There are nights at the strip club that seem to be endless. A six hour shift feels like an airplane journey to Europe and back without ever getting off the airplane. We call these nights with the harmless description of “slow night.” But in truth these nights are filled with torment, tiredness (like when you have to keep driving to get to your urgent destination but cannot keep your eyes open), physical exhaustion (sometimes, you have to dance for one schmuck who sits at the railing and gives you one single $1), and life turning questions about why you are here, what you are doing with your life, and why God humbles you in this strange way wasting precious life hours that would be way better spent in bed getting a restful, rejuvenating sleep. You walk with minuscule amounts of money. These are bad nights, however, they do not even mean anything compared to the nights where the club is packed but the customers are pretending that they are not watching. They are the free voyeurs who often even dismiss you as a person, dancer, human being. Some of them (women as well as men) will even compliment you on how great you are on stage, they will tell it to you right into your face sitting at the railing (like they know how to judge a pole dancing performance) without tipping. Or they will pretend to scroll through their phone while trying to video tape you. These are the horror nights at the strip club. They feel like a tormenting journey to the moon and back without even someone willing to buy you a bottle of water. The depletion you experience from nights like this is horrendous, and you wish you’d never have to go back, but you somehow muster up the courage pulling yourself up by your boot straps and go back for another try. There are no guarantees at the strip club, except that you probably unwantingly will get your ass slapped.
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Dear Strip Club Customer,
I know you want to take us home when the club closes, you want to know what we are doing afterwards, but don’t you know … strippers turn into pumpkins when the club doors close.
Sincerely,
A.A. Jones
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We were both debating about our pride in performing arts and putting on a good show in the strip club. I mentioned, “I still do too much pole work anyways. People don’t appreciate it. I should shake my skinny ass more into their faces. It would be less exhausting and more lucrative.” She summed it up nicely, “I know, it’s always disappointing how simple the audience really is and how much ass in face pays off.”
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Special events are usually non-advantageous for the strippers. The patrons feel that the high cover entrance fee includes free stripper entertainment. They are not willing to tip but like to pull out their phones and video tape our spectacular poke tricks, although, video taping is forbidden. But these people don’t care. They are in for the thrill and have no consideration for anybody but themselves. Special events at the strip club are mostly disappointing and exhausting for us dancers.
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No woman should ever have to feel ugly about her physical appearance. Especially not when she puts herself out there to perform for you and tries to entertain you. So you fuckers and little bitches who sit right at the tip railing and tip one girl generously then cross your arms for the next girl who tries her best to dance for you, are absolutely out of line. I’ve seen you play your little power games. And while the girl who gets nothing from you, or even worse a degrading pity dollar, she’s not the ugly one. She just brings your ugly out in you. You are the ugly bastard, the ugly, jealous bitch. Go take your little power play out on your boss — yeah or on your daddy who pays your bills and whose money you’re tipping or not tipping because you yourself can’t even hold a job. Every girl up there is ahead of you. Because she’s earning a living with her own sweat, blood, body, hands and feet, and just therefore deserves to feel good, be appreciated, and proud of all the courage she has to even step on stage especially for mean, power hungry folks like you. She’s beautiful while you’re stingy and rude when you play those games, and one day, someone will do you how you did her, the only difference will be you won’t expect it, and you don’t know nothing about a stripper’s shield. While you’re mean we will survive you, get stripper tougher, and sadly, we expect people like you to visit … that’s why we are prepared. But you won’t be when karma strikes you like unexpected lightening from the skies.
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