I worked another night in that city and made $8. People swore it was the worst two nights in the entire history of the club. It was still pretty fun, even if it wasn’t profitable. One dancer brought her girlfriend to work on a leash and she followed her around, being obedient. They were both all cute and puppyish about it, and I don’t think the dancer talked to a single customer all night long (not that we had many paying customers).
There were so many non paying customers it was comical. They came in groups, mostly, and did all they could to squish in with the other groups as far from the stage as possible in the little room that was the club. One group of well dressed college students (I can spot $300 shoes from a mile away) explained to me that they had actually come for the juice, not the strippers. See, they had heard that this was a juice bar, and they were on a quest for rhubarb juice.
“Um, I think we just have orange and cranberry?” I said.
They nodded, sipping their cranberry juices and cokes, and lamented the lack of rhubarb and passionfruit juices. I considered asking why they’d been there for two hours if the club didn’t even have what they wanted, but decided against it.
Eventually, some wise cheeky stripper got on the mic and announced to the customers that if they didn’t want to tip the dancers, they might consider not coming to a strip club. It worked! Two of the big groups left.
There were still a couple people sitting, alone, at the furthest tables, texting on their phones. Both of them explained to me, when I approached, that they were “just chillin.” Whatever that means.
Two customers came in at the end of the night, real customers. Another girl got the best looking one first, and I was on the second-in-command like glue. But he really preferred this extremely thin girl over me. It was closing time anyways, so I got dressed and left.
The bouncer was standing on the sidewalk in front of the club, and said he’d just watch me over to my van instead of walking me. Beggers can’t be choosers, and I really wasn’t that worried. Right as I got in my van, some guy popped out from behind a trash can (seriously) and demanded to see my parking ticket. I was like, hell no and fuck off, and then he started begging me for a ride, and then freaking out as I drove away.
I’d like to say that was the end of it and I drove straight out of the city (yay for dramatic endings!) but I didn’t. I stuck around and had breakfast with a porn star and a famous screenwriter in the morning. They were also having trouble making money and on their way out of town, but first they fed me chicken fried tofu and threw the ball for Bro. Bro, in return, ran into their sliding screen door and knocked it off it’s slider and barked at their maintenance man.