I feel like there's a possibility that this post will make me seem like an angry old man shaking his fist or pointing a rifle at the damn neighborhood kids invading his tree lawn.
And I'm OK with that. Get the FUCK off my lawn.....
See, I remember when this industry was thriving. Live titties were big business and while the clubs may not have always been busy, at least there weren't tumbleweeds floating around and raccoons chasing trash across the floor.
And back in the day we had real, proud respectable drug dealers. Old school guys. Never did business in the places they hung out in and were way too big for that level of shit any way. Tipped excessively and were so goddamn polite you forgot they could have your family murdered with a single phone call.
I remember we used to have this guy who came into the club a lot with his bodyguard. Because I don't want to be accused by certain overzealous elements of today's society of being a racial profiler, I'll refer to them as Hans and Gustav.
When Hans and Gustav came into the club they let us know they'd like the VIP area and a couple of bottles of something nice and then ask what it costs. When we told them they'd hand over the cost plus $500. Literally every time I came over to Hans's table to see if he needed anything he'd hand me $50 or $100 and tell me I was doing a great job, which is more than I usually got from management.
Then there was this other pair. For the same reason noted above I will call them Pierre and Jean Paul.
When Pierre and Jean Paul came into the club they'd order two or three modest bottles of champagne and up to $20,000 in singles which they wanted in $1000 bundles, plastic wrapped, so they could hurl them at twerking dancers *1 in a mutually agreed upon game of money-brick Dodge Ball. Yes, occasionally they would knock a bitch unconscious with a well aimed Stack, but when she came to, haloed in money, there was never an issue. It was all fun and games.
None of these guys EVER talked about what they did. We NEVER asked what they did. There was never any bragging or boasting about how much money they made, it was what it was.
These days people want to be known as drug dealers because what could be cooler? Wearin sunglasses in dark places, confident in your fake badness and small time cash. None of these guys ever reach that 'next level' because they are all too stupid not to get caught and are completely enamored with drug dealing as a lifestyle rather than an occupation. In some ways there are very much like the dancers I work with who despite the best of intentions, get thoroughly ensnared by the 'stripper lifestyle'. These girls too have forgotten the occupation aspect of the job. Stripping isn't just how they make their living anymore, it's what they are, what they define themselves as.
Not even kidding. Drug dealing, stripping, it all becomes intertwined with these unfortunate dipshits' very identity.
Here's some hints for all you low level or aspiring drug dealers out there. I'm giving you this advice out of a sense of fairness because I'm going to be offering advice later in this post to all would be strip club patrons who would like to avoid getting ripped off in a titty bar
So, although this is gonna seem like some very elementary stuff here to anyone with half a brain, I personally know dozens of drug dealers who could've benefited from this extremely first grade shit.
1) Don't tell anyone you're a drug dealer.
2) Don't let anyone know where you live.
3) NEVER do business out of your home or any static location for that matter.
4) Don't wear a lot of ridiculous gold and jewelry. It looks silly as fuck and makes a target of you.
5) Unless you have some sort of money laundering set up, which at your level I highly doubt, or some way to show how you paid for it, don't drive a flashy car. Go buy an 8 year old Honda or Toyota. People with no provable income who aren't rich kids don't drive high end German sedans and new Escalades around.
6) The whole point of your life should be to avoid being noticed, not brag on social media about how much money you have. Try to NOT post pictures of yourself with guns, stacks of cash or large amount of drugs.
7) Don't get a neck tattoo. Listen I realize there are tons of good people out there who happen to have a neck tattoo, hell I know a bunch of them. But to society at large, and there's no way to say this nicely, it makes you look like a scumbag. Possibly someone immersed in a criminal lifestyle. Blame society, not me.
Don't get me started on face tattoos....
8) In general, try not to look like a drug dealer. I know, what does a drug dealer look like, right? Let's not get all into details that would just upset people, OK? Wearing pants that fit is an excellent start.
9) Don't flash cash around, talk about money or ever act like you have more than $10 on you at any given time.
10) NEVER indulge in the drug you make your money off of. For best results, don't drink or do drugs at all. Stay focused. Losing perspective is the single greatest mistake you can make. You can do all the drugs you want when you're wealthy and retired, which if you'll recall, was the whole goal of dealing drugs in the first place.
11) Try to cultivate a clientele that won't happily slay you at any given moment for the money and drugs you're carrying.
12) Never give credit. Especially to friends. Business is business, motherfucker.
13) Try not to get arrested. For anything. A clean record goes a long way....
There, that should help you hopeful dope-slingers out there, but I doubt it!
Occupational Conversations: Strip Club Edition
These are (mostly) actual conversations I've had during the execution of my duties. I may be paraphrasing in some of them since I don't record my interactions with fucked up people even though I should. All of these are merely variations on themes so wretchedly tedious that murder-suicide suddenly becomes understandable, possibly even admirable depending on how long you've been in the Service Industry....
(I) Broke Customer: "I want my money back. There ain't nobody here!"
Me: "So what you're saying is that there aren't enough other MALES here for you? Because I've got 25 strippers on staff right now and they're all doing not much of anything. If I was going to a strip club where the entertainers outnumbered the customers by a factor of 8, I'd say I'd just found Heaven, sir."
Broke Customer: "But there's no one here, man! There ain't no action!"
Me: "So we're still on the other dudes thing, huh? You come to a strip club to see girls, yes? So why in the fuck would it bother you if there aren't a lot of other penises in the club? You're not here to see Magic Mike, right? You are, in fact, here to see mostly naked females running around on stage, making their ample booties clap and whatnot, correct?"
Broke Customer: "Yeah, but..."
Me: "Butt nothin, sir. You have a sweet deal here. You want some action, make it happen. You'll be a fucking HERO..."
Broke Customer: *sighs* "You have called my bluff, wise Floor Beast. I intended to spend almost nothing and live vicariously through the exploits of others and am financially unable to be a HERO. I only complained because lacking a crowd to lurk within, I am afraid too many strippers will approach me for dances and after I turn down the 10th or so one of them that they'll figure out I'm all talk and no wallet which would harm my street cred.
I can't even afford internet to watch porn on and all this gold is fake."
Me: *keying my mike* "Told you guys so. You all owe me $5."
(II) Hammered Stripper: "Gargen fargle noosh beesh mits! Seppinas noost ma fawshin schmetz!"
Me: "I get it, darlin. This is a tough industry to thrive in. All of us have made many, many bad choices to end up here, but it ain't all bad. There's a lot of earning potential, the hours are easy and we always got your back provided you're not a non-tipping piece of junkie rat shit. There, there..."
Hammered Stripper: *now crying from every orifice* "ASHEENA WAFFLENERGENS! BLYHA STABBE MAHJ MEMMMEMISHmieesrrr..."
Me: *patting her awkwardly from a distance* "There are always gonna be tough nights, sweetie. You just have to weather them like an ocean liner in a storm, ya know? Point your bow toward the waves and pound your fist at the skies and scream 'Is That All You Got?'. That's what I do.
Oh and I also abstain from crippling drugs, sex with random and potentially dangerous people, getting so drunk on the job I'm utterly helpless, spending my money on a worthless, emotionally abusive unemployably lazy cunt and things like that.
But, you know, each to their own and shitforth!"
Hammered Stripper: "PEBBLA SMISHEN FCHLITZ, WHOOGA DOOINOOINOIN MEHSELSHMIZ, BAKA BAKA FLABBLAMAMmmmmmm!"
Me: "I use E-Trade. Best user interface and if you deposit $2,500 or more, you get 150 free trades. It's easy, dude. If you're looking long term, get into solid state batteries or anything having to do with self driving cars. That'll be the new Amazon. What? Cock Market? Oh. Can't help you there assuming I understood you correctly...."
(III) Drunk Fuckwit: "Bro! You got the most awesome job evah! You fucking love this job, don't ya bro!" *Manically patting my shoulder the whole time like an Red Bulled gibbon*3
Me: "You know it, Bro-hamish. Super lovin it right now."
Drunk Fuckwit: "I bet bro! You bangin all them ho's right? The fucking Master right here, bro!"
Me: "Yes, bro. I am the Master. Please stop petting me, I'm sore from fucking so many ho's."
Drunk Fuckwit: "Awwwww, FUCK YEAH BRO! FUCK YEAH!!!"
Me: "Jesus...." *Does the fake emergency radio call thing and disappears*
If there's anything worse than talking to a wasted fuckdrip, it's talking to a wasted Floor Guy Fanboy. A dude so enamored with our jobs that he acts like we're some kind of rock stars or something. Like he just met Insert Currently Famous Person's Name Here.
The StripperHerder Advice Column
These are actual letters from readers that I've received and not at all shit I made up to establish a premise.
Ted B from Bristol, New Maryland wrote:
Dear Herdy,
I got wallet-raped by a seedy dancer at a strip club where the bouncers wore T shirts that said "Hired Goon". I did one dance with her but she said it was three and that the dances were only $10 when they were actually $25. The bouncers said that if I din't pay they would "Take me to the park for a nice walk and some healthy air." So I paid and they let me leave.
Thanks to that conniving stripper, my daughter won't be getting a birthday present this year and I'm very upset about that. How can I avoid this in the future?"
-Well Ted B, you fucking scumbag, first off let me state that although I value your readership I feel like if you're the kind of person who would go to a strip club when your budget is so tight that a mere $75 unexpected expense costs your daughter a birthday present, then you're either an idiot or have no impulse control and probably aren't a great Father.
That being said, you are a valued reader and as such deserve the best advice I can give.
A frequent problem for us Floor-illas is misunderstandings about dance prices. There are many variations on this theme so for the purposes of brevity, I'll focus on the two Root Causes:
A) Customer stupidity/drunkeness/dissatisfaction
and...
Let's focus on the leading cause, Customer Stupidity or Drunkeness or Dissatisfaction. Although we do deal with a fair amount of dance-spawned fuckery at this club, the majority of our quarrels over money come from the customers. I realize that some of you reading this right now will be suitably shocked or disappointed that strippers aren't indeed the number one reason for any sort of cash related shenanigans that occur, but it just ain't true.
Goddamn, motherfookin customers are the problem at least two thirds of the time. When patrons are the source of the problem, the issue will be one of the following:
1) They are literally just too fucking stupid to grasp how a strip club works, or are phenomenal actors.
2) They are too drunk to remember or care about how a strip club works.
3) They are too drunk to really have any idea how much time has passed when getting ground on by a stripper who has no interest in his ability to grasp what's going on or how much fucking money he is "spending" without having any real clue that he's doing it.*4
4) The customer did not receive the sex act he was promised and therefore is angry with the world. If he were to express himself only in rhyme, it would go like this:
"I didn't get fucked so I ain't given no bucks."
"I got no head ain't givin no bread."
"Was at the titty club just the other day, got some dances from a bitch but she didn't give me no play, she promised me a hanjo and I said OK but my dick remains unwanked so I ain't gonna pay, I say, no way. Curd-faced ho."*5
5) The fuckstick doesn't argue how many dances he owes, but he argues that he was promised some sort of special deal that doesn't exist at our club. This kinda thing normally falls into the Stripper Deception category, but merits including here because it does happen from the fuckstick perspective. It doesn't help that like a lot of other clubs, we have different pricing for 'Day' and 'Night' shifts and most customers are too drunk when the prices change to be able to grasp the difference.
6) The customer knows perfectly well what he's doing when he tries to cheat a dancer because he's a broke cunt of a man, but tries to veil his intent with protestations that prices were never made clear to him and that he never asked for her to keep dancing etc etc. It's death by a thousand excuses.
SO, how's does this knowledge benefit you, Ted B? Like as in the word 'Advice'?
Well, let me help you, former hag-prey.
First off, and this may seem harsh to some readers, so if you're faint of heart, please skip the next paragraph.
A) Don't believe anything a stripper says. Seriously. If even small amounts of your money, like $10-50 mean anything to you, then do some research first you tightwad asshat. See any guys in vests, tuxes, suits lounging about that seem like maybe they work there? Perhaps ask one of them what shit costs at this joint, chances are you'll get an answer more factually based than asking the some unscrupulous entertainer. Actually tip him and you may even open a whole world of possibilities...
B) If you're planning on spending any real money, let's say for a small market's sake, at least $2-5K. In any strip club that you don't have an even chance of being killed or robbed, you're gonna have to go through a Floor Host to spend any of that money. Unless of course you're just going to get singles and throw them on the stage, for something that simple you normally don't need one of us.
C) Attempt to find a stripper who isn't visibly wasted or nodding out from heroin because they will often attempt to take advantage of you. I know, I know, who would've guessed that such wholesome examples of exotic dancers might stoop so low as to try to rip a guy off for drug money?
Personally, I'm shocked.
D) This one may seem so basic, so fucking simple that some of you may scratch your heads as to why I'm even including it in this advice section, but trust me, it bears repeating. It goes something like this:
It's your money, you're in charge, not the stripper.
You'd think this would be so goddamn obvious that it didn't even need saying. Like stating that you have to drink water to stay alive or pizza tastes good or blowjobs feel nice, something like that. Yet you'd be surprised how many dudes just end up doing what a stripper tells them to do. Things like 'Tip me $500' and 'No, you want to do two hours in a VIP room with me' or 'Don't buy the cheap champagne'.
It's gutting to watch a grown man give you permission to charge him for something he doesn't really want to do but hasn't the balls to just say 'no, we're not doing that'. I actually get embarrassed at their gutlessness, it fucking pains me sometimes.
E) Don't bring a credit card to a strip club. Not only is the ATM both diabolically difficult to use, it's also expensive, as is any 'funny money' you can buy on your card. When going to a strip club, take as much cash as you feel comfortable spending plus $100 and leave everything else at home where your parents can keep an eye on it.
I hope this helps you to avoid becoming stripper-prey. All I really advised is to be a semi responsible adult and not be a wasted, nutless herd animal, but I stretched it out over several paragraphs and tried to make simple, cogent points so that my slower readers could hopefully follow along too. At their own pace.
Slow doesn't necessarily mean dull, you judgmental bastards...
So, that's a pretty solid post, by my standards anyway. Tune in next whenever when I'll talk about Mosser's Guide to Strip Club Fauna. You'll love it.
Allergic to drunk people,
-The StripperHerder
*1 Back when this particular conversation happened, it wasn't even called 'twerking' yet.**
**I go back a ways, son.
*2 Relax, it's satire.
*3 Alcohol affects many different people many different ways. There are tons of subgroups and maybe some day I'll do an entire post on the topic. But for now let's focus of those people who are drunk enough that they've lost the ability to read any sort of physical or facial cues, body language, or even tone of voice. They're the type of drunk to say "hold my beer" and then maim themselves attempting something ludicrously stupid.
These are the worst because it's like hitting a toddler or a puppy-it doesn't understand why it got hit. It's thinking hasn't reached that level yet or is temporarily sunk far below it. It doesn't know why you're annoyed.
*4 There are whole subspecies of Stripper that specialize in this sort of prey. They're actually more of a parasite than a predator according to according to Mosser's Guide To Strip Club Fauna**, and in my experience are seldom good tippers.
**The definitive guide to stuff that lives in titty bar ecosystems.
*5 See, writing rap is easy. That took me a minute but only because I edit as I type and I'm becoming drunk enough to make a lot ot typing errors.
