I come back from nearly two weeks off tonight and there are these random-ass stand-in managers. This dude I’d never met came to the locker room with a “we have no girls for the stage, are you about ready?” speil, and I pretty much retorted “Who are you?”
The moment I entered the locker room, two random girls were there finalizing preparations to audition. By the time I was hair, makeup, spraytan ready, they were done and one had been told she was “too big.” I heard her friend try to console her “you’re not fat” and I heard her muffled attempts at hiding sniffles.
I felt bad and I’ve been there. This girl wasn’t much bigger, if any bigger, than myself, and I couldn’t help questioning how long being “grandfathered” in to keeping my job and working night, not day, shift, could last.
The problem that hadn’t dawned on me yet is the image obsession of the Super Bowl coming to town in a month. Yes, I noticed the massive overhaul to build eight new VIP rooms and improve the club’s appearance, but the thought of “cleaning house” dancer-wise was not on my blissfully unaware radar. I consider myself a “house girl”, a regular fixture, but I’m super replacable, even if I reassure myself the managers all like me and I’m an earner.
I asked our VIP hostess about the random managers, trying to jokingly play it off: “Are these interim/temp managers?”
She had a very euphemistic reply about the randoms helping them “sort everything out” with the renovations and transitions. That’s never a good sign, but I feel reasonably secure in my job. It didn’t feel good to get on stage with a bloated Christmas belly in front of strangers with clout grilling me and judging me.
If they want to screen what new girls get hired, fine. I still feel grandfathered in. But if they start ordering a firing squad, imma be pissed! In all honesty, If I get ‘fake’ fired or given an ultimatum, I’ll be very diplomatic and express willingness to settle for day shifts and dedication toward physical improvement.
I concurred with a new girl tonight about working where we do because it’s laid back and not micromanaged. “I don’t work as a stripper to be hounded by managers like an office job; if I want that, I’ll go build a proper resume somewhere else!” (for less moeny….)
It creeps me out that my club has hired these image consultant types in my absence. These fake managers are going to get all overzealous in their eagerness to please, but they’re just fucking temps themselves! I’m trying to assure myself that, should one of them approach our owners with “she’s a bit thick,” the owners will rebutt with “yeah, but she’s super easy to work with and she’s a consistent earner.”
This fantasy dialogue isn’t totally unrealistic, but it’s not like I sell multiple VIP rooms every night and rake in such amazing earnings they’d be idiots to let me go. I earn my keep, but I’m not employee of the month.
I’m bracing myself, but even if worse comes to worse and I get “fired” I’ll just live on a treadmill for two weeks and come back. They have fired and re-hired so many girls so many times (per girl) it’s insane. A house girl is a house girl, and she has more leeway with fuck-ups and glitches. I’m not my club’s biggest asset, but I’m a pleasant, agreeable, employee. No heroin and prostituting, no nagging managers to leave early and bail out of shifts left and right, like most strippers. I’m reliable as fuck, and even if I don’t bring in major dough, I’m that bitch you can count on to cover the stage rotation and show up for her shift.
The reason I’m a little scared is because of what happened to me on Staten Island over the summer. I got a job at a decent joint and the customers loved me. But the owners were opening a new club on SI, and their image consciousness caused them to clean house. It felt like being cut from an athletic tryout first round. They fired my ass the day before I went on a 2K vacation to Italy. Very considerate. My conversation with the manager who had hired me and then got to be the messenger of firing me went more or less:
“He just wants the very thin girls, the girls in the 8,9,10 range. I told him I’ve never had a problem with you, that you’re reliable, always on time……” yadayada
So, bottom line, being chunky trumps being reliable and agreeable when it comes to keeping your job. Wish me luck! Because I plan to rake it in between now and Mardi Gras, not be unemployed.