This is probably, no not probably, is a rather sexist observation, but if you take a dressing room full of women, liberally add alcohol and nicotine, you will get enough gossip and rumors to defy belief. I'll use myself as the example. I've been asked on at least six different occasions "are you" or "who long have you been dating X". Every time I get asked this I'm always left flummoxed.
In most cases I've become friends with the dancer in question. The fact she seems to spend a lot of time with me with out getting paid is enough to start tongues wagging. Several dancers used to hang out with me as a safe harbor. They could sit out on the floor without fear of getting bothered by customers or other dancers. That was back in the day, dancers used to have more business than they wanted. They also didn't want to go back in the dressing room either, too crowded or too much drama going on in there. The fact that I'd buy the drinks didn't hurt either. Some dancers would also leave their purse with me. I hate that. The worse thing in the world is to have to go to the bathroom, but I can't because her purse is at the table. What do I do? Take the purse with me to the bathroom? Somehow I think that might look a little suspicious. I can't leave it unattended at the table. So I sit there with my legs crossed. Occasionally I'll get a smart ass remark from a waitress "you purse is soooo cute", (you got to be kidding, do you think I'd wear that purse with these shoes, ugh). But obviously if she's going to spend more than the minimum amount of time and leave her purse (i.e. money) with me, we must be dating. Doesn't really add up, but it makes a good story.
There are a lot of dancers and former dancers that I'm friends with outside the club. We call each other, trade e-mails and text messages and even occasionally meet for lunch or coffee. Consequently I tend to know about how they are doing. The fact I know that a dancer is now working at X, and her sister is working at Y, and her son is doing well in school. This means that I communicate with them. Nothing more. Twice I've been asked "How do you know that? Are you two dating?" No, I know these things because I actually listen when people talk to me. I even return phone calls and texts. Well usually I do. This kind of reminds me of conspiracy theories. A conspiracy theory is much more exciting than the mundane reason. The rumor that dancer X is dating a customer is much more juicy.
Other industries have rumors as well. But in the twenty plus years of working in hi-tech, I've only been accused of dating co-workers once. What's really odd is that of the three dancers I have dated, nobody suspected them. Actually I've only really dated one dancer. Of the other two, one was kind of flakey and I never really figured out her intentions. The other was just playing me for money, a lot of money. More about that in another blog.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
You said what to me?
Every so often a dancer will say something that completely catches me completely of guard. It's usually nothing profound, just something a little off. Just something that makes me step back and take a closer look. Sometimes its something that makes me choke, wondering why I walk into the club.
The last time it was one of those slightly off comments. A dancer who I've known for a long time sat down next to me. It was a really slow night, very few dancers, even less customers. We exchanged the usual pleasantries, and then she told me "I have an assignment for you, I want you to watch me when I'm up next and tell me what moves make my ass look like cottage cheese". I sat there with a blank look on my face. Er, you want me to tell you when you look ugly? I wasn't expecting this. After sobering up a little (this always adds a perspective) I'm guessing that she was just trying to get me to watch her much closer than usual. Draw me in to her dancer charms and ignore all those other money draining distractions. In a perverse sort of way it worked. I dutifully watched her assorted ass specific poses and rated the dimple factor. I'm pretty sure she didn't care. When she sat down after her set she ordered a plate of cheese fries. If she was really that worried I don't think she would have bought a plate of cheesy good ass padding. I'm still wondering if I should have taken the fifth.
Sometime I hear something that just really annoys me. Miss Nude Oregon 2004 sat down with me once. She then noticed some other guy in club. She then proceeded to spend the next 20 minutes (I was counting) telling me how cute this other guy at bar was. There are 168 hours in a seven day week. 166 hours of that week I'm very aware that I rank somewhere between invisible and Ben Stein. The couple of hours a week I'm in the club, I want to at least think that I'm worth talking to. I don't want to listen about how she wants to be somewhere else. I figured out a long time ago that most dancers have at least one serious boyfriend (if not more) or are married. They aren't hanging around a club looking to meet somebody old enough to be their father. I understand this, but I don't want it jammed down my throat. There is one precious fantasy I hang on to, maybe they can be my like me a little and flirt with me, knowing that it won't go any further than that. If you think that flirting consists of telling a person that you find somebody else much more attractive, you really missing the point. She is one of the few dancers I've asked to leave me alone.
Another dancer said something to me that made me cringe and want to crawl away. At the time I was one of her regulars that had been buying dances from her for a couple months. She asked me to do double dances with another girl, so she could get the dances over with faster. Whoa, buzz kill. Nothing like hearing that she can barely tolerate being in your presence to make your day. This is one of those things that taints everything you hear afterwards from a dancer. No matter what a dancer says to me, I always hear that voice reminding me that I'm just a necessary evil with money.
Then you hear something that make you wonder why you have anything to do with the whole disgusting business. A dancer (a single mother) I knew fairly well sat down with me after doing some dances for anther customer. She had an unfocused stare that faded off into the distance, like she was trying to imagine some far off place. She said in a quite voice "I hate it when a guy gets me on the couch and tells me I look just like his daughter, and he wants to fuck me". My naive mind couldn't believe somebody could say this. To see the effect a statement like that had on her really rattled me. Am I as ugly as those ones who use environment to pantomime their dark fantasy? Am I deluding myself to think that I'm any better? Their money is exactly the same color as mine. Do I really have any better intentions? I want to believe so. Ultimately we are both in club paying for a fantasy. Mine is more palatable than his for most of society, but they are both fantasy. Are we really different? I'm not sure. I also felt incredibly distant from somebody I considered to be a friend. How do I comfort her? Can I comfort her without appearing like some false shell of compassion?
I didn't go back into a club for six months after that incident. I eventually convinced myself that the business was going to go on whether I showed up or not. Somehow I played by the rules and that made me better. I don't think I've every fully resolved this dichotomy.
The last time it was one of those slightly off comments. A dancer who I've known for a long time sat down next to me. It was a really slow night, very few dancers, even less customers. We exchanged the usual pleasantries, and then she told me "I have an assignment for you, I want you to watch me when I'm up next and tell me what moves make my ass look like cottage cheese". I sat there with a blank look on my face. Er, you want me to tell you when you look ugly? I wasn't expecting this. After sobering up a little (this always adds a perspective) I'm guessing that she was just trying to get me to watch her much closer than usual. Draw me in to her dancer charms and ignore all those other money draining distractions. In a perverse sort of way it worked. I dutifully watched her assorted ass specific poses and rated the dimple factor. I'm pretty sure she didn't care. When she sat down after her set she ordered a plate of cheese fries. If she was really that worried I don't think she would have bought a plate of cheesy good ass padding. I'm still wondering if I should have taken the fifth.
Sometime I hear something that just really annoys me. Miss Nude Oregon 2004 sat down with me once. She then noticed some other guy in club. She then proceeded to spend the next 20 minutes (I was counting) telling me how cute this other guy at bar was. There are 168 hours in a seven day week. 166 hours of that week I'm very aware that I rank somewhere between invisible and Ben Stein. The couple of hours a week I'm in the club, I want to at least think that I'm worth talking to. I don't want to listen about how she wants to be somewhere else. I figured out a long time ago that most dancers have at least one serious boyfriend (if not more) or are married. They aren't hanging around a club looking to meet somebody old enough to be their father. I understand this, but I don't want it jammed down my throat. There is one precious fantasy I hang on to, maybe they can be my like me a little and flirt with me, knowing that it won't go any further than that. If you think that flirting consists of telling a person that you find somebody else much more attractive, you really missing the point. She is one of the few dancers I've asked to leave me alone.
Another dancer said something to me that made me cringe and want to crawl away. At the time I was one of her regulars that had been buying dances from her for a couple months. She asked me to do double dances with another girl, so she could get the dances over with faster. Whoa, buzz kill. Nothing like hearing that she can barely tolerate being in your presence to make your day. This is one of those things that taints everything you hear afterwards from a dancer. No matter what a dancer says to me, I always hear that voice reminding me that I'm just a necessary evil with money.
Then you hear something that make you wonder why you have anything to do with the whole disgusting business. A dancer (a single mother) I knew fairly well sat down with me after doing some dances for anther customer. She had an unfocused stare that faded off into the distance, like she was trying to imagine some far off place. She said in a quite voice "I hate it when a guy gets me on the couch and tells me I look just like his daughter, and he wants to fuck me". My naive mind couldn't believe somebody could say this. To see the effect a statement like that had on her really rattled me. Am I as ugly as those ones who use environment to pantomime their dark fantasy? Am I deluding myself to think that I'm any better? Their money is exactly the same color as mine. Do I really have any better intentions? I want to believe so. Ultimately we are both in club paying for a fantasy. Mine is more palatable than his for most of society, but they are both fantasy. Are we really different? I'm not sure. I also felt incredibly distant from somebody I considered to be a friend. How do I comfort her? Can I comfort her without appearing like some false shell of compassion?
I didn't go back into a club for six months after that incident. I eventually convinced myself that the business was going to go on whether I showed up or not. Somehow I played by the rules and that made me better. I don't think I've every fully resolved this dichotomy.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
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