Stripperherding isn't for everyone. It's a job that requires almost godlike patience, an iron stomach and the ability to ignore things like morals, right and wrong and dignity. That being said you can make a decent living if you're willing and able to relenquish all hope of feeling good about your occupation and just grab cash.
See, strippers don't think like the rest of us, they have a celebrity mentality. Men fawn over them and hand over their money and tell them how hot they are all the time. Many of them have never had to work a real job where you're not allowed to drink, smoke pot and snort coke on the job and get paid a lot to do it. In fact if it weren't for strip clubs, most of these girls would die at an early age hustling on the streets because they are incapable of handling a real job or managing their money.
So when things don't go their way, some of them bray like a mule that took a spear in its flank. Loudly and without concern for anyone around them. They are not happy and as a consequence they will do their best to make sure no one within earshot of them is happy either. Unless listening to a bitch in a thong loudly complaining about making more money than she deserves is something you enjoy that is.
Let me enlighten you as to what brought this to the forefront of my thoughts...
The other night I was just doing the usual for a slow night; envisioning creative ways to kill myself in an effort to make time go faster and avoiding wandering strippers for fear they might try to converse with me. Suddenly a dude comes in who has money and everything changes.
To spare you the onerous details, this guy goes into a champagne room with his driver and two of our dancers for an hour. This sets him back about a grand and he orders an insanely overpriced bottle of fizzshit*1 on top of that so he's in for roughly $1700 at this point.
Well not 10 minutes go by and he steps out of the room and motions me over. I head over and ask him what he needs. He asks if he can swap out one of the dancers for a dirtier one.*2 I tell him no problem but I can't transfer the money from one skank to another, nor can I refund the money. If he wants a new dancer in the room he has to pony up the dough for that new broad.
Whatever, he says, he did after all have a black card and could certainly afford any number of bitches he chose to pay for.
So I pull the rejected stripper aside and tell her that the customer wants her out, but on the plus side she just made $300 for less than 10 minutes of her time and to count this as a victory, not a setback.
Ahem, she didn't see it that way. That's putting it mildly. Insert wounded mules sound track here...
She keeps complaining for the rest of the evening and I couldn't help wondering why. I would certainly like to make $300 for 10 minutes of my time, what's the big deal? Well it turns out that this guy was telling everyone he was going to spend $6000 that night and she thought he was telling the truth and ergo, she was going to miss out on it.
Hahaha, I laughed. In my entire 15 years in the titty business, only one guy I can remember ever spent what he said he was going to spend at the club. With that one exception in mind I can tell you that if someone says they're going to spend x amount of dollars in the club they are, in fact, lying. It never happens. Indeed it is a signal that they are not really going to spend money at all, but merely waste everyone's time and that they are, realistically, worth less than a bucket of monkey spunk.
And I was right of course. The guy ended up getting another 15 minute room with the girls and in actuality spent another $400, not $6000.
I hate being right all the time.
This didn't stop the mule from crying. She squealed out her anger continuously for the next 45 minutes and then thankfully went to the dressing room to sulk and count her money. And to anyone who may think I'm being unfair here, this particular stripper wasn't exactly broke. She'd already done 4 rooms that night and had a bit over $600 in her garter for her efforts.
So, you know, fuck her and stuff.
Another high point of my night was Catastrophe, an admittedly hot stripper who just happened to be really drunk. Shocking, I know. She was so drunk she actually admitted she was drunk, which is pretty fucking drunk.
Anyway the other Floor Schlep had marked down her house fees incorrectly and she let me know in no uncertain terms that it was wrong. No problem, I fixed it. Other than that she had done 3 dances that night and had only paid for 2 of them so far. So her adjusted pay out at the end of the night was $35, not $55.
Reinsert braying soundtrack here.
It went something like this:
Her: "I paid for all my dances already, why are you guys always trying to fuck me over?"
Me: "We're not. We rely on you dancers for tips so why would we try to over charge you for dances and fuck up our chances of getting some money from you?"
Her: "I told you I paid for all my dances, quit being an asshole."
Me: "Is it possible that since you're drunk and I'm sober that maybe I'm right about counting to three and you're not?"
Her: "I tip you guys good when I make money and you're always trying to fuck me over."
Me: "I assure you that you're mistaken and to prove it and get you the fuck out of my face before I have to do something debilitating, I'm going to pay for your dance out of my own pocket."
Her: "No, fuck that. How much do I owe you?"
Me: "$35."
Her: "I told you my house fee was marked down wrong, what do I really owe you?"
Me: "Yes, it was. And I told you that I have fixed that already so your House Fee PLUS the dance you haven't paid for comes to $35, not $55."
Her: "But I paid for that dance. I think I would know if I paid for my dances or not, quit charging me for shit I already paid for."*3
Me: "Fuck it. Here's $10. I'll pay for your 3rd dance out of my money. Don't worry about it, no big deal."
Replay this conversation about 3 more times and end with her giving me $17 which she thought covered her fees.
Now picture this nearly every night with a variety of hammered dancers and now you know what the end of the night is like in my industry.
Dancers are like wasted, bipedal carp. Useless.
Carp on Diem,
-The StripperHerder
*1 Otherwise known as Dom Perignon
*2 He didn't actually say this, but us Floor Mammals are adept at reading between the lines.
*3 I have removed the slurring from this dialogue to make it more comprehensible to the average reader.
