So, my old old club (the downhill, drowning, sinking into the ground one) is undergoing a regime change in a desperate attempt at resuscitation. I want to write more about it, but unfortunately I don’t feel like I have enough anonymity anymore to properly do so. I’m curious to see how it plays out and know where I’d place my bets. I will say that it’s funny to see a stock image of a blond white girl in an angel costume suddenly appear on the website for the black club.
I decided that life is too short to work at the “nice” club with all the rules and the radio edits, but I might go back eventually.
I finally crossed the last audition off my list and have been working at the club that is odd but good money. My burnout level is pretty high, and it doesn’t help that customers keep doing rude things. Last night I had a customer trick me into holding hands with him by pretending he was going to shake my hand and then just holding it instead. And not letting go. Not. Letting. Go. No amount of pulling was going to work. I had to explain to let go of my hand because I had to move because I was in the middle of dancing on stage. A man came out of the bathroom, and—I’m not sure if they were out of paper towels or what—shook the water from his hands onto my back. Not even my dog would do that. Another customer shoulder checked me so hard that my clutch fell out of my hand onto the ground and the clasp completely broke and all my cash fell out. I didn’t get so much as an apology, let alone money for a new purse. I felt so downtrodden huddling over the ground, gathering my things like an untouchable.
When it comes to the new club, I’m just going to say it: the girls are weird.
“Oh, so you’re Kat. I was like, ‘Who’s the new bitch that already got Thursday night!’ But I can see why he gave them to you. You are prettier than me. I want to stab you with this hair brush!!”
“Um, that’s my brush…”
“Oh, well I was just brushing my bangs with it!”
Then she asked me what club I was coming from and then she told me that everyone was mean to her there because she’s white. And then she carried on about how nice the girls are at this club and that I’d see what she was talking about. I mumbled one word replies and wished I could pretend not to hear her.
Later I walked into the dressing room to find her helplessly struggling to clean a big smear of mashed up blue gum off the knee of her boot. Another girl was helping. I was shocked that one of the dancers had been rude enough to spit out gum on stage. Then I realized that the one helping her was guilty when she said she had meant to “pick it back up” but “forgot.” They were laughing like it was a hilarious misunderstanding.
“It’s a good thing you’re friends,” I couldn’t help myself.
“We’re ALL friends,” retorted Gumboot.
Then she went on to lecture me about how not only are they ALL friends, but they’re “FAMILY.” Sorry, but if you’re trying to sell me on something, “family” is the last word you should use. To me, family means dysfunction and abuse. In a work setting it also means nepotism. And at that place, shaved heads and Flavor Aid.
Then I found out that the one girl had spit her gum out in order to go down on Gumboot on stage. Family.
Speaking of oral sex on stage… a girl who apparently works at the club and also works for a large sports apparel manufacturer brought in a group of colleagues from other cities, in town for a big meeting. By the end of the night, she was naked on stage and eating another girl out from behind in front of all her work contacts. They were bummed. Lady, these guys don’t think you’re a down-ass bitch. They think you’re insane and are never making eye contact with you again. You know why? Because they’re never not going to think of you, nose buried in some girl’s ass, looking like The Human Centipede. Pull on your track pants and lace up your sneakers. And wash your hands. And come back when your hair isn’t in an O bun. Please and thank you.
I think the best thing I’ve overheard so far is a girl who complained to the owner that she needed to go home because she was constipated and hadn’t pooped in two days. Directly after that, without skipping a beat, another girl pulled down the neck of her shirt to let him know that she went to the doctor and it turned out the thing she had been worried about was only a boil. Only a boil!
Have I mentioned that the money is good?