic so much, it’s even worse than allowing touching or extras because it’s such a false promise, it’s all lies, and it’s so distracting and impossible to protect their tender impressionable man brains from!) who was wearing a noisy skirt and just making the biggest racket.

It’s just so wonderful that at these improbable and improbably terrible moments of my life I have friends right across from me to share them with and just be like

can u blieve this

no god this is awful



everything is terrible

The club just upped the percentage of money they take from us, ostensibly to save is from having to bother our pretty little heads about figuring out the percent to tip the dj but blah blah blah I hate this and I also can’t tell how much I’ve made any more because the bouncer won’t GIVE IT TO ME, and I want to go home because some Scottish guy was rude to me and I got a message about manny’s ashes and I just. Want. To go home.
I got here a whole hour late yet time is still just CRAWLING.

Also I got myself hired as a waitress not because of my ex psych guy who can suck [anything painful and vaguely poisonous] but just to have a break like filing and pulling charts at PP was the easiest my brain has had it all week and I want more mindless crap to keep me busy.

And also to start having something on my résumé since it’s been about two years since I’ve made money on the books except for randomly doing the door &c.

When customers are bad enough to deserve Enrique Iglesias

they were that bad and I did request it and it got played and vengeance was brief but sweet.

some middle aged british guys weren’t tipping at the rack.  We have a new bouncer who doesn’t yet know that this is nbd (sweet naive child) and actually got in an argument with them and hulked over them til one of them pulled out a two and then tried to slide it toward my crotch, hand lingering on my thigh.  Encouraged by the presence of Hulky who obviously didn’t know any better I grabbed his hand and bent his fingers back toward his elbow.

”You don’t get to touch me!” I said cheerfully. I saw him thinking about complaining and then look nervously at Hulky. In that moment I swear I was in love with Hulky.  it will pass and he’ll be as laissez-faire as the the rest of them.

the other one pulled out a 20$ and tapped it on the stage.  I thought it was an apology 20 for his friend being such a tremendous shithead, but then he said, “ah ah ah, you must work for it.”

“I am working.’  I snatched it and looked defiantly at Hulky.  It has actually happened that guys have complained they didn’t mean to tip the dancer onstage money and the girl has had to return it (or the time I was still new and didn’t yet know who I was working for and I charged a 5$ annoyance fee and had to give it back) but again Hulky came thru for me and the guys didn’t know to go find the manager and so I got to keep my ill-gotten cash.

as I was paying out (they finally caught up to me with all my flake fees, I would have had a decent night but for the 140 I owed them and a 50$ charge I think they made up but I don’t have proof—not that they have proof either but u know—which was almost half what I made. sux 2 b me tonight) one of the minors* came tearing into the lap dance room, punched the guy my friend was dancing for, and then left.  It was gr8.

*as in, she’s under 21.  A minor for alcohol, not an under 18 minor.

ok, I did do it.

Ok I did do it. It was my second best night ever I think. Normally not going onstage at least four times a night kills bc the cut that they take of every dance & VIP cuts into your total, then you know if you make over a certain amount you have to tip the bouncers more than their allotted five dollars each
(Which offends me so greatly bc they are all such utter jackasses. There’s the one I paid to leave me alone, who got tired of leaving me alone and, to pick only one [the last] incident, threw something at my head as I was counting my money at the end of the night and pulled my hoodie off to get a better look at my side boob. I am so glad we pay you, i snarled.
& I should tip him [ANY of them, useless tools] extra why? PLUS the dj gets ten percent of what I make and then gives THEM ten percent of what I give him so like you do the math on that. 30 women tipping each bouncer at least 5$ each, then tipping the dj at least 30 probably but usually 50-80 (i gleefully stiffed him 24$ and only gave him 100, and at least two girls did even better than I did)(omg I’m digressing so hard and I’ve lost track of the punctuation so ready for bed) but you get the point which is that all these people are making an hourly wage AND skimming off us and then they want more if you make over a certain amount?

And we don’t even make minimum wage, and we PAY to be there, we’re the reason people even walk into a strip club but heaven forfend any owner ever actually not use dancers to defray the burden of paying a living wage. And if you’re smart like this guy you make it a pyramid scheme so every staff member is invested in keeping it exactly as is.

But yeah I started this to say I had a great night so, you know , the shameless exploitation does pay off. That’s why I’m there, after all. Because I like free time, nice things, and keeping manny in health insurance.

I just don’t know

it’s getting harder to feel separate and not complicit in the whole thing— the first/last time I quit dancing it was bc of customers: between getting sober and my own bad boundaries I felt like they were pulling pieces of my flesh off, just wanting so much and I couldn’t separate it; now I’ve got solid boundaries & customers are the easiest part, even the awfulest customer is easier than being in the dressing room at the mercy of other girls or staff.

This place, this place and its micromanagey policies and the way it invades every aspect of being here, from the panopticon camera situation to the way we can’t even charge our own prices or handle money for dances, or decide when or if to take anything off—and the staff, the deliberate cultivation of horrible gropey bouncers culled from our customers and their personal investment in maintaining the pyramid scheme tip-out situation.
And the way people talk! I just feel contaminated. Like how Isabel Archer mentally drew her skirts back from Osmund, I want to do the same but it feels like no amount of frantic scrubbing will clean them off.  Knowing that we’re watched all the time, and that everything we do is tracked and the dance competition—and then with hiring all the girls who do extras now and vocally and constantly comparing everyone to them so that it’s a constant worry at the edge of our minds, if we don’t sell enough what will happen?

It didn’t faze me for months bc I am and have been forever one of the top three earners but I’m so tired of competing w it—one girl has taken to carrying a flogger in garter and then sticking it in her ass and I just don’t get it. that’s not necessary!  Why would you do that?! And it’s so unhygienic! Not that that’s something customers want but every night now I hear at least one man whine at me like a defrauded child “why can’t I touch your boobs?” Nearly all the other girls allow so much contact, and it’s just—contact didn’t used to be allowed.  The owner decided he would allow it; he needed more money to grease the palms of city officials for his new club, so he wanted us to sell more and thought it would be a good way to do it.  and 90% of the girls went along and started offering contact dances, even if they didn’t want to, without even upping prices really like what is the market value of changing your boundaries, let’s at least assess.  Especially as we did just fine before.

I thought it was possible to work in a horrible place, come to work, do my job, make money and go home but it’s just wearing on me. I know that lots of people have terrible racist bosses—my father, for example, after he got laid off, his new job is at some place that somehow deals w nuclear energy (I didn’t absorb the details it made me too depressed) & everyone he works with is a hateful bigot—and they separate themselves from it and I could for over a year but now I don’t know, it’s getting to me.

And on the opposite of the spectrum I can’t stop reading radfem anti-sw bullshit and letting my feelings be hurt & wondering how many people think I’m a rape-promoting tool of the patriarchy.  It’s like a loose tooth I can’t stop nudging at with my tongue even though it hurts.

But financially, it’s still the best club in town. And the others aren’t that much better atmosphere-wise. Like Frank who sleeps with girls who want better shifts, or Ilya who is just terrible with his awful godfather pretensions, or whatever.  And Portland is just a stupid racist city, like white people here say the damnedest things and then are astounded at the notion that they could be called racist.  It’s not just my club, my club is just the most extreme example of like, (trite) a city-wide malaise.

it’s hard to write abt work

bc I constantly feel like I have to preface everything with an explanation of why I am doing it and how I am still an intelligent adult capable of making solid choices and this is actually the best decision financially and for my mental health and also for school (could not have afforded college w/o it tbh, high school drop out that I am)(not that one needs college as an excuse, it’s now trite, i’m just saying)

but also that I don’t believe it’s inherently empowering except in the way that being able to pay rent and bills is empowering

and those two right there lose me like 3/4 of audience

only semi-related I used to love my job until the horribleness of my boss, the employees he hand picked from the customer base to maintain the horrible atmosphere, the girls who don’t know any better, and the fucking clueless assholes who flock to the place started making me hate it.  bc now I feel complicit

what do you do when the best club in town is a hell hole and unemployment has been thru the roof for over a decade?

I need a backout plan & exit strategy before 29.  not to quit b4 then, but I need a plan.  I love plans.