There is a common misconception that strippers earn their living by being beautiful, uninhibited, and naked. While that’s definitely part of the deal, there’s much more to it. Sure, I get on stage and peel my dress down a few times during my shift, but a majority of my time is spent talking to customers.
People always ask me, “how come you wear a dress when you walk around? Why don’t you just walk around in a G-string like everybody else?” The answer is, not because I think I’m too good to have dollar bills shoved in my panties, but because I don’t think it is respectful to approach a man and immediately bend over and ask for a tip. That kind of inhibits my ability to have an honest conversation with him.
I don’t believe in treating customers like dollar bills. I don’t want customers to treat me like a piece of meat, as I’m sure they don’t want to be treated as currency.
So I sit down and talk with the customers who come to the establishment. This is the best way to ensure that both the customers and I have a fun time, and I leave with a little more money than I came in with.
I interact with a lot of people on a nightly basis. On a good night, I will find a guy that I hit it off with, go back for some dances or VIP time, and get paid for having fun. But not every night is a good night. Some nights, I talk to dozens of guys and no one wants to do dances. Or maybe it’s more of a party crowd, where the guys all have short attention spans and just want to drink and hang out. That bores the shit out of me, so this is what I do.
First, I pace. Maybe if I walk around the bar one more time, someone new will walk in the doors or come out from the restroom. Then I try to talk to a guy or two, thinking something is going to change. When it doesn’t, I head straight for the dressing room where I’ll say to my fellow strippers, “Is it me or does it suck tonight?”
A girl will be standing at the mirror, applying a fresh coat of mascara. “It’s not just you, girl, it SUCKS.”
The small group of women who will be sitting by the bathroom stalls, puffing on cigarettes will chime in. “Hell, yeah, it sucks out there! I only did one dance!”
Then I’ll go back and try my hand at the iffy crowd again. If it still sucks, I’ll stand at the wall, looking at my phone so I appear busy. I’ll watch people walk in and out, and back and forth from the bathrooms to the bar.
When my boredom reaches an all-time high, I decide to start playing head games.
I look around the room, carefully selecting my target. When I find him, I’ll move in for the kill. I’ll approach him and introduce myself if I haven’t already done so. I’ll ask for his name and I’ll listen to him speak.
Instead of moving around the room with the purpose of getting as many dances as possible, I fully focus all of my attention on him and him alone. As he speaks, I will make assumptions about him. When he shakes my hand or runs his fingers across my back, I am taking in information about him under his radar. Are his hands hard and rough? Or soft and smooth? I already have a vague idea of what he does for a living. Is he a smoker? Does he speak well?
Is he married? Are his clothes nicely pressed or wrinkled? Does he hide his left hand in his pocket or behind his glass? Does he have a thinner whiter stripe of skin on his left ring finger? You bet, I have a pretty good idea whether he is or isn’t married. And if he is, I have an even better idea whether it is a good marriage or not.
I add these subtle clues up in my head to form a profile of who this man is without even knowing him. My goal is to achieve 90% accuracy.
I’ll ask him what he does for a living. Sometimes, I’ll just guess if I’m feeling extra confident. There is a big difference between a man who works on computers and a man who works for the law.
The cop will have a short haircut, good social skills, and he’ll be vague about what he does for a living because everyone thinks that strippers hate cops. He might even have a big ball of chewing tobacco in his mouth as we speak.
The computer networker or website builder will sit alone, leaving slightly more space in between himself and the other patrons than usual. He’ll speak well, but be less outgoing. He’ll more likely opt for glasses than contacts and he will probably tell you “I have a boring job” because for some reason, guys who pull apart computers all day think being a stripper is probably way more fun than their job. Perhaps it is.
Then I try to guess if the man is a parent or not. I’m good at this. I can usually guess a person’s age fairly accurately. Here’s a fact of life: People who have children age faster than those who don’t. A twenty eight year old who still has shiny, taught skin around his eyes and cheek bones is most certainly not a parent. A thirty five year old man who has fine lines under his eyes and faint smile lines around his mouth is, for sure, somebody’s Dad.
So I’ll guess. “You have kids, right?”
He’ll say, “Yes.”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“I’m psychic… Just kidding. Lucky guess.”
Men who have daughters approach the world with a slightly softer touch. This doesn’t mean that men with daughters generally treat strippers more kindly. It is more of a general statement about the way they look at the world and interact with people in general. Every guy’s perspective is greatly altered the day the ultrasound technician says, “It’s a girl.”
Boy’s Dads have a firmer hand with the world. They are more cut and dry, more focused, and proud. It’s hard to explain how I perceive these things. I’ve just been doing it so long that I’ve developed a talent.
Sometimes if I’m feeling ballsy and I’m already at 90% accuracy, I’ll try to take it a step further and try to guess the more difficult stuff. Hmmm… I’ll think. This guy is recently divorced, has two children, and is attractive. He is well put together and dressed nicely. I’ll throw him my best guess.
“You seem like the kind of guy who wants a relationship but takes the extra time to make sure the woman is the right woman, instead of just settling.”
Just when I’m feeling great, I’ll be shot down. “Um, no way.” The man will say. “My wife just left me for the pool boy and now I want to kill myself as soon as possible. Just have to change the beneficiary on the life insurance policy first.”
Oh well. I’m good, but I’m not that good. I’ll have to stick with the small stuff for now, I guess.
“What did you do today?” I’ll say to a guy at the bar, after a few minutes of conversation.
“Yeah?” I’ll reply. Then I’ll put my arm around him and say in a flirty tone, “You know, I love a man who does laundry!”
He’ll pause for a moment to think. Puzzled, he’ll say, “How did you know I did laundry today?”
I’ll shrug and say, “I’m psychic.”
The man will be baffled, probably wondering, what else does she know about me?
That’s when I’ll point to the glowing neon streaks on his hands and tell him, “Laundry detergent always glows under the black light. You have laundry detergent on your hands.”