Walking into I Hop:
Me: "I HAVE TO SHIT!!!"
Friend: "Honeyyy wait till after you eat... It'll push it RIGHT out!"
While waiting at our table to order:
Friend: "I look and feel like I've been hit by a truck."
Friend: "Just so you know, your eyelash is hanging off... and it's been like that all night. I just didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd go back in the dressing room and go all OCD for 20 minutes and you seemed like you were on a roll."
*I pull my false eyelashes off and plop them on the table.*
Friend: "Put your eyelashes away."
Me: "I have nowhere to put them."
Friend: "Put them in a container."
Me: "I don't have a container. Should I put them in my vagina?... like a ... drug smuggler?" *"brilliant" grin, then delirious laughter*
How is it that night after night I put myself together to the 9's, and my earnings are hit or miss, yet the one night I have my eyelash hanging halfway off like a crackhead almost the entire night, I have the best night I've ever had? It was this question rolling through my head that had me laughing out loud to myself like a crazy person all the way through the restaurant on my way to the bathroom, and my entire time alone in the bathroom. I mean come on! It makes no fucking sense! There is no formula to Vegas. It is so based on luck it's enough to make anyone batty.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
March 20, 2010
Tonight when getting ready for work, I spent about 45 minutes trying to apply my fake eyelashes over... and over... and over... and over. Eventually, my eyeballs were red, stinging and weeping; and the skin under my eyes was raw, burning and covered in sticky eyelash glue (diluted and distributed with tears), which of course refused to come off. So I decided to abandon my venture, remove the 10 oz. of clumped up eyelash glue which had collected on my lashes making me look like Tammy Faye Baker, and just go to work with mascara only.
Tonight was my second night working March Madness. I was really excited. It is rumored to be the money-making that legends are made of. I was so excited in fact, that I decided to work a weekend. I usually avoid the weekends like the plague for several reasons. There are crazy amounts of traveling dancers that fly in, increasing the number of girls working from the usual 200, to 700+ at times. Then there is the fact that with all that additional competition and these girls having traveling overhead, these girls are hell-bent on making a profit at any cost.
This makes working the weekend difficult in two ways: 1) The girls throw courtesy out the window, and are incredibly rude to customers when the customer says they don't want a dance; making the customers annoyed and unapproachable. 2) It unevens the playing field due to traveling girls ignoring the city laws. We get plenty of traveling girls who are not aware that Vice police come in, or just simply choose not to care about it (after all they are not tied to Vegas) and push the boundaries of the law as much as possible.
Two things happen in the latter instance, both making it difficult to sell VIP dances: 1) These girls are giving full grind and 2 way contact dances for $20 on the floor. Which kills your ability to up-sell into VIP because the privacy, intimacy and loosening of rules in VIP are the incentive for the custy’s to upgrade. I usually tell the customers whom I am trying to up-sell, "Out here, you're paying for everyone else to get a free show, there is a 3 second max grind rule, and you're only allowed to grope the chair. If we go to VIP... you don't have to grope the chair. *wink*" But why pay more if they are getting full grind and 2 way contact for $20 on the floor? 2) You get the really clever girls who have come up with the brilliant sales ploy (I say that completely tongue in cheek) of telling the custy's that they will give them a blow job in VIP. It's not true. It's illegal, and it's not even private enough to get away with it, even if they wanted to. But none the less, the ‘man-brain’ kicks in and custy's buy it. Then they get all pissed off and tangent about the girl who ripped them off; "that bitch said she'd give me a blowjob and she just gave me a dance!!!". Like I have an ounce of sympathy for you, moron? And like I want to hear what an entitled sleeze-ball you are? Nope. Keep your gripes to yourself. It was your fucking mistake and I have no sympathy for you. Waaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!! P.S. You're fucking gross!
Once, I actually saw a guy go to management and complain that one of the dancers had not delivered on the blowjob she had promised him. Hahahahahahahaha!!!!!! This story always makes me think about the time Boy George had a male prostitute come to his place, and called the police and reported that the prostitute had stolen his cocaine. It makes about that much sense to me. I mean seriously, if I were that stupid, I wouldn't make a ruckus afterwards. I would come back quietly and hang my head in embarrassment, and promptly leave. Anyways, back to my point though; when you are competing against girls who are telling custy's they'll suck them off (regardless of whether it's true or not), it makes the playing field so uneven, and makes it extremely difficult, if not impossible to compete.
Ok, ok, back to March Madness. So my first night working M.M. was ok. Not anything to write home about, but not the worst night I'd ever had. It definitely didn't seem like any night out of the ordinary, and my earnings were actually pretty low. But I always try to stay positive and remind myself of the 'law of averages'. "Ok, so the last night sucked, so there is a high likelihood that tonight will be awesome".
OMFG! The place was PACKED! Full to the brim with both dancers and customers (the customers outnumbering the dancers) so this looked promising! Yet somehow I got the type of reactions from customers that can't help but make you wonder, "do I have something in my teeth?"... Check. No. :? ... "do I smell bad?"... Check. No. :? ... "did I grow a penis and not notice?"... Check. No. :D "Thank god for that one!!!"... "so then what the fuck"?
I stayed positive. Looking for 'that one' in the sea of men. "if I just keep talking to as many people as possible and stay positive, I will meet him eventually". There is a saying in the business: “It only takes one”. Meaning that you can have a shit night all night, then meet one guy who loves spending time with you and wants to give you all his money. But tonight… no. :/
I did several VIP tours with guys I spoke with. All of them deciding not to stay; stating that they just wanted a single $20 dance. Each time I asked if they had a table on the floor and they said no. At which point I explained to them that on a busy night like tonight, if you want to get a floor dance, you have to have a table because all the tables are reserved and occupied. And considering that they will have to wait in line, then pay a fee to be seated, and that even when they do get seated, the dance they get on the floor won't compare to the dance they would get in VIP. All that considered and the fact that we get free top shelf drinks with VIP, they really are getting the most for their money by choosing to stay.
No dice. Each of them back-peddled out to the floor again.
There was one sale I could have made, but I wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole . Earlier in the night I saw an individual I always walk right past every time I see him. I have dealt with him twice before. And since then, not only do I walk by making sure to not make eye contact and give him even an inch of room to think he can talk to me, but I also go to the VIP hosts and tell them that if he asks for me I am not there. The first time I told one of the hosts this, he asked "what if he knows you're here"? I responded with, "All the better! Just repeat yourself again. He'll get the picture". I fondly and with great malice refer to this individual as PDB (Paraplegic Douche Bag). Harsh, you think? Let's see if you still think so after I tell you the story.
I met PDB almost a year back. He was in a wheelchair, so I made sure to go up to him. Most guys in wheelchairs are really friendly and generally haven't been accosted by as many girls as the other men because many dancers are afraid to approach them. So I did an hour with him in VIP. He seemed to know someone as he wasn't required to buy a bottle of wine or champagne for the hour (the first time I had ever seen this happen). We get seated and start our hour. Within 3 minutes of starting our hour he blurts out "kiss me!" in a loud voice which I'm sure everyone on the area heard. I explain to him that it is not a private area and I don't want to get in trouble. He responds with, "you don't find me attractive"!? In actuality he was very esthetically attractive (before I got to know him), I was single and had just gotten out of a sex-starved relationship of five years, was new to Vegas and working odd hours so the only guys I met were at work, and shoot, I'd never made out with a paraplegic before and I was at an adventurous point in my life where I wanted to try everything under the sun. You know, that post-long-term-relationship recalibration period? All of these things pointed to the fact that I did in fact want to kiss him. So I gave him my list of reasons as to why I really did want to make out with him, but reiterated that I didn't want to get in trouble, so I couldn’t. He didn't take that as an answer and continued to push. This is where he started to become less attractive to me. So after some lengthy debate he finally stopped pushing and I resumed dancing for him.
I hadn't really started dancing much in the first place so I decided to start from scratch. Instead of allowing me to seduce him at a paced fashion, he insists that I strip down to my underwear immediately. I tell him how much more erotic it will be if I take my time. And he replies with a taunting, "what? are you scared"? We were only 10 minutes into our hour, and I was already getting annoyed. Great! So I begrudgingly wisk everything off except for my mandatory thong.
At one point as I am dancing for him, I think he is adjusting his belt. I think to myself, "Perhaps it's in an uncomfortable position? It happens. Wait... he sure is taking a while to adjust his belt"... at which point I look down and see that he is in fact NOT adjusting his belt... he is has his hand down his pants and is attempting to beat his flaccid dick off. Now if I said I didn't see the logic behind this and feel for the guy a bit at this very moment I would be a liar. I mean the guy had virtually no sensation in his pelvic region. However, that does not change the fact that it is against the law to beat yourself off during a dance (handicapped or not). So I asked him to stop, explaining to him that it was illegal and that he was going to get me in trouble. He said he couldn't feel anything. So I told him I would give him the most pressure all 90-semod lbs of me could muster when I went to grind on him, but that he could not jerk himself off. He gave me a guilt trip. So I told him the police would be called and he would be arrested if he jerked off. So he gave up his guilt trip.
Then as I resumed dancing for him, he started asking me to tell him how "special" he is... about how he is "different" from all the other guys I've danced for. This really annoyed me, because the first thing that came to mind at this point was "well you're the biggest jerk I've ever danced for"! But obviously that wasn't an appropriate response. So I told him that “each person I dance for IS different, because for me, it's all about the energy exchange between two people” (laughing, joking, moving together, listening to how the arousal you're causing them changes their breath, makes them swallow hard (like they just saw their friend's hot mom naked), ect. Which is normally true, except in this case, because I was gritting my teeth the whole way through just waiting for the hour to be over. I dance for a while and then comes the next piece of poop, err I mean trick up his sleeve. This time he starts trying to stick his hands in my panties. Grrrrrrrrrrr!!! So I start evasive maneuvers by trying to gently move his hand. Nope that didn't work. He wouldn't budge and forcefully kept his hand in the position. So I jumped off his lap and told him "LOOK DUDE! THAT IS NOT OK"!!, in a very loud, stern and chastising voice. He stopped, and allowed me to finish the rest of the hour with almost no more shenanigans, except for verbal annoyances. He wanted to make it clear to me that there was something wrong with me and that I was stupid, confused, uptight, and frigid for not letting him have his way with me. So he spent the rest of the hour going on and on with guilt trips and attempted mind-fucks, that did nothing but annoy me. When we were done, I instructed him to go find a brothel and told him he was forbidden from coming back.
One week later, I had just gotten to work when I hear my name paged to VIP. I go, and guess who it is? No one other that PDB himself. I must have had a look of terror or disgust on my face because the first words out of his mouth were “what? You’re not happy to see me”? To which I replied with, “didn’t I tell you NOT to come back”!? He said that he felt really bad about upsetting me and that he wanted to make it up to me. I thought about it for a moment and figured maybe there was a reason he had acted like he had. I have seen so many men act like wild rabid dogs after consuming too much booze on a Vegas weekend bender. So, I figured I’d give him another chance. Bad move!
The only booth available was the darkest, most dimly lit corner booth. We start the hour, and at first he was fine. A while into it, he starts trying to finger me. My response is to jump off him, glare at him and let out a simple and to the point “DUDE! WHAT THE FUCK”!? He proceeds to tell me that it’s ok for him to finger bang me. That he knows management. It’s ok, blah blah blah. I tell him, “Listen, I don’t know you, and I don’t know who YOU know. What I do know is that I have to have my job in order to pay my bills, and letting someone finger bang me is a sure-fire way for me to loose my job”! “I don’t know you, I don’t trust you, and even if I did, I don’t know where your hands have been, so why would I let you stick them in my vagina? It’s obvious you hate women, so for all I know you may go around sticking your fingers in as many girls vaginas as possible hoping to transmit herpes or some other STD to one of them. I have no idea where your hands were 20 minutes ago”! “You have two options 1) keep your hands away from my goddamn vagina, and we can finish the hour, or 2) we can stop here. But you need to calm the fuck down, because this shit isn’t ok”!
He says ok, and I hesitantly resume the dance. Not too long afterwards, he reaches over and grabs one of the pillows in the booth and puts it behind my butt. I grab it, throw it out of his reach, and say in stern and calm voice, “no sneaky business asshole”. At which point he grabs both my arms with one hand, and tries to restrain them behind my back, and tries jamming his other hand down my panties. I break free, jump up and start grabbing my clothes to redress, while shouting “you’re fucking dick. We’re fucking done”!!! He acts all surprised, and starts questioning me as to what he did wrong. I laughed and said, “are you trying to be funny? Or are you just fucking stupid”? I continued dressing and he continued trying to ask me what he had done wrong. I said, “Look, I don’t know why the fuck you came back. I don’t know why the fuck you asked for me again. I don’t like you, and you don’t like me, so quite frankly I am confused. I am going to do us both a favor and leave. I am keeping your money because you’re an asshole. Now go find some traveling girl who is willing to loose her job. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for”. Then I left before he could even seat himself back in his wheelchair. I was SO FUCKING ANGRY!!!
After this I refused to ever speak with him, or even acknowledge him again. He comes in once a month or so. Since I told the host that I would not dance for him anymore, I have found out that the hosts have had more complaints about him from girls than any other customer.
Text Messages I sent Tonight:
3:56am: It’s busy as fuck and I can’t even get a foot in with these guys. FML! Wish me luck! *crosses fingers*
4:04am: Tonight sucks sweaty donkey balls! Frothy sweat, like what develops under a horse saddle on a hard ride on a hot day. FML!
4:06am: Wish me luck 4 the rest of the night. It only takes one. That’s my mantra… and it’s true… if I can find “him”. I am staying positive… and having another drink for good measure!
4:50am: So fucking gay! I am going to lay down for 30 minutes and pretend it’s a new night when I wake up.
Footnote: My attempt to pretend it was a new night when I woke up did not work. Perhaps it was because with the amount of girls at the club that night, all the usual places to nap-crash were taken and the house mom had set up some impromptu nap areas. I laid in one of them, making sure to keep myself curled up in a ball as I slept because it was a bit close to some occupied lockers. I woke up to some girl stepping on my feet, with her stilettos, over and over. I am pretty sure this was intentional, as she was muttering “fucking drunk bitches! Sleep somewhere else”! When she did remove her shoes she made sure to chuck them on the floor right next to my head. Thanks cunt! Needless to say, when I woke up fully, I still wanted to punch someone in the face.
Today I am in a bad mood... and keep getting these little bouts of feeling the need to cry.
Tonight was my second night working March Madness. I was really excited. It is rumored to be the money-making that legends are made of. I was so excited in fact, that I decided to work a weekend. I usually avoid the weekends like the plague for several reasons. There are crazy amounts of traveling dancers that fly in, increasing the number of girls working from the usual 200, to 700+ at times. Then there is the fact that with all that additional competition and these girls having traveling overhead, these girls are hell-bent on making a profit at any cost.
This makes working the weekend difficult in two ways: 1) The girls throw courtesy out the window, and are incredibly rude to customers when the customer says they don't want a dance; making the customers annoyed and unapproachable. 2) It unevens the playing field due to traveling girls ignoring the city laws. We get plenty of traveling girls who are not aware that Vice police come in, or just simply choose not to care about it (after all they are not tied to Vegas) and push the boundaries of the law as much as possible.
Two things happen in the latter instance, both making it difficult to sell VIP dances: 1) These girls are giving full grind and 2 way contact dances for $20 on the floor. Which kills your ability to up-sell into VIP because the privacy, intimacy and loosening of rules in VIP are the incentive for the custy’s to upgrade. I usually tell the customers whom I am trying to up-sell, "Out here, you're paying for everyone else to get a free show, there is a 3 second max grind rule, and you're only allowed to grope the chair. If we go to VIP... you don't have to grope the chair. *wink*" But why pay more if they are getting full grind and 2 way contact for $20 on the floor? 2) You get the really clever girls who have come up with the brilliant sales ploy (I say that completely tongue in cheek) of telling the custy's that they will give them a blow job in VIP. It's not true. It's illegal, and it's not even private enough to get away with it, even if they wanted to. But none the less, the ‘man-brain’ kicks in and custy's buy it. Then they get all pissed off and tangent about the girl who ripped them off; "that bitch said she'd give me a blowjob and she just gave me a dance!!!". Like I have an ounce of sympathy for you, moron? And like I want to hear what an entitled sleeze-ball you are? Nope. Keep your gripes to yourself. It was your fucking mistake and I have no sympathy for you. Waaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!! P.S. You're fucking gross!
Once, I actually saw a guy go to management and complain that one of the dancers had not delivered on the blowjob she had promised him. Hahahahahahahaha!!!!!! This story always makes me think about the time Boy George had a male prostitute come to his place, and called the police and reported that the prostitute had stolen his cocaine. It makes about that much sense to me. I mean seriously, if I were that stupid, I wouldn't make a ruckus afterwards. I would come back quietly and hang my head in embarrassment, and promptly leave. Anyways, back to my point though; when you are competing against girls who are telling custy's they'll suck them off (regardless of whether it's true or not), it makes the playing field so uneven, and makes it extremely difficult, if not impossible to compete.
Ok, ok, back to March Madness. So my first night working M.M. was ok. Not anything to write home about, but not the worst night I'd ever had. It definitely didn't seem like any night out of the ordinary, and my earnings were actually pretty low. But I always try to stay positive and remind myself of the 'law of averages'. "Ok, so the last night sucked, so there is a high likelihood that tonight will be awesome".
OMFG! The place was PACKED! Full to the brim with both dancers and customers (the customers outnumbering the dancers) so this looked promising! Yet somehow I got the type of reactions from customers that can't help but make you wonder, "do I have something in my teeth?"... Check. No. :? ... "do I smell bad?"... Check. No. :? ... "did I grow a penis and not notice?"... Check. No. :D "Thank god for that one!!!"... "so then what the fuck"?
I stayed positive. Looking for 'that one' in the sea of men. "if I just keep talking to as many people as possible and stay positive, I will meet him eventually". There is a saying in the business: “It only takes one”. Meaning that you can have a shit night all night, then meet one guy who loves spending time with you and wants to give you all his money. But tonight… no. :/
I did several VIP tours with guys I spoke with. All of them deciding not to stay; stating that they just wanted a single $20 dance. Each time I asked if they had a table on the floor and they said no. At which point I explained to them that on a busy night like tonight, if you want to get a floor dance, you have to have a table because all the tables are reserved and occupied. And considering that they will have to wait in line, then pay a fee to be seated, and that even when they do get seated, the dance they get on the floor won't compare to the dance they would get in VIP. All that considered and the fact that we get free top shelf drinks with VIP, they really are getting the most for their money by choosing to stay.
No dice. Each of them back-peddled out to the floor again.
There was one sale I could have made, but I wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole . Earlier in the night I saw an individual I always walk right past every time I see him. I have dealt with him twice before. And since then, not only do I walk by making sure to not make eye contact and give him even an inch of room to think he can talk to me, but I also go to the VIP hosts and tell them that if he asks for me I am not there. The first time I told one of the hosts this, he asked "what if he knows you're here"? I responded with, "All the better! Just repeat yourself again. He'll get the picture". I fondly and with great malice refer to this individual as PDB (Paraplegic Douche Bag). Harsh, you think? Let's see if you still think so after I tell you the story.
I met PDB almost a year back. He was in a wheelchair, so I made sure to go up to him. Most guys in wheelchairs are really friendly and generally haven't been accosted by as many girls as the other men because many dancers are afraid to approach them. So I did an hour with him in VIP. He seemed to know someone as he wasn't required to buy a bottle of wine or champagne for the hour (the first time I had ever seen this happen). We get seated and start our hour. Within 3 minutes of starting our hour he blurts out "kiss me!" in a loud voice which I'm sure everyone on the area heard. I explain to him that it is not a private area and I don't want to get in trouble. He responds with, "you don't find me attractive"!? In actuality he was very esthetically attractive (before I got to know him), I was single and had just gotten out of a sex-starved relationship of five years, was new to Vegas and working odd hours so the only guys I met were at work, and shoot, I'd never made out with a paraplegic before and I was at an adventurous point in my life where I wanted to try everything under the sun. You know, that post-long-term-relationship recalibration period? All of these things pointed to the fact that I did in fact want to kiss him. So I gave him my list of reasons as to why I really did want to make out with him, but reiterated that I didn't want to get in trouble, so I couldn’t. He didn't take that as an answer and continued to push. This is where he started to become less attractive to me. So after some lengthy debate he finally stopped pushing and I resumed dancing for him.
I hadn't really started dancing much in the first place so I decided to start from scratch. Instead of allowing me to seduce him at a paced fashion, he insists that I strip down to my underwear immediately. I tell him how much more erotic it will be if I take my time. And he replies with a taunting, "what? are you scared"? We were only 10 minutes into our hour, and I was already getting annoyed. Great! So I begrudgingly wisk everything off except for my mandatory thong.
At one point as I am dancing for him, I think he is adjusting his belt. I think to myself, "Perhaps it's in an uncomfortable position? It happens. Wait... he sure is taking a while to adjust his belt"... at which point I look down and see that he is in fact NOT adjusting his belt... he is has his hand down his pants and is attempting to beat his flaccid dick off. Now if I said I didn't see the logic behind this and feel for the guy a bit at this very moment I would be a liar. I mean the guy had virtually no sensation in his pelvic region. However, that does not change the fact that it is against the law to beat yourself off during a dance (handicapped or not). So I asked him to stop, explaining to him that it was illegal and that he was going to get me in trouble. He said he couldn't feel anything. So I told him I would give him the most pressure all 90-semod lbs of me could muster when I went to grind on him, but that he could not jerk himself off. He gave me a guilt trip. So I told him the police would be called and he would be arrested if he jerked off. So he gave up his guilt trip.
Then as I resumed dancing for him, he started asking me to tell him how "special" he is... about how he is "different" from all the other guys I've danced for. This really annoyed me, because the first thing that came to mind at this point was "well you're the biggest jerk I've ever danced for"! But obviously that wasn't an appropriate response. So I told him that “each person I dance for IS different, because for me, it's all about the energy exchange between two people” (laughing, joking, moving together, listening to how the arousal you're causing them changes their breath, makes them swallow hard (like they just saw their friend's hot mom naked), ect. Which is normally true, except in this case, because I was gritting my teeth the whole way through just waiting for the hour to be over. I dance for a while and then comes the next piece of poop, err I mean trick up his sleeve. This time he starts trying to stick his hands in my panties. Grrrrrrrrrrr!!! So I start evasive maneuvers by trying to gently move his hand. Nope that didn't work. He wouldn't budge and forcefully kept his hand in the position. So I jumped off his lap and told him "LOOK DUDE! THAT IS NOT OK"!!, in a very loud, stern and chastising voice. He stopped, and allowed me to finish the rest of the hour with almost no more shenanigans, except for verbal annoyances. He wanted to make it clear to me that there was something wrong with me and that I was stupid, confused, uptight, and frigid for not letting him have his way with me. So he spent the rest of the hour going on and on with guilt trips and attempted mind-fucks, that did nothing but annoy me. When we were done, I instructed him to go find a brothel and told him he was forbidden from coming back.
One week later, I had just gotten to work when I hear my name paged to VIP. I go, and guess who it is? No one other that PDB himself. I must have had a look of terror or disgust on my face because the first words out of his mouth were “what? You’re not happy to see me”? To which I replied with, “didn’t I tell you NOT to come back”!? He said that he felt really bad about upsetting me and that he wanted to make it up to me. I thought about it for a moment and figured maybe there was a reason he had acted like he had. I have seen so many men act like wild rabid dogs after consuming too much booze on a Vegas weekend bender. So, I figured I’d give him another chance. Bad move!
The only booth available was the darkest, most dimly lit corner booth. We start the hour, and at first he was fine. A while into it, he starts trying to finger me. My response is to jump off him, glare at him and let out a simple and to the point “DUDE! WHAT THE FUCK”!? He proceeds to tell me that it’s ok for him to finger bang me. That he knows management. It’s ok, blah blah blah. I tell him, “Listen, I don’t know you, and I don’t know who YOU know. What I do know is that I have to have my job in order to pay my bills, and letting someone finger bang me is a sure-fire way for me to loose my job”! “I don’t know you, I don’t trust you, and even if I did, I don’t know where your hands have been, so why would I let you stick them in my vagina? It’s obvious you hate women, so for all I know you may go around sticking your fingers in as many girls vaginas as possible hoping to transmit herpes or some other STD to one of them. I have no idea where your hands were 20 minutes ago”! “You have two options 1) keep your hands away from my goddamn vagina, and we can finish the hour, or 2) we can stop here. But you need to calm the fuck down, because this shit isn’t ok”!
He says ok, and I hesitantly resume the dance. Not too long afterwards, he reaches over and grabs one of the pillows in the booth and puts it behind my butt. I grab it, throw it out of his reach, and say in stern and calm voice, “no sneaky business asshole”. At which point he grabs both my arms with one hand, and tries to restrain them behind my back, and tries jamming his other hand down my panties. I break free, jump up and start grabbing my clothes to redress, while shouting “you’re fucking dick. We’re fucking done”!!! He acts all surprised, and starts questioning me as to what he did wrong. I laughed and said, “are you trying to be funny? Or are you just fucking stupid”? I continued dressing and he continued trying to ask me what he had done wrong. I said, “Look, I don’t know why the fuck you came back. I don’t know why the fuck you asked for me again. I don’t like you, and you don’t like me, so quite frankly I am confused. I am going to do us both a favor and leave. I am keeping your money because you’re an asshole. Now go find some traveling girl who is willing to loose her job. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for”. Then I left before he could even seat himself back in his wheelchair. I was SO FUCKING ANGRY!!!
After this I refused to ever speak with him, or even acknowledge him again. He comes in once a month or so. Since I told the host that I would not dance for him anymore, I have found out that the hosts have had more complaints about him from girls than any other customer.
Text Messages I sent Tonight:
3:56am: It’s busy as fuck and I can’t even get a foot in with these guys. FML! Wish me luck! *crosses fingers*
4:04am: Tonight sucks sweaty donkey balls! Frothy sweat, like what develops under a horse saddle on a hard ride on a hot day. FML!
4:06am: Wish me luck 4 the rest of the night. It only takes one. That’s my mantra… and it’s true… if I can find “him”. I am staying positive… and having another drink for good measure!
4:50am: So fucking gay! I am going to lay down for 30 minutes and pretend it’s a new night when I wake up.
Footnote: My attempt to pretend it was a new night when I woke up did not work. Perhaps it was because with the amount of girls at the club that night, all the usual places to nap-crash were taken and the house mom had set up some impromptu nap areas. I laid in one of them, making sure to keep myself curled up in a ball as I slept because it was a bit close to some occupied lockers. I woke up to some girl stepping on my feet, with her stilettos, over and over. I am pretty sure this was intentional, as she was muttering “fucking drunk bitches! Sleep somewhere else”! When she did remove her shoes she made sure to chuck them on the floor right next to my head. Thanks cunt! Needless to say, when I woke up fully, I still wanted to punch someone in the face.
Today I am in a bad mood... and keep getting these little bouts of feeling the need to cry.
Friday, March 19, 2010
How to instantly make the air thick with judgement
While having the older male Petsmart employee help you out with your 31 lbs. of kitty litter, absent-mindedly pop your trunk forgetting it is littered with g-stings and 2 pairs of 8 inch clear stilettos.
*smacks self in forehead with palm*
We must have seen them at the same time. I was hoping he hadn't... but judging from the look on his face and the abrupt change in body language (like a Puritan discovering a witch)... I'm assuming it's safe to say that he had.
*smacks self in forehead with palm*
We must have seen them at the same time. I was hoping he hadn't... but judging from the look on his face and the abrupt change in body language (like a Puritan discovering a witch)... I'm assuming it's safe to say that he had.
Sugar Addiction
I had a friend growing up who's parents would swipe all the sugar, sweet & low, equal, creamers, ketchup packets, little mini jellys, ect. So this included not only what they were given at restaurants / fast food, but also what they could swipe off the table.
The kicker, they ate out 3x a day religiously. So as you can imagine this stuff accumulated quickly. They would literally have piles of these little packets in the kitchen.
So one day, my friend and I decided to spend the majority of the day taking all the little sugars, opening the packets and pouring them into a large container. There was a sugar container, an Equal container, and a Sweet n Low container.
We couldn't wait to show her parents what we did. We proudly presented our pain-staking work... and the next day, guess what we saw a pile of on the counter... yes... effing travel-sized condiments and sweeteners. They just couldn't help themselves I guess.
How does this story relate to my job in any way, shape or form?
I have two regulars in The Bay, who I just can't for the life of me figure out why they still come to see me. They are attractive, hygienic, polite, funny, successful, and in healthy relationships. They have all those neatly organized containers of sweeteners so to speak. I can only imagine at some point I was a habit they developed in order to fill a need. But why continue? I don't see how I fill a need for them anymore, and it's not habit any longer. After all, I live in another state now. It's not like we have weekly visits. It's not like they are obligated any further... or ever were for that matter. Yet I get greeting cards full of adorable kitty cats, clever nerd jokes and well wishes from these two. And every time I go back to the bay, they always aim to make time for me.
It just kind of baffles my mind. I'm cool, but I'm not that cool. I'm special, but I'm not that special. Then again, the only other person I know, who they have this sort of relationship with is my best friend, and she is that special... so maybe I'm underestimating myself? Maybe they see the same light inside me that I see inside her? Who knows? I've tried to figure it out for over a year now, and I'm still baffled.
The kicker, they ate out 3x a day religiously. So as you can imagine this stuff accumulated quickly. They would literally have piles of these little packets in the kitchen.
So one day, my friend and I decided to spend the majority of the day taking all the little sugars, opening the packets and pouring them into a large container. There was a sugar container, an Equal container, and a Sweet n Low container.
We couldn't wait to show her parents what we did. We proudly presented our pain-staking work... and the next day, guess what we saw a pile of on the counter... yes... effing travel-sized condiments and sweeteners. They just couldn't help themselves I guess.
How does this story relate to my job in any way, shape or form?
I have two regulars in The Bay, who I just can't for the life of me figure out why they still come to see me. They are attractive, hygienic, polite, funny, successful, and in healthy relationships. They have all those neatly organized containers of sweeteners so to speak. I can only imagine at some point I was a habit they developed in order to fill a need. But why continue? I don't see how I fill a need for them anymore, and it's not habit any longer. After all, I live in another state now. It's not like we have weekly visits. It's not like they are obligated any further... or ever were for that matter. Yet I get greeting cards full of adorable kitty cats, clever nerd jokes and well wishes from these two. And every time I go back to the bay, they always aim to make time for me.
It just kind of baffles my mind. I'm cool, but I'm not that cool. I'm special, but I'm not that special. Then again, the only other person I know, who they have this sort of relationship with is my best friend, and she is that special... so maybe I'm underestimating myself? Maybe they see the same light inside me that I see inside her? Who knows? I've tried to figure it out for over a year now, and I'm still baffled.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
March 17, 2010
I need to stop taking it personally when I come up with an off the cuff line for a customer and he responds with "I bet you say that to all the guys". The first thing in my head when they make this remark is to get annoyed at the fact that they didn't acknowledge my keen sense of observation or my wit. It also rubs me the wrong way because I know for a fact that the majority of the other girls who have approached them before me have been formulaic and bland.
In order to make a sale you need to gain rapport with a customer. There is a basic formula for this; and in a smaller club, where you have less competition, this formula works pretty well.
THE FORMULA:
"Hi! Nice to meet you! My name's Maggie Lynn. What's your name, handsome?"
*They answer*
"Nice to meet you (Mr. Name). Where are you from?"
*They answer*
If you know something about where they're from, you throw that in your response. If not you make something up about your "friend that lived there" in order to help them feel a sense of familiarity with you.
EXAMPLES OF APPROPRIATE RESPONSES:
"Oh, (name hometown)? I vacationed there a few years back. I loved it!"
"Oh, (name hometown)? One of my best friends lived there for a while. They loved it!"
Avoid mentioning anything that has to do with your mother, father, brother, grandparents, or aunts and uncles with the above example. It humanizes you, and you don't want them thinking about how they could be your brother, father, uncle, ect, or that you are SOMEBODIES DAUGHTER. However mentioning your sister would be fine, because if they find you attractive, this will incite a background fantasy in their head of your hot sister, which relates to the twin fantasy many men have… which relates to the lesbian fantasy many men have. It's very subtle, but let them daydream. ;)
Anyhow:
*They respond*
"So what brings you in tonight?"
*They respond*
EXAMPLES OF APPROPRIATE RESPONSES:
"Oh no! All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy". Then give a flirtatious smile.
"Oh! So who's the bachelor? Is it all about him tonight, or are you saving a little fun for yourself?" *wink and seductive smile*
"Oh, you're just checking things out? Well if you'd like to see what we have to offer, I hear I make a fantastic tour guide!" Then wink and smile, or smile and bite your lip.
The only issue with this formula in Vegas clubs is exactly that; it's too formulaic. More than likely, by the time you talk to a guy, he has already been asked and answered the "What's your name? Where you from? What's the occasion?" questions by a million other girls already. So that's not going to make you stand out.
I prefer to take an off the cuff approach as an introduction any chance I get. This serves two purposes. 1) It catches them off guard, and 2) it should make them laugh. I'm a firm believer that if you can make a customer laugh and put them at ease, the sale usually makes itself.
Two introductions I used tonight were as follows:
1)
I walk up to a guy in a wheelchair sitting at a table with a group of his friends. The first thing I say to him is "You're a smart guy! You brought your own chair. I can see you think ahead!", then I laughed with him. This both flattered his ego by mentioning how “smart” he is, and also made him laugh. Which in this case served a dual purpose. Making customers laugh especially right off the bat puts them at ease, and considering I made a joke which was directed at his wheelchair, and flattery of his "cleverly bringing it along", it took away the fear he may have had about being a man in a wheelchair being approached by an attractive woman, because it showed I didn't care about the fact that he was disabled and was directing my attention to how ‘clever’ he is.
2)
I am walking toward a guy. As we are about to cross paths he crooks his neck back to something we both saw, which caught his attention before he could see me. Some drunk guy had hoisted a dancer up onto the shoulders of his also inebriated buddy who was standing upright; like a piggy back ride... except backward, so her crotch region was in his face, and not on his back. I should also add that they were standing right on the edge of a downward staircase. There was a look of terror on the dancer's face at the fear of being dropped, and also at being man-handled without consent by this drunken fool. All ended well as they managed to put per down safely, and she managed to scurry away from them before they could cause anymore drama. None the less, it was a disturbing and potentially serious and dangerous situation which struck concern in everybody who observed it… except the two drunk douche bags (who could have cared less); so I figured the best way to defuse the tension would be to make fun of the seriousness of the situation. So when I approached the guy who had crooked his head backwards to see the ordeal, I said to him, before he had turned back to see that I had walked up to him, very dryly, "Well that's an accident just waiting to happen. Somebody should call O.S.H.A.!", then winked and laughed.
Ok, maybe that one was a bit abstract. After all, it was contingent on him being familiar with O.S.H.A.’s function,
Text Messages I sent tonight:
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