Fishing tourists are like strippers; on any given night half of them are complaining about how bad it is out on the water, how there's no fish, how the commercial fishermen must be catching them all, while the other half are telling stories about throwing back monsters over 50 inches long to enter some statewide competition and bringing home 48 pound King salmon.

Likewise, half the dancers are talking about how there are too many dancers, how slow the season is, how dirty the other girls are and that's why they can't make money. The other half are smiling and stuffing Franklins and Grants into their purses (and a stupid amount of Hamiltons, because the idiot who stocks our ATM uses $10s because "that's what all my other machines use." Dumbass. The other machines might be in convenience stores where people need to take out $10 at a time, but here the customers complain about only being able to get out $200 at a pop).

Two of my friends who are excellent saleswomen and seductive dancers have been accused of getting fingered in the dance room, which is so not happening with these girls. I know, I've done double dances with them and watched many others as we dance across from each other. I even was accused of illegal activity during a double dance, which makes me think our simulation is so good it looks like the real thing. Pssht. This is what happens when other dancers think you're making more than you should; you must be dirty!

In reality, dancers who transgress the club standard of contact aren't the ones who make the most. It's the ones who can sell the best, who can overcome objections, who can emphasize the value of the experience for the customer. I mean, you have to back it up with the product, but it all starts with making the sale. And it's the customers who demand the least who are the best spenders, the guys who are happy to sit back and enjoy themselves. It holds true 99% of the time; the relaxed, fun customer is the big tipper, and the grabby, loud one is cheap.

Thursday we were ferociously packed and I worked my ass off and had my second best night of the year, following closely behind the night before the Final Four championship game in Atlanta. It was fabulous. On Friday, one of my traveling stripper friends and I went out on the river fishing and were so tired we fell asleep at 10 p.m., waking at 1 a.m. to, well, sleep more. Yesterday I had an amazing massage but we made it in so late there really wasn't a lot to do. By 3 a.m. I had had it with the irritating, overly drunk crowd, and was starting to get bitchy with the customers.

Here's an example of how not to make a sale. I'd gotten off stage, where there were exactly two guys at the rack. the two in the audience were clapping but not tipping. I approach customer number one, a middle-aged guy. Small talk ensued, then I asked if he was ready to go to VIP. "No, a girl asked me already."
"Oh, so you've already had some dances?"
"No. I told her no, too."
" . . . ok. So now you can say two girls asked you already." I walk off. One customer remains, and only my moral obligation to see the night to its bitter end makes me approach a 23-year-old in shorts and a baseball cap.

"Hey, you were clapping, you liked my show, huh?"
"Yeah, you did a great job!"
"Why didn't you come visit me up there [bad stripper! you never, ever start whining to the customers. I need to go home!]? Was it the part where I took off my clothes?"
"No, uh, I don't know, I was just watching."
"[For free!] Oh. OK. [Well, I'll ask, he'll say no, I can go home.] Do you wanna go in the back for a dance?[Don't say "Do you wanna dance"! It's so grating!]"
"Yeah. let's do that."
"[Surprise]"

And we were back there for five songs. I actually thanked him for being there, being cool, and spending money, in almost those exact words, such was my surprise and gratitude at ending a shitty night on a good note.

Today is Sunday, traditionally the stripper's night off, but last week we came in on Monday and some customers complained to us that "the C-team was here. Where were you?" Not the B-team, they went straight to the C-team. So again with that moral obligation to make sure the customer has access to a quality product.

I keep forgetting to mention this, but it was so funny to me. I was dancing on stage and this is a club where we can pick whatever music we like, so I was playing "Evil" by Interpol. A guy at the rack says, in all seriousness, "I think this is the weirdest song I've ever heard." I would like Interpol to know that they are extremely weird to fishermen from the western U.S.