There really isn’t any instruction manual or rules of etiquette for strip clubs. Books have been written about dinner etiquette, not much for strip clubs. Different states, different clubs have different rules. There are I think there is a basic guidelines that could agreed upon for both dancers and customers. Here’s my attempt at the Dancer/Customer Covenant. Some points are serious, some are for laughs.
I (state your name) as a customer about to enter a strip club will agree to the following conditions:
1) I will tip. At least one dollar per stage set and the clubs accepted price for other dances. Watching the dancers without making a decent attempt at tipping is stealing.
2) I will bath and perform basic personal hygiene.
3) I will leave the club the club in a reasonable amount of time after I have run out of money.
4) I will not make any assumptions about somebody’s intelligence, moral qualities, ethics, and attitude toward drugs, personal ambition or any other aspects of personality purely on a person’s current profession. The only conclusion you safe conclusion you can determine about dancer is what she does to pay the bills. Until you meet and talk to her make draw no other conclusions.
5) I will tip legal US currency.
6) I will pay for all dances asked for.
7) I will not cry.
8) I will not grievously lie about my occupational or financial situation purely to take advantage of a dancer by promising fiscal return or occupation rewards I cannot support.
9) I will not physically touch a dancer unless she previously approves.
10) I will not contact, follow, stalk, or bother the dancer in any manner after I leave the club property without the dancers prior consent.
11) I will not throw up on the stage.
12) I will not ask the dancer why she became a stripper.
13) I will not ask the dancer for a date repeatedly. If she says no the first time, you odds aren’t going up if you drink more.
14) I will not lie to a dancer for the express purpose of causing problems with another dancer.
15) I will not insult, harass, or agitate the dancer.
16) I will not expose any body parts.
I (state your stage name) as a dancer will agree to the following:
1) I will show up.
2) I will bath and perform basic personal hygiene.
3) I will put on makeup and get ready for stage in a timely fashion
4) I will not grievously lie about pets, children, medical conditions or a child’s pet’s medical condition for the express purpose of manipulating the customer for more money.
5) I will not get in fight on the club floor.
6) I will not take out my anger on the customers that don't deserve it.
7) I will not order outrageously expensive drinks with asking the customer first.
8) I will not text message on stage.
9) I will not drop a customer for another without telling him/her first.
10) I will not assume a customer is a jerk until he/she demonstrates it.
11) I will not throw up on stage.
12) I will not ask for more money than deserve. I will not ask for money for dances I intentionally did not perform.
13) I will not fall asleep in the VIP room
14) I will not wear more perfume than allowed by the EPA.
15) I will not lie about other dancers.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Don't dare drunk dancers
Important safety tip: daring drunk dancers can be hazardous. A dancer threaten to cover my face in lip stick smears so I'd get in trouble when I got home. To which I replied I live alone and there was nothing she could do to me. I was wrong. Who would have thought she'd give me a felony hickey. I wore collared shirts to work for a week.
That's going to leave a mark.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Cities aflame with mindless ramblings
This post is more sort of a trip down memory lane than anything else. For me the songs that had the greatest impact on me were the songs I heard growing up. Unfortunately that was way before most of current crop of DJs and dancers were born. Such is life. The following is a bit of rambling blog with minor references to strip clubs.
The first album I ever bought was Blue Oyster Cult’s first album. Actually, it wasn’t the first album ever bought was Willie Horton’s Greatest Hits. I really didn’t want the album but I wrecked my parent album. We had a Telefunken radio/record player, early 1960’s vintage. This thing wasn’t some portable piece of electronics it was furniture.
If I had to describe it in a word, it would be industrial. The tone arm on the record player was cast iron. Most tone arms you measure in grams, this thing was in pounds. It looked more like a part of a car suspension than something you’d play music with. The motor for the turn table sounds like the starter from world war two tiger tank. This thing had an industrial growl to it. If you didn’t want to play records you could probably use it to resurface the brake rotors on your car. In the hands of small child it could render an album into vinyl hamburger in short order.
Blue Oyster Cult always has had a special place in my heart because it was the first group I “discovered” that played music that was so totally different than anything I had heard before. Until then pretty much everything I listen to was the typical AM pablum the permeated the radio air waves in the early 70’s. One afternoon with nothing to do, I was turning the radio dial up and down trying to find something to listen to. On the far end of the dial I found KVAN 1480, the monomaniacs. “Cities aflame with Rock and Roll” by Blue Oyster Cult was playing. It was like nothing I had ever heard. In retro spec it’s not that remarkable song, but it was my first glimpse into a wider world of music. The Partridge Family didn’t cut it any more. KVAN 1480 was a really odd station. First they didn’t broadcast 24 hours a day. I think at 8pm or 9pm they’d sign off. Sunday mornings they would play religious music. Listening to the Monomaniacs you could go from scriptures to Alice Cooper to Friendly neighborhood narco agent in less than 10 minutes. Unfortunately I’ll probably hear Friendly neighborhood narco agent in club long before BOC.
To really get a feel for how revolutionary this was for me keep mind that during this time there is no internet, cable TV, barely any FM radio. Everything you heard was through AM radio. Which basically means it was really rare you heard anything different. Suddenly finding this music was mind blowing. In retrospect Cities aflame may not be a great song, but it still gives me chills.
I never really fit in high school. I wasn’t good at sports I spent most of my time just trying not to be noticed and get through the day. Computers and technology were just starting become mainstream. Curiously my high school baby boom era career counselors were completely useless. I took the high school electronics science course my junior year. I read both text books (solid state electronics and tubes) and completed all the course work for the year plus extra credit by the end of November. I seem to have an aptitude for electronics. Yet when I went met with career counselor he told me to forget electronics because all the stuff was going to be made in Japan in a couple years. He recommended that I become a mechanical engineer and go to work for Boeing. It took me about three years to figure out the counselor was an idiot. I wasn’t at very good at mechanical engineering. But I was better at mechanical engineering than english. As you've probably figured out with my horrible editing.
One aspect about the strip club culture that always made impression on me is how accepting some dancers are of fringe personalities. If you are respectful to the dancers (and I include tipping in being respectful) most dancers will accept you. People who in polite society would be ridiculed or ignored are welcomed. I know there are ultra bitches who think they own the world and cynical dances who hate customers, but for the most part dancers are very accepting. The strip club environment is far more accepting than my work place. I’m considered a pariah since I don’t golf. Literally every one of my peers is a golfer. It amazes me how many business trips are planned around golf tournaments. I always feel more comfortable in a strip club than I do in a meeting room.
I tend to be a contrarian at times. If you tell me that I’m going to love something before I tried it I will begin to hate it. This is how I tend to be toward music. If it’s really popular I don’t like it. One of the really by big band from high school was the Eagles. I hate the Eagles. I really hate the Eagles. I can die a perfectly happy man never hearing Hotel California again. One of the things about the 70’s is when something became popular it became inescapable. You heard this song everywhere. It was on the radio when you got up for school, somebody was playing it on their car eight track tape player. It was on the car radio on the way home from school. I think even our parakeet learned to sing parts of the song. In a couple of months it would change to something new, Saturday Night Fever, Convoy, Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. I absolutely and positively do not miss that aspect of the 70s. I like being able to download music, I like being able to search Pandora for new musicians.
It’s frustrating when I hear the same music at the strip club. Come on, there is so much stuff out there. One group I always expect to hear in a club but rarely do is Queen. It seems to be a good fit, very upbeat and theatrical. Bohemian Rhapsody is actually one of my least favorite queen songs. They are (or were since Freddie Mercury died) one of the best groups I’ve seen in concert. David Bowie was another amazing show.
The first album I ever bought was Blue Oyster Cult’s first album. Actually, it wasn’t the first album ever bought was Willie Horton’s Greatest Hits. I really didn’t want the album but I wrecked my parent album. We had a Telefunken radio/record player, early 1960’s vintage. This thing wasn’t some portable piece of electronics it was furniture.
If I had to describe it in a word, it would be industrial. The tone arm on the record player was cast iron. Most tone arms you measure in grams, this thing was in pounds. It looked more like a part of a car suspension than something you’d play music with. The motor for the turn table sounds like the starter from world war two tiger tank. This thing had an industrial growl to it. If you didn’t want to play records you could probably use it to resurface the brake rotors on your car. In the hands of small child it could render an album into vinyl hamburger in short order.
Blue Oyster Cult always has had a special place in my heart because it was the first group I “discovered” that played music that was so totally different than anything I had heard before. Until then pretty much everything I listen to was the typical AM pablum the permeated the radio air waves in the early 70’s. One afternoon with nothing to do, I was turning the radio dial up and down trying to find something to listen to. On the far end of the dial I found KVAN 1480, the monomaniacs. “Cities aflame with Rock and Roll” by Blue Oyster Cult was playing. It was like nothing I had ever heard. In retro spec it’s not that remarkable song, but it was my first glimpse into a wider world of music. The Partridge Family didn’t cut it any more. KVAN 1480 was a really odd station. First they didn’t broadcast 24 hours a day. I think at 8pm or 9pm they’d sign off. Sunday mornings they would play religious music. Listening to the Monomaniacs you could go from scriptures to Alice Cooper to Friendly neighborhood narco agent in less than 10 minutes. Unfortunately I’ll probably hear Friendly neighborhood narco agent in club long before BOC.
To really get a feel for how revolutionary this was for me keep mind that during this time there is no internet, cable TV, barely any FM radio. Everything you heard was through AM radio. Which basically means it was really rare you heard anything different. Suddenly finding this music was mind blowing. In retrospect Cities aflame may not be a great song, but it still gives me chills.
I never really fit in high school. I wasn’t good at sports I spent most of my time just trying not to be noticed and get through the day. Computers and technology were just starting become mainstream. Curiously my high school baby boom era career counselors were completely useless. I took the high school electronics science course my junior year. I read both text books (solid state electronics and tubes) and completed all the course work for the year plus extra credit by the end of November. I seem to have an aptitude for electronics. Yet when I went met with career counselor he told me to forget electronics because all the stuff was going to be made in Japan in a couple years. He recommended that I become a mechanical engineer and go to work for Boeing. It took me about three years to figure out the counselor was an idiot. I wasn’t at very good at mechanical engineering. But I was better at mechanical engineering than english. As you've probably figured out with my horrible editing.
One aspect about the strip club culture that always made impression on me is how accepting some dancers are of fringe personalities. If you are respectful to the dancers (and I include tipping in being respectful) most dancers will accept you. People who in polite society would be ridiculed or ignored are welcomed. I know there are ultra bitches who think they own the world and cynical dances who hate customers, but for the most part dancers are very accepting. The strip club environment is far more accepting than my work place. I’m considered a pariah since I don’t golf. Literally every one of my peers is a golfer. It amazes me how many business trips are planned around golf tournaments. I always feel more comfortable in a strip club than I do in a meeting room.
I tend to be a contrarian at times. If you tell me that I’m going to love something before I tried it I will begin to hate it. This is how I tend to be toward music. If it’s really popular I don’t like it. One of the really by big band from high school was the Eagles. I hate the Eagles. I really hate the Eagles. I can die a perfectly happy man never hearing Hotel California again. One of the things about the 70’s is when something became popular it became inescapable. You heard this song everywhere. It was on the radio when you got up for school, somebody was playing it on their car eight track tape player. It was on the car radio on the way home from school. I think even our parakeet learned to sing parts of the song. In a couple of months it would change to something new, Saturday Night Fever, Convoy, Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. I absolutely and positively do not miss that aspect of the 70s. I like being able to download music, I like being able to search Pandora for new musicians.
It’s frustrating when I hear the same music at the strip club. Come on, there is so much stuff out there. One group I always expect to hear in a club but rarely do is Queen. It seems to be a good fit, very upbeat and theatrical. Bohemian Rhapsody is actually one of my least favorite queen songs. They are (or were since Freddie Mercury died) one of the best groups I’ve seen in concert. David Bowie was another amazing show.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Nope, you got 'em both
I'll start this post out with my caveat regarding confidentiality about people I blog about. At least six months or more will have elapsed and I'll remove any specific information that might identify them. Not that anything really bad happened, but its a little embarrassing.
It was really slow Sunday at the club. As per usual I was sitting in a corner, hoping to mitigate the DJ's audio assault on my ears. I'll spare you my usual rant about DJs that crank the music when nobody is in the club. Yes, there is nobody in the place and you are doing your best to make sure it stays that way. OK, that was a little rant.
What few people that were in the club were at the bar. On stage the dancers were more interested in either practicing pole moves or sending text messages. It was as subdued as you could get in a strip club and still be open for business. None of my favorite dancers were there, but I decided to hang out a bit to see if any would show up. After few drinks I needed to use the restroom. To get the restroom I had to walk along the bar. This can sometimes be a little hazardous, since the folks at the bar usually have their backs to you, your drink is at risk getting knocked out of your hand.
On the way back to me seat I'm walking along the bar. One dancer sitting at the bar facing away with her back to the bar, elbows on the counter looking away from me. I'm not sure is she was demonstrating her latest pole trick, had an involuntary muscle spasm, or reenacting her favorite scene from Kung Fu Panda but as I walked by her leg shot out and kick me below the belt. A direct hit. When you see a flash a light as your nerves are overloaded.
When ever I get hurt like that my first instinct is not to react. I grew up with three older brothers that were inflicting pain in one form or another, I never wanted to give them the satisfaction that they hurt me. Nothing good ever really came of this, except the ability to take a punch with out reacting. This only resulted in getting hit again. I didn't react much she kicked me. I just hesitated for a second then headed for a chair, the nearest chair. The dancer followed me, asking if I was OK. Yes, squeaked back in a falsetto voice. Your voice doesn't really go up, but taking a deep breath is really out of the question at that moment. At best you can chirp out short replies.
Despite my answer it was readily apparent I wasn't since I was inexorably and involuntarily slowly curling into the fetal position. The bartender quickly arrived with a glass of water. I appreciated the thought, but considering the section of my anatomy that had suffered a severe trauma, drinking water didn't seem like a good idea.
After a minute or so I began to recover. the dancer was really apologetic and offered to by me a drink. Again, nice thought, but not really desirable. We chatted for a little bit, trading assorted trauma stories. Then she ask me if I wanted to buy some dances. Uhm, no. Call me petty, but if you try to neuter me with a six inch clear platform heel I'm going to hold a grudge.
It was really slow Sunday at the club. As per usual I was sitting in a corner, hoping to mitigate the DJ's audio assault on my ears. I'll spare you my usual rant about DJs that crank the music when nobody is in the club. Yes, there is nobody in the place and you are doing your best to make sure it stays that way. OK, that was a little rant.
What few people that were in the club were at the bar. On stage the dancers were more interested in either practicing pole moves or sending text messages. It was as subdued as you could get in a strip club and still be open for business. None of my favorite dancers were there, but I decided to hang out a bit to see if any would show up. After few drinks I needed to use the restroom. To get the restroom I had to walk along the bar. This can sometimes be a little hazardous, since the folks at the bar usually have their backs to you, your drink is at risk getting knocked out of your hand.
On the way back to me seat I'm walking along the bar. One dancer sitting at the bar facing away with her back to the bar, elbows on the counter looking away from me. I'm not sure is she was demonstrating her latest pole trick, had an involuntary muscle spasm, or reenacting her favorite scene from Kung Fu Panda but as I walked by her leg shot out and kick me below the belt. A direct hit. When you see a flash a light as your nerves are overloaded.
When ever I get hurt like that my first instinct is not to react. I grew up with three older brothers that were inflicting pain in one form or another, I never wanted to give them the satisfaction that they hurt me. Nothing good ever really came of this, except the ability to take a punch with out reacting. This only resulted in getting hit again. I didn't react much she kicked me. I just hesitated for a second then headed for a chair, the nearest chair. The dancer followed me, asking if I was OK. Yes, squeaked back in a falsetto voice. Your voice doesn't really go up, but taking a deep breath is really out of the question at that moment. At best you can chirp out short replies.
Despite my answer it was readily apparent I wasn't since I was inexorably and involuntarily slowly curling into the fetal position. The bartender quickly arrived with a glass of water. I appreciated the thought, but considering the section of my anatomy that had suffered a severe trauma, drinking water didn't seem like a good idea.
After a minute or so I began to recover. the dancer was really apologetic and offered to by me a drink. Again, nice thought, but not really desirable. We chatted for a little bit, trading assorted trauma stories. Then she ask me if I wanted to buy some dances. Uhm, no. Call me petty, but if you try to neuter me with a six inch clear platform heel I'm going to hold a grudge.
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