So, it’s been a productive Friday.
I decided to cut ties with the marine this morning. He’s dumped, but doesn’t know it yet, since I took the middle school approach of unfriending him and deleting our text and call history.
I was assigned to yet another day shift at work and there was only one other girl. After my fourth stage set where one couple and a few young guys just stared without tipping, I beelined to the dressing room, shoved my shit in a Mardi Gras tote bag and peaced out with all of $3. The poor DJ; he’s sweet and I would’ve liked to at least tip him out.
I’ve long suspected my club used my alleged solicitation behavior as an excuse or catalyst to demote me to day shift since most girls in their right mind have no desire to work them and aren’t exceedingly good sports like me;
I’ve been their day shift bitch before, broke free from it and got sucked back in. Girls are dropping like flies at my club and I can see why. They basically took thousands upon thousands out of my wallet by demoting me (“temporarily”) right before the Super Bowl and are still trying to keep me trapped in day shifts and swing shifts only.
Yet, I’ve stayed several times to work night shift when they were short on girls, or, in the case of last Saturday, when there’s a FUCKING SHOOTING RIGHT OUTSIDE OUR CLUB AND NO NIGHT SHIFT GIRLS ARE ABLE TO GET PAST NOPD YELLOW TAPE TO GET TO WORK.
I’ve been a good sport time and time again, I endured a horrendously slow January waiting for the Super Bowl payoff. I’ve helped them out, stayed loyal, not fucked with hard drugs and not prostituted in VIP or even used the least bit solicitary language to sell private rooms. And they return that by screwing me out of my Super Bowl and Mardi Gras money. They are having enough trouble retaining staff, they should try and be reasonable to girls like me who stay pretty sober, never miss shifts and don’t complain.
So speaking of the shooting, which was quite jarring to hear about and fortunately not witness, I texted the marine boy when it happened:
Him: How’s work.
Me: Well….there was just a shooting out front.
Him: Oh, damn!
Me: Yeah, I’m off at 11, don’t feel too safe about leaving, the street’s a shit-show.
Him: NO REPLY
Half the security guys and DJ’s at most strip clubs are ex-Marines and they all concurred he should have offered to come get me. Duh. Marine or not. Be a fucking man.
Yesterday being Valentine’s, I stayed at the guy’s house all day while he worked, marathoning Generation Kill (which is amazing, by the way) and picking up his dog’s poop when she decided to drop a deuce on the carpet right in front of me. What do I get?
He comes home, basically ignores me, starts doing his Mandarin Rosetta Stone and giving me a headache with his stupid pronunciation drills, continues to play on Facebook, and makes no offer to cook dinner.
He didn’t come home bearing gifT of any sort. I’m not a shallow girl who wants roses, jewels etc….but given his limited military budget, would a fucking $4 Russell Stover chocolate box be so bad? All I wanted was an acknowledgement; a small gesture
He always cooks, and I offer to buy the ingredients, yet last night I could barely convince him to go to the grocery store. When I finally did, he said he wanted fruit and French Toast for dinner; yeah that shit’s cute at breakfast, but I have little sweet tooth and guys who are into sweets turn me off (it’s a mental thing since my Dad never eats dessert and nobody in my family is huge on it. Main courses are so much better!)
So, talk about a clean slate. I wanted to quit the job before, right when they fucked me on Super Bowl, but the other clubs had done all their temp hiring and I felt trapped.
All of January sucked after New Year’s, so I didn’t have the freedom to say “fuck it” and storm off. Not that I did today, either. But I have guaranteed work in NYC, a promising lead at another club and, worse comes to worse, I’ll work at a lower caliber club for a few weeks to maintain cash flow.
I have to make some concessions until I figure out a new club here on Bourbon or up in NYC (still too chilly up there!) I can do private party stripping through an agency in NYC that I worked for over the summer. It’s more pressure to do more shit than at a topless club, but at least it’s safe, as the owner screens clients.
I’ve also resorted to resuming contact with a Sugar Daddy in NYC and our schedules mesh next week, so that’s some money in my pocket. It seems like all leads point to NYC, but I’ll try Bourbon first. Tomorrow, I have vacation for a week, so I can digest my options. I wouldn’t mind if my club crawled back to me offering a better schedule, considering they are desperate for girls.
I’m bummed out the marine didn’t act like a gentleman last night. There had been red flags and he was a pussy for a marine anyway, not my type lookswise (I prefer dark hair), and basically too country white trash for my tastes. I’m somewhat moderate, politically speaking, and part of that’s rebellion against my bleeding heart liberal past and surroundings growing up, but part of it is just how I am. Still, an elitist side comes out in me when I watch someone fumble to find the right vocabulary word during conversation. When someone so fucking pro second ammendent, yee-haw and gun-toting can’t offer me a sense of protection following live gunfire by my job.