What a bunch of fucking bullshit...
So here's the new reality at my club which is in essence the same reality I've been through at every other club I've worked at as well. The Floor Guys are basically the 'police' force of strip clubs, we do everything that doesn't require a manager passkey and yet somehow we're supposed to do more.
The latest conundrum is girls missing their stage calls, girls being late for their stage calls and sometimes girls flat out refusing to go on stage. The owner is pissed off about it and makes the managers' lives hell so they pass on the misery to us. Why aren't we making sure the dancers are on stage when they're supposed to be?
Well, let's see.
First off it's a goddamn Saturday night, which is basically barely controlled chaos at best. Everybody wants something and they want it now. Secondly the Floor Guy staff is spread pretty thin because we're already compensating for the dancers' total apathy about rules. What I mean by that is we have one guy's job it is on weekends to make sure the entertainers have pasties on at all times when they're on stage and that they're not flashing their hoo-ha's like a medieval rat-on-a-stick vendor.
That's his whole job. He's not talking to customers, selling champagne, counting dances or finding out if anyone needs anything. He's making the club absolutely zero dollars because his entire night is 100% dedicated to making sure some daffy bitches don't get us shut down if vice shows up.
While you read this, keep in mind that a lot of dancers are idiots.*1 They walk around in a semi coherent daze, high as fuck on something, daydreaming about penis or cocaine or shoes or whatever it is that occupies an idiots limited processing power.
Other girls are merely manipulative, calculating cunts who know what the rules are and simply don't give a shit. They know how to work the system and any sort of collateral damage is just the price of doing business.
In addition to this we have the guy counting dances who is chained to his location. We have the guy running around on the bus transporting groups of drunk dudes yelling "TITTIES!" to and from the club. We have a guy stuck at the door because the Door Girls are fuck-all useless at dealing with over intoxicated or problem customers and everyone else is usually running around like methed up terriers trying to manage the VIP rooms, bottle service, bachelor shows and deal with the usual problems that drunk people create; such as fights, vomit and assholes who don't want to pay for dances.
We're pretty fucking busy is what I'm trying to convey.
So what we really don't have time to do is hunt down dancers who are supposed to be on one stage or another because they can't be bothered to do it on their own. The DJ, who's voice is like a annoying deity within the confines of the club, warns them on 2 consecutive songs AND announces them when they're supposed to be on stage. It doesn't get any easier, folks. The only requirements for successfully making your stage calls are not to be deaf and the ability to physically find and climb onto a stage.
That's literally it.
Stripping, while it contains many hidden traps, is NOT a difficult occupation. It makes very few demands of a girl outside of her physical appearance.*2 Some basic math skills, say at a 3rd or 4th grade level will suffice. It's also nice to be able to read, but ultimately not really necessary at all. A lack of dignity, counterbalanced by an over inflated ego is not mandatory, but helps. The ability to walk, not lurch, in heels can be useful as well.
So for us Floor Grubs to be chewed out for the dancers' inability to make it to stage on time is motherfucking unreasonable. Every other club I've worked at just
Fined a bitch.
And soon they learned. Provided the fines were enforced, that is. But here all a dancer has to do is moan and bitch and if that fails, turn on the waterworks. Strippers can cry on cue you know, and many men can't handle girlweep. I'm one of them. I see a stripper crying I head the other way, like she's got ebola or face crabs. I'm just not going to deal with it because they cry so often I'm tired of it.
All the snuffling and the leaking and the drooling.....
Therefore there's really no punishment for them not doing their goddamn job and now I'm getting reamed for not making sure they do their jobs. When in reality it's the managers' responsibility to fine a lazy bitch, money being the only thing strippers care enough about to actually influence their decision making. But the managers are terrified of fining a ho because they're worried she will just jump ship to one of the neighboring strip clubs, possibly taking some of her cartel with her. And they're scared of firing dancers because of the wrath of the owner who wants all the benefits of a sociopathic, alcohol-fueled cash machine working for him without having to deal with any of the consequences. That's what he pays managers for.
Its a giant circle jerk and the Floor Guys are the ones who end up eating the cracker. It's aggravating.*3
At any other job you care to name, even Taco Bell, if you refuse to do your job there are repercussions. At the Bell if you say to your boss, "I'm not making that Meximelt, motherfucker." then you get fired, plain and simple. If you work at a restaurant and you decide you're not going to wait on the table of Asians that's in your designated area because you think they're not going to tip, then you'll probably get fired too.
But stripping as an occupation encourages a total disregard for authority and this is mostly attributable to the owners. You see, owners want to have as many dancers as they can possibly get, even if the club can't sustain that many girls. They also want these dancers to be somehow hotter than all the other dancers at all the other clubs in the area. They don't really want problem strippers at the club, but in reality, problem strippers usually make a lot of money for the club and therefore are a protected species. Like orcas.
It's a catch-22. A self perpetuating cycle of tawdriness that consumes itself like decadent Rome, falling victim to it's own self obsession as it's influence over others grows. A tor of hubris that promises a fall that may not be so frightening in and of itself compared to the abrupt stop forthcoming...
Like a full bowel sewn end to end, it's a never ending poop loop. And we're all along for the ride in exchange for cool cars, alcohol, some cash and the occasional blowjob.
Gods help us all.
*1 Pretty sure I've covered this thoroughly. For further details read virtually any post in this entire blog.
*2 And even that is pretty fucking flexible depending on club and shift. Most of our day shift girls could scare the paint off a tractor.
*3 And by 'aggravating' I mean fucky-fuck-cuntshit-whoreblast-shitty-ass-fuckity-fuck-scrotum-punch-dickhole rape aggravating. I just didn't want to type that in the body of this installment because I felt it lacked class.
