I've been meaning to post this quote from Wallace Stroby's latest, The Heartbreak Lounge. It's a scene that takes place in the titular titty bar.
  "Used to be a girl danced here. She called herself Jasmine sometimes. You remember her? Her real name was Nikki."
  "Jasmine? Do you know how many Jasmines have been through here? Or Nikkis, for that matter? And Britneys and Brandys and Willows?"
  "You remember that Jasmine? Long brown hair? A tattoo of a butterfly"—he reached around, touched his lower back—"right here?"
  "You're kidding, right?"

And that, friends, is the most true-to-life strip club scene in literature for 2005.

Good thing I had a massage scheduled yesterday--Wednesday turned out to be a physically wearing night. Since Tuesday was so slow, I guess a lot of dancers decided to stay home, and we had eight on the roster. It was a quiet night until around 11, when we had several groups wander in, and the second stage was opened up. With only eight girls, this means that each of us spent about 15 minutes of every 60 on stage, then the rest of the time in the lapdance corner. It was wearying, but I'll take it over a dead night.

You know what I think is funny? Consistently, the customer who compliments me the most on being "classy" (for various reasons, including not having a tattoo of some guy's name on my ass, a boob job, etc) is going to be the one who wants me to do unclassy things. Witness Wednesday's customer: "You're not like these other girls; there's nothing trashy about you at all. . . . Will they let you 'finish me off' here?"

"No." And I'm so sorry, because as a classy stripper, I would love for you to come in your pants. Actually, what I really said was, "Oh, honey, now what fun would that be if you still had all of your clothes on? It wouldn't be any fun for me."

But the previous night there was a customer who'd said basically the same thing to me (and several other girls, I discovered in the dressing room): "Oh, baby, just sit down and stay there; I'm almost there!" Which is of course one thing that will get me up and away. "We can't have that happening."
"Why not? It's ok, it's all covered."
I don't know if he was referring to the fact that he was wearing pants or if he actually had a condom on under them.
"Nope, it's not ok."
"Why not?"
"Well, for one thing, at $15 a song, we're sure as hell not being compensated for completion."

But for the most part on Wednesday the guys were sweet and fun, and certainly livened up the place. We all made a lot on stage, which is great, because nothing sucks harder than a big crowd that's not tipping. One of the girls got two $100's on the second stage. Damn, the biggest bill I got was a $20.

I did have a blast talking to one young UC student. "Yeah, I've lived here all my life, and you hear people talk about how great Cincinnati is [you do?] but I can't wait to get out of here." Understandable, I told him, since he seemed smart and interesting. He was with a friend who'd never ever been to a strip club before and was a little quiet at the beginning of the night, but when I talked to him a couple of hours later, he said, "I got my first lap dance! This is fun." Ah, another PL created.

But I was so physically tired--my thighs hurt when I got home. The Shiatsu yesterday was terrific. Perfect timing.

It's been a quiet week over at Concepts; Tuesdays are their $10 dance nights (I try not to think too hard about this; as they take 20%, that means we are actually doing dances for $8--sigh) and have been busy, but not last night. I did hear some horrifying details about some poor dancer's cervix in the dressing room; she said she felt an abnormality, upon which a couple of the other girls freaked out and said, "You can feel your cervix?" I was shocked--I didn't know anyone couldn't. I still suspect they're not doing it right. You know, you stick your finger in there, and you feel it. Due to the form of birth control I use, the NuvaRing, I'm quite familiar with mine, thanks. Anyhow, she said she'd been experiencing weird periods for a while, so I asked, "What did your doctor say?"
"I haven't been. I'm going to go to Planned Parenthood but they need to see a paystub for you to get the sliding scale fee." Ack! The slightest female trouble and I run to the doctor. Procrastinating on this sort of thing is just never ever good. I don't know what their flat rate is these days, but I think the most I ever paid at a PP (I never used the sliding scale, just their normal rates) was $90. I hope this girl gets in there soon.

Last Wednesday there was a customer who was very generous with myself and another dancer--he probably gave each of us about $400 in dances and tips, bought us "cocktails" ($8 sodas that we get $2 off of) all night, and was, to boot, fun company. Last night he was in again, and when I went over to say hi, he gave me a torrent of compliments for the fun he had last week. But, he said, he'd be busy tonight, because he thought he'd made a connection with another dancer. Oh boy. I kind of know how this will turn out, don't you?

One thing that bears mentioning about the itty-bitty club is the dancer quality--it is quite high for such a little club. Just about all of these girls could hold their own in a larger, "show club" setting. There's a pretty good variety, and the median is probably a 7.5 to 8.5 rather than the 4-6 range you usually see in smaller, neighborhood bars. It's pretty cool.

Also, I've been happy to meet some very interesting and well-traveled customers, from techies to retired military types; bizarrely, it's a more diverse and friendly customer base than the one in Dayton at the Living Room (although certainly more blue-collar than at Pure Platinum).

But check this out: Some fella was wearing a T-shirt for some resort in Puerto Rico. I pointed to the logo and asked him, "Where's that?"
"Puerto Rico? It's an island in the A-"
Oh, lord, this guy really thinks I don't know where Puerto Rico is!
"I know where Puerto Rico is. Where's (Casa de los Hongos or something)?"
"Oh! Ha ha! It's blah blah resort blah blah. Sorry about that."
"Yes, well, I am a stripper, so I understand how you'd assume I wouldn't know where the 51st state was."
Kidding!

So there was this customer in the club who I'd done a set of dances for, and when I told him I'd been an English major, we started discussing authors. We really got into it about Hemingway when I stopped and said, "Can I just tell you thanks? This is probably the most interesting conversation I've had at work in ages." Which was entirely true.

We went our separate ways, then later in the evening as I was heading up to stage he asked me, "Hey, are you up for a challenge?" I told him I was about to be busy but to catch up with me later. A challenge? Like dancing to Rush (which actually isn't that big of a challenge depending on what song you pick)?

Nope. "Can you take me in the back and just dance for me until I come in my pants? I'll give you $100."

That's not a challenge, that's a proposition.

A few things:

The few times this happened to customers of mine in the club, quite unexpectedly, $100 was the tip they handed me before leaving in embarrassment. Having an orgasm is something that should be reserved for the privacy of, at the least, the Super 8.

Why not just go the whole mile and ask for, you know, a handjob or a blowjob? Actually, this club's layout is so small and open I guess you really couldn't get away with it in there.

And come on, coming in your pants? Isn't that, I don't know, immature? There's a reason those guys left in embarrassment.

So let me tell you about the new club. It's one of the spots I visited back in November before moving to Cincinnati, and is probably the closest one to where I live. There are some clubs across the river in Kentucky, but they're bikini bars and the dancers make their money from drink commissions, so I can't imagine they're that lucrative. This one is over in Indiana, so on my way there I drive through all three states, Ohio, Indiana, and Kentucky. That thirty minutes would barely get you out of Travis Country back in Austin.

I was struck by how friendly everyone was--it's a neighborhood bar in the best sense of the phrase. Certainly there's the usual amount of drama between dancers but I've been treated pretty well as a new girl, something that's hardly a given in smaller clubs. In larger ones, your coworkers usually don't care since there's always new hires coming in. Smaller clubs tend to have more delicately balanced social orders, and many of the dancers who work in them have a different approach to the job. This can involve being overly posessive of customers, music, styles of dress or just about anything else a dancer can claim. So I've been pleasantly surprised so far.

I'm not sure what the money potential will be; I'm going to be working my first weekend night tomorrow, so we'll see how it goes. However, I'm willing to take about a 20% pay cut, as it were, to be able to stay closer to home (that's about what I spent in travel costs last month). The dances are very cheap at $15, and most of the girls do a variation on a grind for most of the song. I prefer to switch it up a little more than that but I haven't found it to impair my ability to sell multiple dances; it is definitely the exception here for a customer to only buy one dance. Most buy 2-4.

The whole money system is bizarre; after each stage set or round of dances you must turn in your cash to the bartender, who hands you a receipt. Envelopes with dancers' names written on them are all along the DJ board, and we put our receipts in them throughout the night. You also get a ticket each time a customer buys you an $8 "cocktail" (soda), for which you get $2 each. At the end of the night, the bartender tallies up your earnings, takes out 20% as the house cut and hands you your 80% in cash. Out of your net, the DJ is to get 5%, which is pretty healthy considering that a) the DJ doesn't actually play any music because it's all on a jukebox and
b) we are expected to hustle customers for $2 to play our sets on it. So the DJ gets 5% of our net earnings for announcing our names, basically. And on my first night, the one who was working hinted for extra. "It's 5%, plus whatever extra you want to tip." Ha. The bar deserves a better tip than that.

However, there is no flat house fee or other mandatory tipout required, so it would be impossible to leave the club in the hole no matter how bad the night went.

I remember how amused I was the first time I saw a jukebox in the titty bar, at Mary's Club in Portland, where the dancers also have to do the "Dollar for the jukebox?" hustle. Hee. Now, I think it's hilarious and bush league and even a little demeaning to have to ask customers for a buck before you get on stage, but that didn't stop me from thinking, "Cheap asshole" the first time I saw a guy turn down a girl who asked him for a dollar. "I paid $5 at the door. They can play all the damn music they want!" Oooh, five whole dollars! And I think the most expensive drink you could buy would be about that, too. It would take you an hour to run through $100 here, in drinks, dances, and stage tips, an amount that would be gone in 15 minutes in some clubs I've worked in.

So it's smalltime, but it's comfy and clean. I have not seen a dancer get wasted yet, haven't seen anyone do anything questionable at all. The staff is friendly and they seem to do their jobs. I really hope it pans out because I am fucking loving coming home at night to sleep in my own damn bed.

After four nights in Columbus last week I had a meltdown of the "I can't stand this freaking hotel room and the club being dead any longer" and came home on Friday--missing the weekend wntirely. I am sick of traveling for now and am checking out a club that's a more reasonable 25 minutes away from home. I'm willing to make less money in return for being closer to home.

This place is tiny tiny tiny. And it has a jukebox, the first club I've ever worked in with one. It's different. I hope it works out; I would really love nothing more than to be able to work closer to home.