Loyal Plight readers will of course remember Vodzilla, my former Arch Nemesis. I speak of her rarely anymore because she's someone else's problem now, not mine. She's such a mobile catastrophe that for our humble club, three times was the magic number for her to be fired and remain so.
Or at least for as long as Sir Osfried Vandalkoch IX remains in power. He thinks that he hates her at least as much as I do, but it's actually a lot less.
She's a knock-kneed, corduroy-tittied, weird snatched bottle killing machine whose liver is clearly made from eldritch polymers brought to life by the snuffed flickers of spent sperm cells and the petri dish scrapings of locally captured hunnit-dollah bills, y'all. The really cokey kind.
The day that she was fired permanently is one of the more revered Floor Host Holidays at my club, recognized by all major Floor Guy Denominations as reason to drink high proof shots and do primitive, stupid shit.
Like constructing crude effigies and burning them in fields while we scream and shoot handguns at Nature.
Oh how we drink and scream and shoot at stuff...
Crazy bitch tried to get in the club last othernight when I was working the door. She fucking hugged me like we had been pals, and I've grown so soft in her absence that I allowed it to take place.
Her goal was to get in the club for free, with her man-dude. at after-hours prices.
Not on my watch, Suzy.
Vodvertebrates pay extra.
I triumph once more.
I told her that not only was I not going to let her and her companion in for free, but that she herself was too fucking drunk to enter the club, which she was, and that she could go away as quickly as possible.
She feigned shock and she did it well. I almost believed that we had previously got along well and that my behavior was an inexplicable and assholey way to treat on old friend, perhaps brought on by some sort of brief substance abuse issue on my part.
Despite her alcoholism, that bitch still has a few tricks left up her sleeve and they are not to be taken lightly. She has zero problem finding dudes to nail her because she has a vagina and she's not afraid to use it even if she doesn't remember who was in it the next day.
I'm gonna be super pissed if she outlives me.
Strippers Vs. Cars, The Battle Continues!
A third of the dancers I work with have one or more of the following issues with transportation:
1) Their license is suspended. Almost exclusively for DUI's.
2) They've wrecked every single vehicle they've ever turned a key in.
3) Their car got repo'ed because many of them don't understand the concepts of 'credit' or 'provable income' and therefore they regularly pay 19% interest or higher for their car loans and thus the poor cars get repossessed frequently.
4) For some of them, drugs are more important than anything else, including car payments/maintenance. Quite a few of these have figured out that there isn't much you can't barter for a blowjob and as a result they don't really need a car nor, in fact, money.
5) A lot of strippers are very hard on cars. They run into stuff. They don't comprehend the necessity of maintaining something if you want it to fucking last. They tend to think gasoline is the only liquid a vehicle needs to run. Some of them even believe in halogen fluid but can't seem to find a place to sell it to them.
It is an exceedingly rare car that is purchased by a stripper and goes on to enjoy a long, fruitful life. And if it does, it's not with her.
6) The Sugar Daddy/Drug Dealer/Creepy Old Guy With Money that had been paying for their vehicle found someone else to service his lecherous whims and took the car away.
Five Reasons Why I'm A Shitty Floor Host These Days:
1) I hate people
2) I hate people
3) I hate people
4) I hate people
5) I REALLY hate drunk people
Limiting my contact with customers limits the possibilities of them giving me money. I've learned to live with it and the other Floor Guys are generally happy with the arrangement because none of them want to do the jobs I do and I don't really want to be a Floor Guy anymore because of, you know, my hatred of other humans and suchforth.
Another thing I despise is asking for tips. I would be a much better earner if I cared for pressuring dudes for tips. The closest thing I get to that is when people ask me how much the shuttle ride to the club is, I usually say "It's free and I work for tips." This normally nets me a small gratuity, but not always. Some people are just fucking stingy.
My favorite is when I offer them passes to get into the club. I never mention any sort of price but instead will say something like "I'll take care of you guys and you take care of me". I might then do some math for them based on the number of guys in the group, "These will save you x amount of money at the door", hoping all the while that they'll tip me 50% of the total.
Sometimes, when I've saved them over a hundred dollars, the last dude off the shuttle will hand me $10 like he's tossing gold coins embossed with his image to the plebians. I look at him like something unpleasant I found stuck on the sole of my shoe.
"Gee. Thanks man. After I split this with the other Floor Guys, I'm a $1.42 closer to that Ferrari..."
One final note concerns both the above point and is a magnificent illustration of the ungratefulness of some people. It goes something like this:
We had a guy come in to the club tonight wanting an hour room with two of our entertainers for him and his buddy. Sure I said, let's waste some dough! Easy as shit, right?
NOPE. And I'll explain why below. Suffice to say for now, over the course of the next half hour I ran four of his cards no less than fifteen times with all of them being declined. Even after having talked to his bank twice and being told the transaction would be approved. The guy is frustrated as hell, understandably so, he just wanted to spend some of his own fucking money and it's guardian wasn't having any of it, declarations otherwise notwithstanding.
I would like to point out at this juncture that this man had already written in a $125 tip for me on the advance receipt.*1
SO, being the helpful, greedy Floor Host that I am, sort of, I offer to take him Downtown to an ATM so he could get some cash. And I do. Two ATM's in fact, neither of which would give him any money. Dude is way pissed at this point, and I give him a couple of smokes to calm him down as we talk about cocaine for a bit.
The he asks me if I know about any payday loan shacks that may be open and I say yeah, but it ain't in a great part of town and he says 'take me there, I got you.' So thinking that he'd already agreed to $125, I start getting visions of a $200 tip, maybe more.
So I text one of the other Floor Guys, explain what's going on and let him know there's a small but real chance that I'll be dead in ten minutes, but if not, then I'd be bringing some money to the table tonight.
Yee-Ha and shit.
I didn't get shot. Dude secured $1200 and the room was going to be $1000. Boom, I thought, $200 earned.
And yet I was wrong. Got the man back to the club completely unshot and hustled him into the champagne room. Guy peeled of exactly ten hundos and asked for booze I couldn't provide and when I said I couldn't help him he said, "OK. Get the fuck out of here."
Merry fuckin Christmas to me! These are the kind of situations I have to deal with that make me not want to deal these sorts of situations anymore. If you catch my drift.
Two side notes about this scenario:
- One of the other Floor Guys explained to the two dancers that the guy had fucked me out of a tip when I had gone above and beyond so that they could make a couple hundred extra on a mediocre shift. The girls tipped me a combined $60 when I walked them out and both thanked me sincerely, which I really appreciated.
-Despite my miserable contribution, we did all right for a middlin night. Over $300.
And finally
Remember when I said I'd explain some shit below? Well, here it is, lest you miss it and write me angry emails...
Chip cards, protecting your money by not letting you access it.
A person of your unquestionable moral fiber would
never visit a tawdry clam hut and ask for $600.
Our company has chosen to go with an already obsolete system for dealing with the rise of 'chip cards' in 'Murrika. Our system, rather than having a single transaction like all other sane methods, requires a chip card holder to sign two receipts. I've never encountered this anywhere else before. But here you have a preliminary transaction where you must fill in any gratuities then total and sign the slip. Based on what you tipped (or didn't tip) the transaction has to be run a second time for the actual total and a second receipt signed.
The inefficiency of this system is staggering and the chaos it creates from drunk people who've never had to do it before is simply mind boggling. It's a testament to the fortitude and patience of our Floor Grunts that this primitive method even works at all.
Further complicating matters is that strip clubs are one of the most charge-back ridden industries on the planet. The amount of credit card "charge back" attempts made against strip clubs are something like 1200% above the rate most industries face. As a result when a bank's security algorithms calculate risk involved with a transaction based on the number of attempted charge-backs, strip clubs are always deemed 'high risk'.
This means that an inordinate amount of ATM cards decline when someone tries to use them in a titty bar. Since the introduction of the chip card in the US, the number of customers in my club who have to physically call their bank to release their funds has skyrocketed.
It's a nightmare trying to explain it to a drunk fuck. Yet I have to do it several times every goddamn night I work the door.
It's a special joy for me.
That's all you get. I have to work on pictures now or someone, somewhere will get all butthurt about it and whine.
Point Towards Enemy,
-The StripperHerder
*1 The receipt you sign before you sign the receipt. It's very simple.
