Early in my career I was working at a place in my hometown that was really, probably the establishment I would label as the one I cut my teeth at. It was a pretty average, seedy bar in the "historic downtown" part of the old and abandoned part of downtown BEFORE it was restored and being affectionately called "historic"part & filled with trendy foods, microbrews and overpriced; like it is now. Instead when I worked there all the hookers and drug dealers could be found littering the streetcorners and in-fact my bar was directly accross the street from the local biker gang's clubhouse. That made the place I was dancing at a fairly rough and partially unappealing place to work or frequent. At the time I couldn't have known it, but that may not have been the best place for me to be working at with my lack of experience. For some reason I cannot quite pinpoint right now, there was a reason for me to be working there and I think it was because my mom knew the lady who owned the joint. Anyway...while working at this place the thing I hated was the long hours of vacancies. By that I mean, I have worked long hours before. And, I have worked places with low attendance. However, I never before and never since then ever worked at a place with such low attendance for so many long hours consequetively. It was truly agonizing. Very trying to my little inexperienced self. This type of situation quickly wore on me and when the bulk of it actually caught up to my immature emotions, I fell apart. I had been 'first onstage' too many times, too many days in a row, dancing for noone and when I finally got off the stage this time after my set I grabbed my gear and flew downstairs to the dressing room where my now tearstained face was met by another dancer. Never expecting a half-naked, crying teenager to come bounding down the stairs the startled woman exclaimed, "What the hell is wrong with you?" I think she expected to hear that I'd been assaulted somehow. Through my gasping sobs I wailed, "I can't make any money." I further confessed, "I don't know how to make any money!" Hearing this, the woman quipped, "Are you kidding me? That's what the fuck you're bawlbabying over?" She exhaled in an annoyed huff, "Jesus Christ, kid. Knock that cryin shit off and I'll give you some PRECIOUS ADVICE" It was this advice that I actually applied to the rest of my career. The woman sitting before me was easily twice my age and I was, yes, admittedly a bit leery about taking advice from this broad. On the other hand, she had years and years of experience and even if it wasn't savory advice, I thought maybe it best to just listen and see where it took me. What she advised me to do was to approach each table of patrons and introduce myself...not necessarily wait to be invited, but just go ahead and sit. She said to sit for a duration of no longer than "two songs" and that by then if they have not offered me a drink or lapdance by then to go ahead at that time and politely excuse myself and move onto the next table. Simple enough, I suppose. I can do this. I take a few deep breaths, straighten my costume, re-apply a touch of makeup and take myself upstairs back into the dark. Up the stairs leads directly back onto the floor and places you in the crowd. (if there was a crowd) At this time, there was no real crowd to speak of. As a matter-of-fact, there were 3 people there. Not three tables of people, just 3 individuals sitting by themselves in different areas of the room. I bite my lip and walked toward bachelor #1 who shoos me away with a handgesture before I can utter a vowel and spouts, "Im waiting for someone" This was a phrase I was already used to even though I hadnt been a dancer for very long. Heck, I was so fresh to the industry I still had natural haircolor, natural breasts and no tattoos or body piercings. Shit, come to think of it, I wasn't even legal drinking age! Onto the next candidate...the second table was met by a man who was a vagarant. Straight-up hobo. I'm not calling names nor am I one to judge, but this fella was smelly, unkempt, hairy and drinking a small glass of tapwater. (I would later learn that he lived in the underpass nearby) Apparently he often came in to just get off the street so as not to be arressted for vagarancy and sometimes to survive the elements. Last but not least sat a lone soul in the darkest corner in the place at a small, round table with just two chairs. I took a breath and made my approach and at the first hint of a smile and slight not I briefly introduced myself and sat down. Giving him a 'once over' I decided he looked rather normal. side-part in his hair, button down shirt & tie and dark slacks combo reminded me of the weatherman. I felt hopeful. Since I was still fairly green I was not well-versed at smalltalk. Past generic 'getting to know you' smalltalk, I would be at a loss. Plus, the second song was nearing and I think he could tell or sense my unease by my darting eyes and tapping toes because he offered me a drink. Before I could really respond he suggested that he would put our drink order in when the waitress came by and then he said, "I like to wear women's lingere." Not really knowing what to say to that I commented, "You do? That's sexy!" His hands moved up to the buttons on his shirt where he unbuttoned the second button down, pulled apart the shirt to reveal a glimpse of silky material underneath. "See? I'm wearing some now" Right then I wanted to jump up and run, but I stayed. I really was kind of stuck in my disbelief. I had no prior forewarning or education on how to handle this situation and I didn't know how many songs it had been by now nor had I seen any sign of a waittress. Again, I don't know what to say and once again I am sure he can sense this because he reaches down in a very indescribable way and pulls the corner of a $20.00 bill out of his pocket and tells me, "You can have it if you put your hand in my pocket and get it." That is when I got up, grabbed my little purse and started to walk away. Then I stopped myself in my tracks and told myself it was no big deal and it WAS twenty dollars and I really needed and wanted that lousy twenty bucks so I turned and sat back down. He looks at me smugly and repeats himself, "You can have it if you put your hand in my pocket and get it." Now I'm eyeballing the corner of the $20 out of my peripherial and I'm scheming in my mind about how to manuver my index finger and middle finger into a pincer-tweezer-like motion and just get it and grab it then I can get up and run away!!! (yes, I know how very elementary my plan was) To tell you the truth I was concerned that he had a boner! And I waited for my perfect moment and he must have sensed it because he looked away just for a second and I took my chance and reached my hand down and got that twenty in between my two finger tips and just as I was pulling it out of his pocket down came his hand on top of mine and he clutched me by the wrist he shoved my hand into his pocket where it was revealed that he had cut his pocket out and was PROVING to me that he was also wearing matching silken panties because I TOUCHED THEM!! I was so freaked out that I jumped up and ran away still grasping that twenty-dollar bill! Since then I have gratefully welcomed boners!
