And I’m not talking about customers.
I showed up at work early tonight to save on house fee overhead, and some psycho Charo-looking old bitch with a pimp was working the day shift.
She kept trying to engage me and other girls to no avail. She was clearly wasted and off her rocker. I’m not sure what possessed the day manager to hire her, especially since she and another broad were with pimps and I work a supposedly classy club, but it happened.
I, being the good sport that I am, agreed to go on stage between 7-8PM, since there was a major shortage of day and split-shift girls. The day DJ returned the favor by playing exactly what I wanted to ease into the night; a remix of Fever by Peggy Lee, and some other jazzy, mellow stuff.
Unfortunately, this girl’s drunk ass got a little too turned up at the sound of my third, more upbeat song. Having missed her entire stage set prior to mine, she hopped up onto my solo stage set unsolicited.
As much as I’d like to choreograph a pole duet with a work pal sometime, this threw me off guard. The sparse crowd wasn’t tipping enough for me to amplify a girl-on-girl routine with a blacked out drunk stranger. Her attention was unwelcome and I wasn’t about to improvise dry-humping her or rubbing our tits together.
I did what any horror movie bimbo would do and escaped the situation by heading up instead of out; I climbed the 18 foot pole instead of leaving the stage until the DJ or manager got rid of her.
At first, she just bum-rushed my stage, not the actual pole. That’s why I climbed up to be at another altitude, hoping she’d fuck off. She wasn’t touching the pole and I did a few easy moves at the top, hanging on for dear life ’til she got the hell out of my way.
After reaching the ground to avoid arm and leg fatigue, I ascended the pole a second time, using one of my more dangerous signature moves, side-climbing to the top, holding myself by the knees with ankles crossed, and propelling the spinning pole into motion by pushing my hands off the ceiling.
About three spin rotations in, 150+ lbs of weight thumped itself onto the bottom half of the pole. I’m no expert on physics, but I know that when I’m holding myself by the knees at 18 feet on a spinning pole, an abrupt disruption of that spinning motion has potential to fuck me up and cause me to fall. When I felt her substantial weight stall the spinning motion of the pole, I had little difficulty using my hands to steady my grip. But it was jarring, and the audience probably saw it on my face.
At the end of the song, the girl tried to have a sloshed confrontation about my lack of friendliness. I somehow extricated myself from the situation, but she was showing herself to be a drama queen, taking it personally.
She was the epitome of a ticking time bomb, but I managed not to fall off the pole or be in her presence when the bomb blew up. Not 20 minutes later, she charged at a girl who had just arrived for night shift, pulling her hair and punching her in the face. This girl isn’t a regular fixture, she’s back in town for Thanksgiving picking up a few shifts. Thanks to the psycho, she had a bout of anxiety and didn’t stay to work.
My night ultimately turned around. Not a huge money-maker, but as pleasant and stress free as Sunday nights tend to be.
Strip clubs are known for drama and I’ve always gotten comfortable at low-drama clubs. When it comes to insane girls with pimps, possibly on hard drugs, slipping through the cracks, I have to remind myself that physically violent and dangerous behavior is way worse than mundane, day-to-day, dressing room cattiness.
The last few weeks have been slow and the club feels like a pressure cooker of competing interests, but we already have too many safety concerns when it comes to customers; we should not have pimps and crazy girls (who are ugly as fuck, to boot) making our already challenging jobs more difficult and compromising our physical well-being.