Us Floor Guys have developed various codes we use in communication with each other just in case there's an open radio somewhere and we don't want the patrons to know what we're talking about. You know, to preserve the illusion of fantasy and non criminality we strive so hard to promote.
But there are recurring situations that have happened so often we needed a covert way of saying it over the radio. They're like the numerical codes police department use, but more blatant and frankly, kinda fun.
And now I'm going to share some of these with you, beloved reader, because you deserve to know.
I hope you're ready for this.
OK?
Excellent.
FLOOR GUY EMERGENCY CODES, VOL 1.
Rare pic.
1) AMBER ALERT: This code means a dancer is violently drunk and is preparing to start Armageddon if we don't do something to prevent it. The stripper that inspired this code was named Amber and was the sweetest, meekest girl you can imagine. Until she hit her fifth vodka, at which point she went from a cuddly, attractive Jekyll, to a ravening, foaming-at-the-mouth Hyde, determined to destroy anything that got in her way or offered her help.
Amber Alerts are a Floor Wolf's least favorite calls for help. Personally I'd much rather respond to a gunfight and take my chances than to deal with yet another tedious, hostile wasted stripper, spewing hatred and cuntiness in the megawatt range.
This being said, a drunk and belligerent dancer isn't necessarily a 'Hyde'. Drinking, in this industry, is encouraged and frequently rewarded, a 'Hyde' label is only slapped on when it becomes apparent that a certain level of inebriation triggers a Hulk-like transformation into a raging twat-weiler that happens every fucking time.
Some girls get hammered once or twice a year and become unreasonable to deal with, a HYDE however becomes unreasonable to deal with every goddamn time she drinks, which is everynight. Until our sluggish and under-balled management team can be inconvenienced and put out enough to finally fucking fire her booze fueled ass.
2) CONTAINMENT BREACH: This means some fuckwit customer has taken out his dick in a champagne room. This is utterly and 100% wrong. Unless you've tipped us accordingly and we selected the
Pulling out your primitive man in a VIP room is neither tolerated nor legal and we won't stand for it. For less than a $200 tip.
3) SCARFACE: Some douche is caught doing blow in the club. We throw them out immediately. If we're allowed to.
I say that because it often takes our ruling class months upon months to make the decision to ban coke dealers from the club. It doesn't make much difference if they're overt or discreet, anyone with half a clue can figure out what their game is and they don't attract the kind of business we want. So it should be easy for our alpha-males to make that call, but I guess it ain't.
Do you know how humiliating it is to toss a customer out because I caught him blowing down a line off our filthy toilet paper dispenser and then have my boss tell me he's OK ten minutes later? I can't possibly describe the feeling of shititude it induces without using the words infected, cock, pus and jogging all in the same sentence. And I'm not gonna do that to you.
They're there for a reason and my Grandma worked hard on it.
4) BAGHDAD BILLS AND BOBS : I'm not a racist in that I don't believe race, skin color or ethnicity have anything to do with what kind of human being you turn out to be. Like dogs, humans are products of their environments and upbringing, not their racial components. We are taught hate, ambivalence, intolerance, shittiness and rudeness. We're not BORN with attributes, we LEARN them from our parents, peers and life experiences.
So when Middle Eastern guys come into our club, especially in numbers, which always makes dudes act crappier than they would if alone, we're always on guard. This is a form of racial profiling and we'e all good with that because in many Arabic countries, women are considered property that has orifices you can fuck in between making them keep house and raising an insane amount of children.
When you come to America though, females are legally considered humans and have to be afforded the basic civil rights considered inalienable by our Constitution. This doesn't include an obligation to suckle your weird brown turtlenecked dick, you motherless heathen. It means they can choose to do so for an agreeable fee and not be stoned to death for failing to suck. Put that in your hookah and smoke it, you perfumed camel-loving 3rd century thinker.*1
And Indians, don't get me started. I guess when you hail from the rape capitol of the world, the entire planet becomes your jizz depository, or so you think.
People with this attitude should really be much bigger and far more formidable than your average Indian man.
5) SEVEN-MARY-THREE: This means we're onto some (frequently) junkie strippers preparing to run some sort of scam on a customer and we have to intervene to make sure some clit-brained dullard doesn't get skinned by one or more of our predatory heroin addicts. It's always super fun and never unrewarding.
No seriously.
Stripper Wars Episode 4: A New Whore
So now that Vodzilla and Bellatina are gone, the universe sensed that there was a bitch shaped hole in our reality and like the fucking dependable universe that it is, rushed to fill that void. So let me introduce Grody. Despite her name, Grody is WAY fucking hot to look at. When you have to interact with her however (unless you're a gutless, irrational vag-slave) you find yourself quietly hoping she bursts into flames and that you may or may not have a shot of 151 in your hand.
Just sayin. Hold the hate mail and misogyny labels, folks. You'd just have to meet her and then you'll get it. I promise you that.
Let me run it down for you.
Grody is stunningly pretty, twenty years old and already has life completely figured out. She's aware that the all powerful Owner is keen on her and she uses this like Dirty Harry used his fucking Magnum, frequently and without thought to possible consequences.
So being that she's only twenty, legally she's not allowed in the building unless she's on the clock. I know that sounds all kinds of wrong, and it is. But it's reality and a great illustration of how utterly fucked up this country is when you can work a job at 18 that permits you to be in an alcohol serving environment, or serve in a poorly thought out war where you may get blown to bits by a guy who shook your hand yesterday and offered you some hummus.
But you're not allowed to drink booze. Or be in a bar that serves it.
Seems all cockeyed to me.
But back to Grody.
Grody lies constantly. She's been caught in so many lies that we know she's lying when she's still breathing. If her lips are moving, you can be sure there's bullshit flying out of them. Whomever raised her did an astonishingly horrible job and I'd like to offer my eternal enmity to them- thanks for the breathtakingly self centered little lying cunt you've unleashed upon the world. Now she's my problem four days a week.
Assholes.
Let me give you a prime example. You'll love this.
So I'm on the shuttle as usual tonight and had made a pit stop at the club to walk the lizard and grab some water. As I'm sitting in the bus preparing to drive off again, I see Grody and Sticker leap out of an Uber and scamper towards the front door.
Sticker if you'll recall is the dancer I mentioned a few posts ago who walked off stage when the DJ played "Dragula" by Rob Zombie because it was "devil music."
She's very nice.
I got on the radio and informed my manager, Sir Joyous Paroxysm III that a daffy, under aged bilge rat was headed to the door with her amazingly stupid friend. Then I drove off and tried to calculate the odds of Sir Joyous doing fuck all about it. I came up with 15:1 odds that the girl would get away whatever the hell she wanted to, up to and including beating a patron to death with a fashionable clutch.
I wouldn't have wagered a dime.
And I would've lost if I had because when I finally managed to get back to the club an hour and a half later, Grody was still there, getting bought drinks by her would be lothario's. Several of our staff informed Sir Joyous of the situation and he replied "she's just waiting for her food order and then she'll be gone."
Likely fucking story. Mr. Paroxysm is so downtrodden by the Owner that he dare not lay down the law with Grody, for fear of being shouted at and demeaned. Meanwhile this gorgeous fuckwit runs rampant throughout the club like a vindictive Celtic War-Queen in a chariot made of cunt.
But I digress, let's continue the tale.
So later on I'm escorting a girl to her car when I get a Call that another Floor Guy is needed on the patio. Well I haul ass, much to the amusement of anyone fortunate to see me at full steam. I bull my way through small humans until I reach the patio and what do mine eyes perceive?
Just because I like them, let's make it a multiple choice:
When I had run over enough normal sized people to reach the patio, what did I see?
A) Kareem Abdul-Jabbar
B) The Easter Bunny using a smurf as a pocket pussy
C) A pile of money so big I disappeared into it when I couldn't stop my momentum
D) 20 year old Grody at the center of some sort of strife that requires extra security staff to come running.
I've never seen a smurf fucked like that. I think it was Angry Smurf, but they all look alike to me because I'm a Smurfist.
Ha. That was clever.
Here's what really happened.
Grody alerted Floor Guy No Codename that a patron had pulled her and Sticker's hair. Like it was the playground she was only five years removed from playing on and Bad Billy Hamilton had yanked her pigtails. No Codename had to intervene between the very aggressive Grody, and a retreating customer and thus called for backup.
What a bunch of horseshit. I'm not even going to go into more detail about it because its biblical-level fiction.
What undoubtedly REALLY happened was that a shitty drunk customer, which he was, said something Grody didn't like at which point she got all indignant because he failed to recognize her specialness. She threw him all kinds of mouth-shit which inevitably ended up with "Oh yeah? Watch how fast I can get you thrown out of this club."
This is exactly what occurred, Grody's fish story notwithstanding. But us Floor Cocks had no choice in the matter, dude had to go. I had the privilege of informing him and escorting him to the door. He was resigned about the matter even though that didn't stop him from a generalized running of the mouth on the way out. He never directed his rage or insults at me however, because he knew for a fact that I would've made him look like a child, and more importantly, he had come to terms with it.
No Codename might've had a bit more chin from him, but he's half my size and my voice is much deeper...
This is the kind of shit we have to put up with. Lately there's been a ban on off duty staffers coming into the club because they always act like idiots or bring people who do it for them. But this only applies if the Manager On Duty isn't afraid of said idiot. If he is, all bets are off and drama's gonna happen.
In closing, and because my lawyers have recommended that I write something positive every now and then to avoid possible future suicide liability, I give you...
A Great Night On The Bus,
By A. StripperHerder
Great nights on the bus don't happen very often. Most people are either inconsiderate or so self absorbed that they don't appreciate the service I give them by scooting them from place to place in the douche-mobile.
I've picked up random parties of people struggling through harsh weather; bitter cold and driving rain. I've done this out of the kindness of my heart and a strong secondary desire for them to do the decent motherfucking thing and toss a lad some cash for being a solid bro.
I've saved groups of slavering drunks $200 dollars at the door with the understanding that 'I'll take care of you if you take care of me', the service industry creedo. And they tipped me $5. This is more or less typical of my experience on the shuttle anymore.
But not tonight. Tonight I got to drive some very generous people around, and the best part was, I never saw them coming.
I'm gonna be brief because my drinking/writing window is closing and I don't wanna get caught with my arse hanging out.
-The first group I got called to pick up looked very, I don't know, white hip hop I guess. I was skeptical because my previous experiences with similarly attired gentlemen hadn't been encouraging. Much to my surprise the group of 8 ended up tipping me $80, the entire amount I saved them at the door.
They went into the club and bought 2 $600 bottles of booze and by all reports were completely cool and generous tippers.
When I brought them to a feed-hole at the end of the night, they gave me another $50.
They blew my preconceived notions out of the water,
That's how you do it, folks.
And on my end of things, I dropped them off with 100 free passes.*2 They certainly merited it.
The other noteworthy ride of the night was for a "Butchelorette" party for a lesbian girl and a mixed group of her friends. They were awesome, and in my nigh 20 years in the industry, I've never heard the term 'butchelorette' before.
Turns out half of them had worked as bouncers before, and mostly in strip clubs. There were only 5 of them and the butchelorette tipped me $60.
Class fucking act.
Bus-wise, I loved tonight. All the construction closures made my arcane knowledge of the Town's™ shortcuts and backways invaluable as I navigated a rat maze with no cheese payoff on offer.
I'm gonna try to do some pics without getting sued. Only because I like youse guys and know how you love the pictures. Other than that I'm done. Seek further entertainment elsewhere.
Your Humble Titillation Ambassador
-The StripperHerder
*1 The term 'perfumed, camel-loving 3rd century thinker' could, to a person of a certain perspective, be construed as racist. And while I can see their point and may even agree with it to one degree or another, I can't bring myself to edit it. Or care.
In my defense, I'm perfectly OK with being thought of as a 'cheeseburger loving, god hating infidel who is unwilling to kill/die for the Magical Sky-Beard-Thing.'**
** And by extrapolation earn himself a shitload of virgins who all nevertheless suck in bed. Only those interested in hurting and dominating others would find this appealing. I for one would rather be promised, in exchange for blowing myself up, seventy-two 25-50 year old hot sex demons who knew exactly what they were doing and were excruciatingly good at it.
Sounds like a better deal to me.
*2 That's worth $1000.
