I'm flattered that some folks have stepped forward and donated some cash to what they deem has been a worthwhile cause. I never had any intention of monetizing this blog, in fact, my content pretty much barred me from any sort of realistic sponsorship, so I just wrote because I liked it and a lot of other people seemed to enjoy it as well.
Other humans telling me they enjoy my blog or how they'd sprayed coffee across their computer screens when reading a new post makes me happy. Making people laugh is a rare gift and if I've delivered over the years and it's worth it to you, there'll be a way to show that at the end of the post.
In my career I'v worked at seven different strip clubs across two states in addition to two bars, three music venues and on one very creepy night, a sex club. Any other bullshit I've written in this blog about moving to another state was merely an attempt at misdirection after the cat got out of the bag at my latest club for reasons I'm still not comfortable going into.
That being said here's situations I worked with at each and every strip club in no particular order:
1) Tammy's Titty Trailer: Worked totally solo. Couldn't even count a bartender to have my back. I was a lot younger back than and didn't fully appreciate the level of risk I was taking on for what wasn't much more that minimum wage. Was way too neophyte to plan or execute any sort of money making scams and would've sucked at them any way. I didn't carry a knife or most certainly a gun.
Wouldn't even consider doing the same job today without both....
I was lucky enough in my ten or so months at T3's to have not come across any situation I couldn't handle. I preferred not to put my hands on people, but I got very proactive when I figured it was going to be necessary for me to do so. The local PD were nominally sympathetic, knowing I worked alone in a sometimes less than desirable environment.
In truth the most vicious fights I broke up in my time there were between dancers, not customers. I had tiny crack-dancers willing to stilletto-stomp a weaker rival in order to obtain valuable market share. It was a tiny club with a small clientele and competition was fierce.
2) McCracky's Ass Overload: I don't know what I was thinking. This was a straight up ghetto strip club on the outskirts of a major PA town. I was the only white guy on security and I was hired because with me on the Door, it made the club seem less threatening to potential white patrons or at least this is what I was told.. If this is racist, don't blame me, I didn't hire myself.
I was thrust into a world I wan't really prepared to deal with, but you either adapt or you run away. I learned quickly to just say 'fuck that' to everything. Everyone has some sort of story at the Door, everyone knows someone, or so they think.
This led to a lot of confrontations because I was a minority in this situation, but my team had my back like you wouldn't believe. This was, without a doubt, THE most proactive security team I've eve worked with. If there was a problem, which there frequently was, they would descend on it like the fucking locusts on unsuspecting crops. They protected their white boy because they knew I was in over my head, culturally speaking, but respected the balls it took to show up day in and day out. The unit cohesion and response of this team ended up instilling in me unrealistic expectations of how working in clubs would be everywhere.
And I was wrong as fuck. It's often a symptom of being young.
3) Naked Allure: The have-it-all strip club outside of a major midwestern town that features all kinds of special shit to those willing to spend money. They have solo stages, crazy champagne rooms, a Dungeon Room, private catering, blowjob nooks and cocaine vending machines. As a cook there I made about $500 a week there in shift pay, but employees (including entertainers) were required to tip me to make their food, so I was making good money.
Most of which I spent on drugs because I wanted to fit in.
Since I was a talented cook, I was very popular with the employees and clientele. Since I didn't sell weed and coke, like the other cook, James, I was eventually cut to one day a week. James couldn't cook his way out of a wet paper bag, but at this particular club, drugs were more important.
Shame too because it was easy money. I even traded some sauteed shrimp for magic mushrooms one time...
4) Lisa's Labia Buffet: The worst club I ever worked at in regards to how I was treated by management, dancers, customers and especially my fellow Floor Guys. At this club if you weren't the two 'VIP' Floor Dicks, then you were the lowest form of life at the club. EVERYONE was valued higher than you, even barbacks and cooks. Hell, the toilets at this club were shown more respect than the average knuckle dragging Floor Ape. My contribution to the Owner's wealth was appreciated at roughly the same value as a gallon of ranch dressing, more or less.
And I was treated accordingly.
Management either screamed at you, failed to help you in any way and never, ever took your side against a Dancer no matter how much evil the bitch had perpetrated. Even if a Manager wanted to help you or sympathized with you in any way, the Owner would reach out from his orbiting Whore Star and eradicate any good outcome.
The Strippers here could broadly be divided into two groups: A) the hardened ghetto criminals who ran the club and B) all the other strippers who were terrified of them. There wasn't much middle ground. It didn't matter how blatant these PMS13 members were with their scams and crimes, they were able to act with utter impunity thanks to the whims of the all powerful Owner and his fearsome floating Death Ray.
The worst part for me was the Floor Staff. In all regards but one they were pretty decent to work with, the one glaring exception being the fair division of tips at the end of the night. Holy fuck did I get ripped off there. I'm gonna go out on a limb and estimate that in the bit-less-than-a-year I worked there, I probably got cut out of about $2,000 or more a month. All that by the two Floor Thieves that exclusively ran the VIP area, where they wallet-raped customers and their fellow Floor Guys alike.
I still shudder when I think about some of the shit I saw and did there...
5) The Aluminum Goat: What a sad fucking place. Typical shithole titty joint. This was the first job I landed after returning to my home state after having lived elsewhere for a year or so. I didn't like the job, I didn't like the people and I most certainly didn't like the pay, $9 with no tips. We weren't even allowed by the Owner to accept tips if a dancer tried to do it. If he caught us doing it, we were fired just like that.
The most ironic thing about this club was that it was controlled by a local biker gang. Everyone knew it, no one talked about it and the members purposely didn't hang out there because they washed their money there or whatever the case may be. I certainly wasn't asking.
Where the irony comes into play is that the last guy I worked for before moving back home was a higher-up in a rival bike club who ran security for several area establishments. Ergo if the "management" at the Aluminum Goat had found out who I worked for up until I relocated, I would've probably ended up in a dumpster because they would've naturally assumed I was an enemy informant. I mean, I looked like a biker to be sure. It would've been a natural assumption to make.
Glad they didn't ask a lot of questions.
The only thing good to come out of that experience was meeting one of my best friends. So, totally worth it.
6) The Velvet Gauntlet: Probably my favorite strip club I've worked at overall. The money wasn't as good as some other clubs though it was better than most. This is because the Owner didn't put up with crime, scams or similar bullshit*1. He's old school and doesn't want to run a place infested with lowlifes, predators and the run of the mill scumbags that comprise the majority of most strip club ecosystems.
The sense of team there was very strong and the trust level between management and staff was the best I'd ever experienced. The Owner wasn't some aloof figure, a source of fear and anxiety in his occasional visits to the club, he was hands on, right there with ya and willing to get his hands dirty. Sometimes even too willing.
I remember some donnybrooks with bachelor parties where amidst the fray I'd look up and be like, 'where's the King?' and lo there he was, knee deep with his Floor Staff dealing out crisp jabs or full nelsons like he didn't pay us to do that for him.
As a career Minion, ya gotta respect a leader who leads from the front. In this respect, this Owner was absolutely unique in my seven club experience. By contrast, in three out of the seven titty bars I worked at, I never even met the Owner, much less fought side by side with him.
There's a bond that forms between men as they fight drunken rural bachelor party members amidst the diesel fumes of a cheap convict/party bus lent a garish glowing quality by the mandatory strip club neon lights. I'm not going to have the gall to compare it to actual combat or warfare, but kidney-punching or arch-stomping a wasted fuckwit who's trying to choke your fellow club staff is both satisfying and noteworthy.
7) Herb's Ribs and Clits: Rural fun for horny guys everywhere! The only Topless BBQ joint I've ever worked at. By state law you had to be at least 14 to get in and you could bring your own moonshine and prostitutes, provided you didn't offer to sell either one to other patrons.
Herb's was a significant waypoint in my career. It marked the club where I decided that jeans, engineer boots and skull rings are holding me back from making slacks, wingtip and necktie money and all for nothing. I'm not a fancy person but being reasonably intelligent, possessed of a decent vocabulary and a willingness to use it, I talked my way into better jobs from this point forward.
This marked a change in my life where I went from mobile-homeless, to buying shit I didn't really need because I could. It's a symptom of the formerly poor, buying shit you don't need but have always wanted, just to give the middle finger to life.
At least you finish with something....
In time you you get past this as well, hopefully, and realize that life is all about perspective and where one finishes in regards to where one started and what directions they may or may not have taken in the course of a life lived.
This is all metaphysical bullshit and should be considered questionable at best by all who read it.
Thank all of you who chose to support me with some contribution towards my non-homeless future, I certainly appreciate it and promise that I won't buy vodka with it. For the most part.
Yours in continuity,
-The StripperHerder
*1 Crime, Scams or Similar Bullshit: The way most strip club Dancers and other positions such as Floor Staff, Management, Bartenders and Doorgirls make their best money. You find drunk enough prey, you pounce.
