So as I may have hinted around about in this blog lately, I rarely do any "floor hosting" any more. I'm primarily just a shuttle driver with a bouncing problem for the club these days. I'm OK with this, in fact I more or less made it happen because I got sick of setting up $3000 worth of bottle service and champagne room and getting tipped nothing for my efforts. If I'm gonna get cheapskated, I'd rather it be over a five minute shuttle ride than over a transaction that would pay my rent for six months.
That being said, tonight I got to Floor Host. I had a gentleman come into the club with three clients and he wanted them to have some fun. He asked about out VIP rooms and I gave him the grand tour and quoted some prices for him. He asked if we could comp some bottles and after having run it past my Manager, told him I'd throw in two complimentary bottle of our house swill and toss in an extra 15 minutes or so.
"Golly that'd be swell." He says and we all mosey on over to the room. The total tab comes up to a bit over $2000 and he tipped me $100. By that time the late shift Floor Golems had finally arrived at work so I appraised them of the situation and left to go drive the Whore Wagon.
When I dropped by the club later on to urinate, I inquired about the room and it turned out the guy had re-upped when his room was done for another hour. This time he'd tipped $200, which didn't surprise me, I've always suspected people don't like to tip me because I'm taller than them.
To me, this proved the theory.
Anyway, these guys had come in very early on an otherwise SLOW night and we didn't really have a lot of dancers to choose from. Of the four charming entertainers that spent the next two hours in the VIP room with them were two girls I had handpicked for them. One of whom I'd had to pluck away from a deadbeat customer on the patio, and another who really didn't want to be bothered with the whole thing because she had come to work to stare at her phone, not make money.
When all was said and done all four gals had made about $600-650 on a night where they would've been lucky to earn $200 based on our customer numbers and demographics. Many of our strippers left tonight having made jack and shit, so a $600 night might've seemed, to a rational fucking person, a reason to be thankful, which in our ecosystem means ponying up some goddamn dough.
Bear in mind that I'm an easygoing Floor Douche, I don't expect some sort of grand tribute as a recognition of the money I just earned you. I'm not a "10% minimum" kinda guy. I just would like some sort of sign of gratitude if I personally chose you over all other available choices to make some easy money.
So what, dear reader, do you think us Floor Beasts made from those very same four dancers who'd grossed somewhere around $2500 tonight?
A) $200
B) $160
C) $100
D) $60
If you guessed any of the above choices, you'd be wrong, you optimistic fuck.
,
We made a total of $10 off those four dancers. Those wasted fucking dancers.
This is the fiscal equivalent of shitting in someone's mouth and slapping their kid off the monkey bars.
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This is where this installment gets really amusing for me. I wasn't there when this happened, and if I hadn't heard it from two other employees, I don't think I would've believed it. It goes a little bit like this:
We have this dancer, her name is Sticker and she is what is classified as a "Dust Bunny", or a dumber than average stripper. Seeing as how strippers in general set the bar really low as far as cognitive abilities go, to say that a particular girl is dumber than average is seriously making a statement.
With her intellectual capacities suitably described, I would like to say that she is also a very nice girl and that I never have to deal with any drama or fallout over her presence in the club. This may be because she just doesn't have the imagination to be more malevolent and shifty, but she flies way under the radar and is cute as anything you can think of that is super fluffy and cute.
So apparently the other night she walked off the stage after one song, which is wrong because every dancer does two songs in their set. One is less than two, in case you were confused on the matter.
Before I go further, let me explain how strip club stages work to you, my potentially ignorant reader. In the vast majority of strip clubs there is a main stage and usually some sort of subsidiary stage(s). When things are slow, there is generally one dancer on stage at a time and this is known as single rotation. On busier nights or when the crowd merits it, a club will go to double rotation, or two girls on stage at all times. And on nights like your average Saturday, a club will be running all available stages.
The night in question was a double rotation sorta thang. The way this works is that on a girl's first dance the DJ will select a song from her musical choices, and on the second when a new girl comes on stage, the song will come from that girl's playlist. So every dancer has to dance to something that may or may not be her preferred form of music on her second song.
Normally there isn't much need for concern as 90% of our Dancer Corps likes the same garbage, i.e. R&B, rap, hip hop, techno, dubstep of whatever that music is called that sounds like two fax machines raping each other.
With me so far?
Excellent.
So Sticker had her Rihanna song or whatever and following her on stage was Red Death, one of our very few hard rock/metal chicks. Red had been given 'Dragula' by Rob Zombie from her playlist and soon after it started, Sticker just walked off stage, baffling everyone who could be bothered to pay attention, such as our Manager, Sir Pulsing Headvein Thrombisich IX, who promptly flipped the fuck out.
Sticker, gods bless her heart, walks to the DJ cage and tells him she wouldn't dance to 'devil music'.
Thinking Rob Zombie songs are evil is a sure sign of Dust Bunni-ness if there ever was one. He is a caricature of evil at worst and a mediocre hard rock musician at best. I know for certain that Red Death has some Cannibal Corpse songs on her playlist and gods forbid poor Sticker ever had to be exposed to one of them.
I find it comical that a woman who shows off her naughty bits for money has a problem with a song about a car.
Fucking comical I say.
And in closing, here's a brief tale of seven thankless fuckwits who were in the Big City looking to show their bachelor a good time. I don't know what their names were, they were white dudes and all wore baseball hats in the approved manner. As shitglobs*1 go, they were well behaved, i.e. no chanting of "TITTIES, TITTIES, TITTIES!", no unnecessary screaming and absolutely zero amateur wrestling on the limo bus, which I appreciated.
Then Ass-Croft*2 asks me about free passes. In my normal noncommital manner I tell him I'll take care of you if you take care of me, thinking to myself "there's seven of them, I'll be saving them $70 at the door, not to mention the cab fare to the club. I'm thinking $40..."
What I should have been thinking was $6, because that would've been far more accurate. This was 'taking care of me' in their native language and if I'd stopped caring about my employment, I'd have taken out my nondescript wang and meticulously wiped the five dollar bill and the one dollar bill all over it before tossing it in the general direction of the septet of cuntery who'd spilled from my fucking shuttle bus.
Epic twattishness. And I don't use the word 'epic' lightly.
I think I'm done. I wanted to get one more post up before April, and here it is.
Maybe I'll do pictures in an editing move I can post as a whole new installment. Yeah, that sounds progressive. I'm gonna do that.
Eat the Bee,
-The StripperHerder
*1 Shitglobs: Bachelor Parties, see also Brit: Stag Parties, Cock Nights or something suitably gay sounding.
*2 Ass-Croft, my given name to the spokesdude for the group. The one who besmirched the Covenant.
