Sometimes there are advantages to being an incredibly lazy writer. You tend to start a lot of things and then lose interest and forget about them, relegating them to an unpublished life in the nearest Draft folder. This becomes an advantage when one can't find much negative inspiration in one's current situation that's worth writing about.
That's where I'm at, professionally speaking. The new club I work at is so far improved over any other I've worked at, that it doesn't nourish my inner hate-monculous like all the others used to. And as you know, dedicated reader, my writing depends on rage and the drunken coping binges I use to calm myself down after particularly irritating shifts.
I have iterated many times that writing about a nearly atrocity free environment would be boring. Who wants to hear about how totally awesome it is to be a Strip Club Floor Guy in a well run club that doesn't put up with standard stripper bullshit? It's in the adversity of the occupation where the real humor comes from, the drive to vent through blog in an effort not to go shit-fuck crazy and do something reprehensible.
So while I was staring at a blank page forever, trying to come up with something interesting to write about, I got bored and started looking through my unfinished drafts. There are MANY of them. So many....
Here's some of what I dredged up:
"I'll kill you, you racist motherfucker!"
I don't care what anyone has had to go through in their lives. I don't know, I'm not asking and it certainly doesn't have any bearing on my opinion of them based off the behavior they display. Just because you were raised in a particular way doesn't mean your actions are acceptable to society at large. Don't play the race card because it certainly doesn't have anything to do with whether you're a decent person or not, it's all about learned experiences and more importantly the fucking choices you make on a day to day basis.
It's like saying that certain breeds of dogs are innately vicious. This is fallacy.
What would be accurate to say is that there are some breeds of dogs who excel tearing other creatures to pieces when they've been taught to do so by a human. Pit Bulls and Rottweilers in particular are very intimidating breeds of dogs, basically lumps of fur covered muscle adorned with some savagely strong jaws, but they aren't intrinsically mean unless they've been raised to be mean. I've met more aggressive poodles in my life than I have Pitty's or Rotty's.
So that being said, even if you don't care to admit it or feel I might have phased it more gracefully, we supposedly superior species are very much like dogs in this regard. We are often restrained in our choice of responses by our upbringing and life experiences, yet being capable of higher thinking than canines, we should be able to exercise some form of control over our baser instincts.
Threatening to kill someone over a perceived slight, someone dissrispectin you, is un fucking acceptable in the real world, even if you're just talking shit. Take that street BS back to the ghetto you crawled out of and stay there.
What brought this on, as it so frequently does, is out fabled monthly amateur contest where any delusional, situationally blind gal of any race, creed or species can scamper up on our stage and try to win some money and/or be offered a job. It's usually a series of individual train wrecks, girls who clearly didn't research their market or are utterly unable to be objective about themselves.*1
So this one black aspiring dancer felt that the reason she didn't win was because she wasn't white, which was a false assumption, and proceeds to harangue the manage about getting a job. She's berating him, which is always a good tactic to use on someone you're trying to get hired by, and when he finally holds up a hand in the 'Stop In The Name Of Love' fashion and tells her he isn't interested in offering her a job at this time, she goes badger shit on him.
How dare he hold up his hand to her?
He a racist, honky motherfucking Ni**a!.*2
Etc Etc. You get the idea, you've watched Youtube. It went on for a while.
Seriously, the manager could've handled it more diplomatically, that's a given. But talk about disproportionate level of response. And immediate too. No slow build up, just full on indignant rage. Motherfucker this and mother fucker that. Dozens if not hundreds of N Bombs carpeting her speech like the Allies over Berlin in '45. You would have thought the he had threatened to kill her child with the level of rage and hate she displayed, yet all he did was be rude and abrupt with her. Straight to the point.
He didn't touch her, he didn't insult her and he didn't use foul language or racial epithets. He made it plain in his gruff, offputting manner that he had no intention of offering her a job and he was met with a shitstorm of threats, insults and racial slurs.
Eventually her more reasonable friend got her out of the club before we had to drag her out, she made such a fucking scene I was embarrassed to be around it.
Here was the poignant part for me, after her reasonable friend had got the raging bitch back to the car she came back and talked to me. She explained that we all come from separate backgrounds and nobody knows what anyone else has been through, I agreed with this fact but knew I wasn't gonna come to the same conclusion about the incident as she was clearly trying to get to.
She asked me how I would've felt if someone had treated my Mom or Sister like that and I responded to her sincerely, "I wouldn't have liked it but I certainly wouldn't have threatened to follow a man home and kill him over it, which is what you just did."
Seriously, she told me that you can never tell when someone is gonna follow you home from the club and shoot you up, or what it could be over and that's just the way it is where she's from.
Well golly gee, you fucking Mad Max character, maybe killing someone over an perceived slight is OK in whatever community you were reared in, but in the rest of the country we've been taught better conflict resolution skills than you, and are able to walk away from a potential confrontation before it gets to the murder stage.
You should try it....
On a related note there's this thing called the Dunning Kruger Effect. The gist of this is that stupid people frequently don't realize how stupid they are. They've cultivated this misplaced sense of superiority in regards to their intellect and truly believe that they'e smarter than most of those around them when empirically, it just ain't so. The opposite in fact. These unfortunates are actually operating mentally far below most of the rest of the population, but aren't conscientious enough to realize it or come to terms with it.
It's sad.
There is a parallel dysfunction*3 that I have yet to discover the name of in which a person is unable to realistically accept that by traditional and popular standards, they just aren't as attractive as they view themselves as to be. Maybe this is a form of narcissism or meglomania, I don't know because I'm not a psychologist, but trust me, it's a real thing.
I get to witness this first hand once a month when we have amateur night. I have harped on this may a time in this blog, but have to keep bringing it back up because for some reason I keep letting it astound me how unrealistic and delusional some people allow themselves to be.
And one again, lest you think I'm being a judgy dick, I'll use myself for an example.
I don't try out for professional sports teams because I'm old, out of shape and was never a great athlete even in my prime. But the equivalent of some of these girls trying out for our stripper squad is literally like me showing up to the Pittsburgh Steelers training camp confident that I have a shot at being their next starting Tight End.
There is NO scenario where this will happen. What's my 40 yard dash time? I don't know, how long have you got and do I get to rest halfway there? My vertical jump is maybe 6 inches on a good day, but I'll probably blow out a knee on landing. I can possibly run the length of the football field, but it's gonna take me an awful long time and it has a fair chance of killing me.
Duh. Reality shouldn't be that hard to accept.
This is what it's like when a 5'6" 190 lb would be stripper shows up on our amateur night wanting to take her shot at winning some prize money and maybe be offered a job. It just ain't gonna happen here, darlin and frankly, I don't understand why you thought it would. Your body type doesn't match a single one of our entertainers, just like my body type doesn't match any NFL tight end's physique, the difference being that I've accepted this and come to terms with it and they clearly haven't.
And THEN they want it explained to them in great detail just why they didn't win, or in some circumstances, weren't even allowed to compete in the first place. Because she honestly just doesn't see it or are hoping we'll use some offensive terms that she can then get enraged over.*4
Wake the fuck up, just because we can't all be Barbies and Football Stars doesn't mean we can't be a myriad of other things. Let's say we can be damn near anything we want to be, with some realistic exclusions, and leave it at that?
In closing I'd like to talk about one last topic and that topic is Stench Trench.
There's this dancer I'll call Trailer. She...and there's no way to say this nicely so I'm not even gonna attempt it...is fuckin gross. Way overweight, big ole gut and an ass like two hairless, dimpled pigs sharing a tragic thong. I'm still trying to figure out why she's even is permitted to work here.
After she's been in a sweaty champagne room for a half hour it smells like a trout made of goat cheese died in the trunk of an '89 Firebird but the owner can't figure out where the stench is coming from. She has the vaginal equivalent of halitosis. Her beaver has minnow breath. Her sushi ain't fresh.
Make up your own euphemism, it's fun.
Her lady garden reeks of apathy and well slimed seafood. How her customers endure it is beyond me, it's an olfactory uppercut that you won't soon forget, boyo. None of the Floor Beards want to crack the seal on a VIP room she's been in for more than five minutes, the initial blast of superheated skank stank will hit you like a sauna full of dead rodents. And her odor haunts the rooms she's tainted for hours, defying the Febreze to do it's job.
So my question is, HOW CAN SHE NOT KNOW THIS? Is her olfactory sense subdued from exposure? Is she in denial? Does her sense of smell work differently than the rest of humankind?
I'm not a gynecologist, but I suspect that her cooch is gravely ill. It needs help and apparently she isn't the one who's going to give it. She seems perfectly content to just live with her wafting yogurt cloud, or simply can't smell it anymore.
It's diabolical.
And that seems as good an ending as any, I suppose. You've certainly been treated to lesser endings.
Don't let your babies grow up to be strippers,
-The StripperHerder
P.S. Fuck your pictures
*1 Personal Objectivity is an incredibly underrated attribute in America's current prevailing mindset that Everyone's A Winner, Everyone's Beautiful and By Golly Have A Trophy, You Deserve It!
I'm not going to get into this whole bit again about how some clubs are looking for one thing while another for something else. We're all adults here. Use you imagination.
Not everyone can be whatever they want. This is a fact. A 120 lb, asthmatic kid in a wheelchair will NEVER be an NFL wide receiver and as much as you want to rail against the unfairness of this, it remains a FACT and the world would be a better place if we could be encouraging in a realistic manner.
*2 Her exact and oft repeated words.**
** Which seem sort of contradictory, but I'm not really up on my urban vernacular.
*3 It's like to opposite of Body Dysmorphia
*4 Like the guy who tried to sue Hooter's because it wouldn't hire him as a waitress. Seriously, man?
