It's a funny, sad, cyclical little world the strip club. Each can pretend that they're different in some way from all the others, but really they're all the same. There are basic equations that must be observed or a club hasn't got a chance at competing, much less surviving. Facts must be acknowledged, certain conventions must be accepted and the poor, misbegotten management team has to deal with several facets of reality which aren't going to change no matter how hard they try.
If they try...
Chief among these is the fundamental truth that the majority of strippers are on lots of drugs.*1 Heavy, addictive, debilitating drugs which would cripple any effort at maintaining a 'normal' job, like a secretary, nurse or professional MMA fighter.
Another is that the Floor Guys will only deal with a certain level of apathy from the mismanagement before they just say 'fuck it', throw their dignity on the ground like a soiled gauntlet and proceed to become unrepentant pimps. Most of us Floor Louts would love to work in a clean, crime free environment bereft of whoring and drug snorting, but have learned from experience that you can make better money by wading into the filth and getting your soul all cruddy.
On top of all that is that the Owner will be breathing down your neck about every little thing, most of which contradict each other. Examples of this include:
1) "I want the most dancers on staff of any club in the area, but they can't be ugly or gross in any way."
2) "Sure I know that this particular stripper is a whore and a drug dealer who is selling narcotics to a third of the rest of my staff, but you can't fire her because she makes a lot of money for the club."
3) "While I'm completely ignoring my previous statement, I don't want my liquor license endangered under any circumstances. See to it. Without firing a bitch."
4) "I'm going to yell at you for for stuff I know nothing about, so get used to it. I'm going to stress you out and get mildly aroused doing it. If I come into the club during day shift and there is some patchwork nightmare shuffling about on stage then I will demand you fire it instantly. However if I'm safely ensconced in my nuclear-proof mansion 5 states away and see that my day shift dancer count has gone down by even one I will immediately call and berate you for firing something I would have insisted you fire had I actually been there."
"This will be unbelievably frustrating to you but I don't care because my signature is on your paycheck."
This is the serpent-eating-it's-own-tail reality of the titty club business. You have to have dancers. You can't be too hard on them or they'll go elsewhere and you can't let them run roughshod all over you or soon they consume you and everything you love, shitting out a trail of broken dreams and sundered hopes on their way to whatever it is they seek.
Getting between a stripper and what she wants is seldom a place you want to be. They are ruthless, manipulative and utterly without goodwill or mercy when the next Coach bag or eight ball*2 is on the line.
That being said, it is galling yet amusing to me when the management team calls together a company meeting to outline new or revised rules of operation that they have no intention of standing behind outside of maybe a few days. They will rant and rave and maybe even have a power point presentation about things that have to change in the way the club runs. They will feel extremely good about how the meeting went and the dynamic new attitude they have instilled in their staff.
They may even go out for drinks afterward and congratulate themselves on a meeting well executed, objectives realized and a new direction embarked upon.
But this is all bullshit. A big steamy pile of self serving ass discharge that means absolutely nothing outside of them being able to say 'synergistic'.
Nothing will change for more than 72 hours. Three days seems to be the memory limit of most managers and then everything will revert back to how things have always been.*3
This always happens. Usually after some minor catastrophe like a fine from the state, or a liquor inventory coming up a few bottles short. The point is to annoy the shit out of your underlings and subject them to a Dog and Pony show which wastes their time and will result in no lasting change because you haven't either the will nor support to enact it.
But this is, beyond counting the money and filling in the columns, the purpose of a Manager. To boldly lead the team into extremely temporary changes and just as boldly run away into standard practice and pretend change was never on the agenda or had been mentioned at all.
So for the leadership of the club to approach the Guild Of Stripperherders with complaints of lax enforcement, is sorta funny. They expect me to prick up my ears like a dutiful hound and spring to my masters commands, teeth flashing and manhood magnificently erect as I bring down a full grown female stripper who's on enough crank to fund a Hell's Angels chapter.
But this old dog has been tricked way too many times to just throw itself into a fight it can't win for a master that doesn't really care. I've snitched on so many dancers over the years; for meeting customers after work, for leaving with customers, for selling drugs, for doing drugs and in my experience, nothing ever happens.
Management can talk a good game but when all is said and done, they fail miserably. This puts the FloorBortions in the position of both relying on the girls for income and being expected to police them at the same time.
This doesn't work at all unless the powers that be back us up every now and then.
So we Floor Ghouls walk the fine line between the Sorta Mighty Managers and the Seemingly Omnipotent Strippers. It sucks, but when you learn to ignore the majority of everything that's said to you by anything with a mouthhole and just get on with doing your job, it all becomes simpler and less stressful.
You'll never feel good about being a Floor Grunt and you get used to that. At best you're a well dressed thug-in-waiting who sometimes mops up vomit and fecal matter and has grown hateful of two legged mammals. You nights are tormented by Rhianna and AutoTune and the cackling of wasted entertainers quaffing liquor like it's Kool Aid while butchering the English language.
You are insulted, lied to, challenged and second guessed at every turn. Occasionally you get punched or hit on the head with a random object. On really special nights, you might even get a weapon pulled on you.
Whatever.
You deal with it and wait for the night to be over so you can go home and drink the shame away. Shame is very alcohol resistant but if you have any future in the industry whatsoever, you find that you are equally shame resistant as well.
Or you don't make it.
If you want pictures, put them in yourself. This isn't a 'See Dick Run' book.
-The StripperHerder
*1 The term 'majority' can mean anywhere from 51% to 99% depending on your level of cynicism.
*2 An eighth of an ounce of cocaine, not a billiard ball. I figured I'd mention it for the more innocent among you. Just in case...
*3 Trust me. I've been through so many of these that I could script write them for the well meaning managers.
