Angry Moments at Work!!!

So after the awkward moments at work. I thought I would do an angry moments at work post. I feel much more strongly about these, and there's more of them.

It's my third day working, a Friday. At this point, I have absolutely no clue what I am doing. I am like a blind person trying to find my way through a mine field. (That might be a bit extreme, but that's what it felt like.) I was approached by a Hispanic man, and I quickly found out that he was from Mexico and spoke almost no English.  He was young, and very excited to be at the strip club, that I could tell. We had a stunted conversation that was a nice combination of his poor English and my poor Spanish. We did one song. I was wearing a gold string bikini. The sides were just tied in bows, so that it would be easy to take off on stage. At the end of the song he said he was done. So I got up and had my back to him. I felt a tug on my bikini and he tried to pull it off. As I turned around he had his dick out. He handed me three dollars. Took me by the hair and tried to force my head down to blow him. He said "It's my Birthday, make it special. I'm 23." I slapped him and had him thrown out of the club. The funny thing is that what was going through my head at the time was "THREE dollars! Three. First of all, I would never do that. Ever. Second, I am worth SO much more than three dollars. Fuck him!" That was my first weekend night. It wasn't my last. But it was the beginning of a trend of assholes that crawl out of their holes on the weekend and congregate together at the strip club.


It was my second month working, and a Saturday night (of course) around 1:30 in the morning, so pretty early. I had started, key word started, learning how to be on the offensive at work. I let my guard down on stage because I figured there were hundreds of people around, so nothing would go wrong. And the bouncers would protect me... (common misconception about bouncers). Well, I was on stage and it was busy. There was a guy with a lot of ones in front of him, so I went over and talked to him for a brief moment. I was completely naked because it was towards the end of my set. I squatted down because it's easier on my knees than kneeling. I wasn't very close to the edge of the stage. I felt like it was a safe distance. The guy's friend jumped up really fast and fingered me in front of everyone. I hit him so hard. I was so pissed. I wanted to scream at him. I called the bouncer over, and his response was "I didn't see anything." I hate this bouncer, luckily he has been fired since then. And he can go to hell for all I care. Anyways, I got FINGERED on stage in front of everyone. I was furious. I just wanted to rail on the guy. It is the one and only time I have cried at work. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried til I threw up. No one saw, no one knew. I couldn't show any weakness at work at this point. I had no allies, no one to protect me. I was new, and not worth a thing to anyone. I ended up leaving early that night because I was so upset. To make matters worse that night I got home to my apartment filled with people I did not know every where. I had such a bad night, and then Jamie and I fought because he didn't even listen. I slept in the car.

I always wear a gold ring on my right, index finger. It's a simple band, nothing flashy. I was working on a Wednesday night, and it was about 2:30 in the morning. I was done for the night, and so I was walking across the floor towards the stairs to the dressing room. All of a sudden a guy grabbed me around the waist and sat me on his lap. I looked at him, and it was a Mexican. He and his two friends were decked out in cowboy hats and alligator skin boots. The one had me pinned in his lap. One grabbed my foot and was trying to take off my shoe. The other had my hand with my ring on it. The one, who's lap I was sitting on, was trying to talk me into going for a private dance. (I had made a lot of money, and was not interested.) I kept saying "no" and he kept pleading in a thick accent.  The one that was holding my hand was trying to pull my ring off my finger. My FINGER! But I had it bent in he wasn't able to remove it. I grabbed my hand away, and then I realized the other one had my shoe off and was trying to hide it from me. I hit the guy, who's lap I was on hard enough he let go. I grabbed my shoe. They started yelling "whore" "slut" "bitch" "cunt" "I'll fuck you when you least expect it." I went home.

I had been dancing for six months, and hadn't worked many Saturday nights in the last three months. I had gotten really good at protecting myself, so bad things were happening less often because I knew how to avoid it. Anyways, it was the first Saturday I'd worked in a month and a half. I was chatting with an older guy, when he started talking about the last time I danced with him, and how I was such a good kisser. (He was sober.) I responded with "I'm sorry, but you have me confused with someone else. I don't do that." He was very adamant, that we made out in private dance. "I swear to God it was you!" "You must have been to high, and don't remember." At this point I said "Go fuck yourself." And walked away.


The last Saturday I worked was a disaster. First, it was a bad day. There weren't very many people and no one made very much money. Second, the stages are made out of wood and cheap wood. The panels were starting to separate. The main stage had a few panels that had 1/4 to 1/2 inch separations with sharp edges. Third, the girls are bitches and always looking to start problems and cause drama. It was my first stage set of the night. I had worked quite a bit that week, and my knees were sore and pretty raw. I have a lot of calluses on my knees form dancing so much. I didn't notice it until I got off the third stage, which was covered in blood. One of my knees had been torn open by the separated panels on the first stage. There was blood all over my leg. You'll think I'm exaggerating when I streaming, but I'm not. The girl after me in rotation, Jen, is a bitch anyways, and she doesn't like me at all. She started screaming at me to find a bouncer to clean the stage so she wouldn't catch anything from my disgustingly diseased blood. I would just like to say, that I am clean. And one of the most respectable girls at work. Anyways, I was now feeling the large gash, and it hurt. But I searched all over the place looking for a bouncer. I finally went up to the dressing room and told the DJ to let one of the bouncers know. I found all of the bouncers hanging out in the dressing room. I told them, and they said "we'll be right on it." Well they didn't. And my friend Adrian made me sit down and helped me take care of my knee. It looked pretty bad, to be honest. Jen stormed upstairs and started screaming at me that I came upstairs and was chatting people up instead of cleaning up disgusting, germ-infested blood off the stage. Adrian, the toughest and most feared girl at the club. Started yelling back. "She was fucking looking everywhere. Tim [the DJ] and I made her sit down and take care of it. You have no right to yell at her. She's never fucking done anything to you bitch. She deserves respect. Give it to her, or you'll regret it." Anyways, bad night. I hate weekends.


I have a heart condition that likes to screw with my working. The past two and a half weeks have been pretty bad, and so I've had to cancel on my regular twice. I had started feeling better, and planned out my week. My symptoms came back with a vengeance combined with my painful period. So I wasn't going to go into work. But my regular texted me half an hour before I had to be there (and I live twenty minutes away) saying "Hey, I'm in town today see you soon." I responded saying "Oh? I thought we were scheduled for tomorrow." "Yeah, but that doesn't work for me. Today does." "Oh... Okay" "Well if you're busy, don't change your plans for me." "No, it's fine I'll be there." UGGGGGHHHHH. What I wanted to say is "I don't go because I enjoy your company. I got because you pay me $300 every week. I just want your money. If you would give me the money without me being there, duh! I wouldn't change my plans." This is me being spoiled.

My angry moments as a stripper, have changed over the last year.

Awkward Moments at Work

Working at the club as long as I have, you collect some fun stories, some sad stories, and more than anything those super awkward moments. These moments really make the best stories. At the time you want to forget them, but once the awkward has passed it's something hilarious.

Two weeks into working, I had a very memorable moment. Growing up there was a group of college students that lived next door. They became surrogate older brothers. They'd gotten jobs and moved away when I was seventeen, and I hadn't seen them in three years. I was at work on a Saturday night. I was holding my friends drink when I finally located her. She was sitting on one guy's lap and I gave her her drink and sat on the other guy's lap. I hadn't looked at the guy's face, so I turned around and said "Hi my name's... Oh shit." Guess who? My neighbor!!! His response was "hey, you grew up." Followed by "I never, in a million years would have thought I would see you here..." After the awkward few moments passed, we had a nice time catching up. He ended up spending three hundred dollars on my friend. We both decided it would be super awkward to do that together. He did later comment on how good of a dancer I am. I think he specifically said "Looks like all that ballet paid off. And you really are flexible. Sorry that's awkward since you were naked, but I couldn't NOT look."


My boyfriend, Jamie, was in a fraternity. (I use the past tense because he is now an alum having graduated a year ago.) I am really good friends with all the guys in his frat, and I know quite a few alumni. About two months into working, I was there on a Friday night. It was about forty-five minutes to close. So right around 4:30 in the morning. I was exhausted and it was my last stage set. I was on stage, in just a thong. There was a bride at the stage with a crap ton of ones in front of her. I walked on over and said "Hi, so when's the wedding!" She looked familiar, but I figured she'd been in before. She responded "Two weeks. Hey, do you got X college?" I turn and look and see Jamie's frat brother, and a good friend of ours. The bride was an alum of the sister group, which is how I knew her. My friend first said "I knew it! Does Jamie know? How long have you been working here?" After I got off stage, he and I chatted for awhile. It's nice cause the group isn't judgmental and he thought it was pretty cool I had the "balls" to do this. I thought the comment "I feel like I know you better now" was pretty comical. He also told me he needed to congratulate Jamie on how flexible I am. Now whenever he's drunk and I see him he always says "I've seen you naked. And you have awesome boobs, I just want to motorboat them." Then he gets punched.


I worked a lot of Saturday nights over the summer. I thought I was pretty safe  not running into people from school because it's a teeny tiny town and everyone vacates for the summer. There are a few people that stay for the summer for whatever reasons. I was at work last July and a guy came up to me and asked if he could get a private dance. I was like "sure" that's easy money. I don't have to convince. He was polite and didn't touch me much. He paid and said if I talked to him for a little while he'd give me another $25. I thought it was great. Easy! We started talking. I asked the basic questions. "So where do you live?" He responded with the same teeny tiny town I live in. I asked him what he did there. He told me he was working over the summer but he goes to X college (my college). At this point I respond with "Oh that's so interesting." He continues with it's a small town and there aren't really any college students that stay over the summer, so he's pretty bored. There's these two guys he knows that live above a bar downtown, and that's about the only people he knows in town for the summer. "Oh by the way you look really familiar." I respond with "Oh that's interesting." He continues talking and starts putting together all the pieces "You look really similar to the girlfriend of the guy who lives above the bar. Like, really similar." I'm caught at this point... He knows. "Yeah, that's me. Small world huh?" It's so AWKWARD. We have this unspoken 'I remember you' moment every time we see eachother. I see him at parties, and it ruins my night! The last time was at a bonfire thrown by one of the sororities, which was a lot of fun, until I saw him. He's a constant reminder that 'oh yeah, you have this crap job. And there's NO escape!!!'


I have a good friend from back home that has come to visit me. She wanted to go to the strip club to see what it was like. I took her on a Friday night, so she could see what it was like in full swing. It happened to be amateur night. She was curious to see what it was like to be on stage, so she did amateur night. She danced to Rihanna's "S&M" and now it's our song. It's a great inside joke. She came back a couple months later, and came to work with me on a Saturday night. I felt bad because there was no one to hang out with her. But luckily she is the bubbly, quirky person she is and soon made friends with a really nice group of people. They snuck her a few drinks and she got a bit tipsy. She had a lot more fun and felt more comfortable with a little bit of liquid courage. Even though I was working I kept an eye on her because I didn't want anything to happen to her. She would always come to every one of my stages. She helped me make money. We call it "bonding." I was the very last girl on stage for the night, and there were still quite a few people left. There were a bunch of drunk girls that wanted on stage. (I call this girls romanticizing the job and wanting to pretend at being a stripper for a couple minutes. Also it makes me money.) I helped three girls on stage, as well as my friend. They had fun playing on the stage, and I sat down. The guys were just throwing money onto the stage and one guy handed me a wad of sixty ones. I wasn't complaining. I didn't have to do anything and I still made money!


I'm sure I have a lot more awkward moments. But I can't think of them now. I'll have a part two later. 

Starting With A Book

I was in a class last October that was a creative nonfiction. I did a lot of writing about work. I keep my job a secret from the faculty at Cornell, but other than that I'm open. The professor teaching the class was visiting, and she was really interesting and accepting. I felt that I could trust her and she wouldn't judge me based on my job, and she didn't. She actually encouraged me to write a book eventually because I was a good writer and I had valid things to say about my job. Anyways, I was pretty proud of this paper. I put a lot of work into it organizationally and story wise. It's really long, but I thought it would be good to share.

Starting With A Book

Sitting reading a book on the counter of the dressing room. It's a boring night. There are two guys down there. I've already talked to one for an hour. I have to go up on stage every forty-five

minutes. John won't let us stop because “there are still people here.” Jana is on stage now. She stole my song. I would be irritated, but she's a friend. I may end up making money. I look at the clock. Midnight it's still early.

~

My good friend from back home and is at work with me today. It is a lot of fun having her

here. Work is much less awful with her here. It's funny. She is going around the club telling guys they need to buy dances from me because I am “the hottest piece of ass here.” She's a little drunk tonight. She now has the nickname of my pimp tonight because I forgot my garter and she is holding my money.

~

The dead season is about to begin. I can tell. No one is spending money. I'm sitting on the

counter where the pop machine used to sit. I still have the confident air. No one is really looking

though, so my guard is down. I am scanning the crowd. Maybe I missed someone. A rather large guy glances at me. He catches my eye. I hop down and walk over and sit on his lap. My arms go around his neck and I say “Hi!” in my sweet girl-next-door kind of way. We chat. I notice his shirt. It's soft and I know the pattern. “Is this Burberry?” It's my favorite designer, the only one I consider worth spending money on actually. It also means he has money. Two minutes later he asks for a dance. Eight songs later we come out of the private dance area. Hundred and sixty dollars later, I'm glad I talked to him. He now only comes in to see me. My first regular.

~

Working at a strip club you learn fast. You learn to see who has more money. Out of the guys that do have the money who will pay me. Which guy will be nice. Which guy will treat me like a whore. Which guy wants to be touched. Which guy wants to talk. Which guy has a sexual fantasy that he wants played out. Which guy isn’t here for sexual reasons. I can’t explain why or how I learned this, but I did. If you want to survive and make money in the world of stripping you have to know these things. You end up safer and wealthier this way. Trial and error does help. I can read men and people in general really well. Although mistakes are occasionally made. It isn’t an exact science.

~

My nine month anniversary is here. I try never to work on this occasion. When I do it makes me and my boyfriend feel like money is most important. It isn’t. Except sometimes I feel like it is. My tuition is due tomorrow and if I don’t make the seventy more I need then I default on the payment. That’s bad. I desperately need the money. If work wasn’t so hard on my body I wouldn’t be in this predicament. I haven’t been able to work at all this month. I seriously pulled my hip flexor.

~

I pulled my hip flexor today. It was the day shift, and there was a slow period of three hours. I

was practicing pole tricks. I never do pole work in front of a crowd, but since I do this, I might as well be able to. I was doing pretty well, but then I hurt myself somehow.

~

Tracie Priceless is offering me drugs. I say no. I don't drink. I don't do drugs. I don't smoke. I

am an anomaly in the stripping world. “They aren't illegal. It's only Adderall.” “No thank you.” “It's not addictive” “No thank you.” “Come on! How do you expect me to pay for my kids?” “I don't do drugs. And if I really wanted Adderall I could ask my roommate who is ADD. Also, it is addictive, not right away, but eventually.” 

~

She's twenty. Like most girls here, she has two kids. Jana has a five year old and a two year old. We’re the same age. I can’t imagine having a five year old at this point in my life. Stripping is her job, other than taking care of her kids. Dancing is her way of taking care of bills and giving her kids everything they need and want. Nights are spent dancing. Days are spent with her kids. Jana comes to work after she puts them to bed. She's a great Mom and a good friend. If I’d met her outside of the club, I would be shocked by her job. She isn’t the type.

~

Seven in the morning on a Sunday, and I haven’t gone to bed yet. We just got home from work. A desperate trip to McDonald’s was made due to our hunger. It was a great night. I made six hundred. Rose made eight. This calls for a few days off. We can’t sleep, so we’re in the living room watching A-Team drinking wine. The wine is doing its job. Making us tired. I never drink. Especially at work. It's safer that way.

~

It's a Wednesday. Packing up my things. I am all done. I count out my money. I count out fifteen for the DJ and fifteen for the bouncers. I just realize. Tonight alone I have made the club a hundred dollars. It sucks. I could have kept that. Thirty to get in. Seventy dollars from private dances. Then the thirty I give to the DJ and the bouncers. So a hundred and thirty more I could have kept. Part of the reason I hate this job. I don't get to keep all the money I make.

~

I was doing a private dance with Daisy for a guy. I like doing private dances with another girl. It means less work. And no touching. I stepped off of the seat and twisted my ankle very badly. Funny thing is... I wasn't even wearing heels at that time.

~

I got my period today. Imagine having the flu plus paralyzing back, stomach, and thigh pain. In a nutshell that is my period for nine days. On top of all of that money is still a necessity to life. So, I still go to work. Most women make more money on these days because it coincides with their ovulation. Men are more attracted to ovulating women and spend more money on them. In order to keep this part of our lives a secret, we have to stick a tampon way up in there and cut the string very short so it isn't visible. Normally this isn't so bad, until today. I cut myself, and it hurts so incredibly badly.

~

It's four thirty in the morning. I have half an hour left. I am up on stage shaking it the way always do. I go over to a guy who has a HUGE stack of ones in front of him. I dance over and talk to him. When I actually do make eye contact I realize this is an alumni and close friend of my boyfriend. Luckily he is a close enough friend it's not completely awkward. After all of my stage sets are done I go and talk to him. He hands me fifty dollars and says it's because I work hard and he understands. I appreciate it and he responds “I have to say, I feel like I know you better now.”

~

I was there the first day Daisy worked. I didn't ignore her like the other girls did. I was still pretty new myself. Two months in and I was finally being acknowledged by the girls. We hit it off right away. Now she stays at my place on the weekends because she lives two hours away and it's

inconvenient for her to drive home. She's moving to Florida in three weeks and I am going to miss her.

~

I'm in the dressing room bathroom, crying. I just got off stage and it's a Saturday night. I had a

guy who tried to finger me while I was on stage. I thought it was obvious that that is illegal and wrong. I'm tired of being treated like a whore. Doesn't anyone know that this is a job? I'm a stripper, not a whore. I don't care that he got kicked out. It still hurts. It is the horrendous reality of my job: No one cares that it is a job. I’m a sexual object and nothing more. I can be used and no one cares how I feel.

~

My parents have always said that I am clumsy as clumsy gets. Except when I'm dancing. When

I dance, I never miss a step or a beat. I'm very graceful is what they have always said. I would give that credit to the thousands of dollars spent on my ballet training. I had been on the fast track to being a prima ballerina. Until I got too tall.

~

“A good dancer is an educated one, so don't abandon school.” Deborah Bull

I sit down next to a guy. Usually I keep the conversation on him. “What’s your name? Where do you work? Do you like it? How did you get into that? What do you do for fun?” The list goes on and on. I have a warehouse full of questions to keep the conversation going and on him. It makes men feel important if they are talking about themselves. This guy isn’t falling for it. He keeps turning the conversation to me. Finally he asks the most dreaded question to ask a stripper: “How did you get into this?” Most girls lie. I don’t lie, ever. This question is a hard one for two reasons. First, it is a highly personal question because everyone has their own reasons. Second, it ends the fantasy. For every girl that strips the biggest reason: Money.

I answered honestly, but with a question. “Do you know how much Cornell costs?” He laughs at me. I raise an eyebrow. He responds with: “Don’t lie to me. We both know that you don’t go to Cornell. If you do go to school it’s Kirkwood. And “college” is the most stereotypical lame ass answer to give as a stripper.” I am angry. He has slapped my intelligence. As a pretty girl, I am used to this, but for the first time someone is telling me I absolutely am not smart enough to even attend a four year college, let alone Cornell. I sit and argue with him. I explain calmly that I am a triple major in Literature, French, and Russian. That school costs $42,000 and even though I have scholarships I don’t want any debt from school, so I took this job to make that happen. He laughs at me again. “French and Russian. Two “sexy” languages. Nice pick. I’m sure you know enough to get away with it. Literature. Next you’re going to tell me you work in a library.” It’s funny because I do work in a library. I walk away making sure to speak to him in French, Russian, Spanish, and German. “Oh just to let you know. I have dabbled in Spanish and German. I don’t say I  have studied those because I have high expectations for proficiency in a language. My French is as good as your English. Although that’s not saying much. Second thought. My French is better.”

~

 A red-head walks into the dressing room. She looks scared. She doesn't know anyone. It's her

first night. She does her make-up and gets dressed. She has the hopeful look of someone romanticizing the job. She isn't yet crushed by the harsh reality of it yet. She smiles and says hi to the girls who pass her; hoping someone will talk to her. The manager talks to her and asks what song she wants to be played for her try-out. She tells him. Ten minutes pass and she is on the balcony watching the other girls on stage. She's trying to figure out what to do. Another ten minutes go by and her name, Daisy, is announced to go onstage.

~

I’ve been working a month now and the most important thing I’ve learned so far is: This job is about rejection. I am rejected more often than I am said yes to. This is because I am not every guy’s type. No girl is every guy’s type. I have to let the no’s roll off my back. There are nights when no one likes me. There are other nights when everyone likes me. It happens. It has nothing to do with how thin I am. How tall I am. How pretty I am. It has to do with what a guy likes. Sometimes it’s me. Most the time it’s not.

~

My third week of working. A friend of mine is sitting on a guy’s lap and there is another guy sitting at the table. I go over and sit on his lap. I turn and look at him. It turns out to be a guy I grew up next to for years. He's like an older brother to me. Safe to say this is an extremely weird occurrence. Although it is a slow night, so we have lots of time to catch up.

~

A friend of mine is interested in what being in a club is like. So she and I and her boyfriend

went for the night. She enjoyed it. Much more than she thought. Her boyfriend bought her a dance and now she is thinking about dancing herself.

~

Adeara told me why she got into dancing. She started dancing to pay for school. Something

we have in common. Although six months in she quit school to dance. (I don’t see this becoming another commonality.) She has gained back her self-confidence and self-worth because of dancing. She was sexually abused by a boyfriend for a few months. I heard variations of the same story from other girls. After some research I have found that sexual abuse or rape is a common thread connecting strippers, porn stars, really a lot of women in the “sex” business.

~

My fourth day working. I still don't know the tricks of the trade, so I make mistakes. I haven’t yet learned how to read people yet. The first part was alright. The last part went poorly. He kept trying to touch me in the one place it's not allowed, my vagina. Nor would I let him. I kept telling him no and holding his hand. When it was done I stood up. As I turned around to face him he untied my bikini bottom, gave me three dollars, whipped his dick out, said “It's my Birthday, make it special,” and tried to shove my face into his lap.

~

My first lap dance is with a guy that looks exactly like someone I used to date. He’s still a good friend of mine. I'm not sure if this makes it better or more uncomfortable. Anyways, I take his hand and lead him to the private dance area. He sits in the red velvet seat and I sit on the stool. I think this is how it works until the next song starts playing. “This is the first dance I've ever given.” He looks at me for a moment. “Really?” I look down, “Yes it is. I guess the first is the most memorable.” We start. I have no idea what I'm doing. Oh well just go with it. Definitely more comforting than awkward. I’m more comfortable with him because there is some “familiarity” even if it isn’t real. I end up texting him after and telling him the story. He’s now in love with me because of my job. Now it’s a bit awkward.

~

I'm working and I'm remembering how I was three years ago. Desperate and alone. I was a part of a family who abused me. I was with a boyfriend who treated me like a whore. Worse actually, I had no choice in the matter. I lost my virginity, not by choice, but by force with the words “I love you” branded into my mind. It continued for two years. And that’s what I thought love was. I know better now. I hate this job. Although it has done something for me. I gained back a little confidence. I have always been good at faking confidence. For once I think I have a little.

~

A book in my hands. I’m sitting cross legged on the floor of the book stacks on second floor of Cole Library. I’m reading a psychological study about strippers and stripping. I don't know how I'm going to break the news to my boyfriend. It would be a fairly easy decision without him. My relationship with my parents isn't going well, although it never has. I won't be able to go home for the summer, I’m not sure I ever wanted to though. I won't be able to afford anything. I don't have any choice right now. Tears streaming down my face, I still have some time. Maybe it won't come to this.  

No Where is Safe

There's a several reasons I don't work Saturday nights. I don't make very much money on Saturdays because there are too many people, and I get overwhelmed. There's so much drama between the girls. I hate the men that are there. There's a possibility of seeing guys from school.

My college, like every other college, has fraternities and sororities. Our Greek is exclusive to my college and not national, so it's a bit quirkier than at other schools. The Greek groups are known by their names rather than their letters. The group I'll be talking about will go by the name of... Hawks.

The Hawks are mostly guys that play on the football team. They are big and mean. And extremely sexist, racist, and every other discriminatory thing you can think of, plus some. Their nickname is "The Rapists" on campus. No joke, their assholes.

I feel like I had good reasons to not work Saturday nights, but about a month and a half ago I was given an even better reason not to work weekends. I was planning on working a double at the club that day, a Saturday. I was at lunch with a friend. Dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. I walked by the Hawk table when they started saying "It's hard to believe that... is a stripper." "I'm looking forward to visiting her tonight." "I'm gonna take her back and do her for all she's worth." "She's gonna suck my dick till her mouth bleeds." "She'll only look hot on her back." Then they all started chanting "Stripper" over and over again. To say the least it wasn't the most pleasant lunch I've ever had. Being in the occupation that I am, we do get used to hearing things like that. Usually it's a bunch of guys talking crap and it's nothing to worry about. With the Hawks, I don't want to take any chances. I ended up not going to work that day, and I haven't been to work on a Saturday since.

I'm not a girl that is easily scared by men, but I also have heard enough scary stories from friends that I don't want to take my chances. I also have no desire to relive painful parts of my past.

I am a huge feminist. But, I also know that as a girl there are some physical limitations and I can't protect myself against everything. It's the scary reality of working as a stripper. Things can go wrong, and when they do they go very, very wrong. I'm always on my guard because I don't want to take any chances. There is too much to lose. It's not just at work, it's everywhere. Who knows who I'll see where or when.

Save Me!!!

"You're the embodiment of all evil in the world."

"You need to find yourself a good country boy who will take care of you, and get you out of this place."

"God will save you, and forgive you this sin."

"You're too pretty to work here. You deserve to be taken care of."

"God is always watching. He always loves you. He is forgiving."

"You seem like you're a smart lady. You could do so much more."

"Go into debt. You'll eventually make enough money to pay it off. You shouldn't work here, it's an evil place."

"Your body is sacred."

"You need to find God. Your life will be empty without Him. You will be stuck in this hell hole for all of eternity because of your sin against God. You are continuing a cycle of adultery. You should be at home with a man that loves you."

Always followed by:

"So, would you like to go have a private dance?"

HYPOCRITES

I'm no saint. And I know there are many things that I am hypocritical about. But really! Come on! I would understand if they came in just to "save" us girls, but wanting a lap dance too. That's just not okay.

I do not want to be nor need to be saved. My relationship to God or lack there of is no business of the men at the strip club. Leave me alone! I'm just trying to pay for college. I'm minding my own business, so should they!

They're trying to save me.

I need to be saved from them!

Behind the Stripper Pole

I work day shifts at the club because it allows me to have a social life, get my homework done, sleep, eat. You know important things. But because I work the day shift, there is a lot of down time...

No one ever really thinks strippers have down time. Usually there is a two hour period between 6:30 and 8:30 when it is really dead. Today there was a total of ZERO people at the club at 6:00. All the older people are at home with their families. The young crowd isn't ready to go out yet.

So what do we do?

Most days, up in the dressing room, we gossip about who got arrested. Who got knocked up by which bouncer. What regular wanted to do what? with his what? Complain about never having enough money. Talk about our boyfriends, husbands, or kids. Sometimes we go onto fourth stage and practice pole tricks, or have dance parties. Some girls do shots. When I have homework I am sitting up in the dressing room working on that.

Then there are the days where there's an attitude in the air and no one wants to sit still.

Freedom of speech is something we, Americans, hold dear to our hearts. In the stripping world there is an even greater freedom. Combine this with little to no judgement, and that leads to some interesting conversations.

Being a stripper at an all nude club leads to anatomical discoveries. For one, I now know what fake boobs feel like. I also know the difference between "good" fake boobs, and "bad" fake boobs. Before stripping, I never knew that some vaginas are cute and some are really ugly.

Several months ago, on a very boring day, there were six girls sitting around upstairs in the dressing room. One of them was sitting naked, cross-legged on the counter facing the mirror. She was looking at her vagina in the mirror when she asked "do I have a cute vagina?" We all looked up as she hopped off the counter saying "I was just wondering." We all gathered in a circle. Underwear started coming off as we began to look at our own vaginas and those of our friends. As one of the girls bent over to take a closer look she stood up and said "I like yours. Your lips are tight and the same color as the rest of my skin. I have an ugly vagina. Mine looks like hamburger, and I haven't even had kids yet." We all took a closer look. Strippers have a brutally, harsh honesty policy when it comes to their friends. We all agreed "yeah, yours isn't attractive, but luckily your boobs make up for it." We all had our turn with an inspection and judgement to see if it was a cute one or an ugly one.

I don't remember the conversation, but I was teasing a friend as I was getting ready to leave for the night. We had both taken off our work "clothes" and were putting them away. After I made a great joke at her expense, she put on her sad-puppy-dog face. I laughed and right as the music completely died down I yelled "Let's naked hug it out!" Everyone in the club heard. There was an applause and an immediate chant of "Yeah, naked hug!" The DJ came into the dressing room and gave a narration of the event.

Today at work, my friend and I were getting ready for the shift. She was topless and looking at her boobs in the mirror "my nipples are changing and its weird." I walked over and looked. After a moment "You're right they are changing, that one is way pinker than the other one." She looked at me "I know they used to be really pale and now, they're bright pink. And they're so hot" as she grabbed her boob. I reached out and felt for myself. "Yep, they are unusually warm."

Pretty much if you're a stripper there is no privacy and no personal space. We often feel each other up, for many different reasons.

Why the New Blog

So, I had these posts on another blog, but I decided I hated the name of that blog.

I was out with my lady-friends from school tonight, and we started talking about my job. My friend said "Yes next year I can say "This is my roommate 'The Sober Stripper'." I LOVED it. It's so true. I don't think I've mentioned in depth that I don't drink. I don't do drugs. This is an ever thing. I don't do it in the club, or in real life. So I had to change my blog name.

Anyways. I don't drink for two reasons.

1. My job, I see all the really bad things that can happen to a girl when she drinks or gets high. So it isn't something that I aspire to.

2. I have a heart condition. I pass out easily sober, and when I start drinking I pas out even more frequently. And so, drinking is bad for my health.

Anyways. I don't have a lot to say. I'm doing my homework and my computer decided to fuck me over and delete my project. So after dealing with this TWICE and yelling at my boyfriend, Jamie, I decided to take a break. He's sitting at the computer playing video games. I am upset because I need a new computer and I can't finish my homework because the universe is against me. So I decided to vent here. To my basically non-existent audience. Anyways, I should get back to the homework.

More soon.

Kelly