Yesterday I worked at the dive with a sweet new girl who told me about how the girls at her last club had it out for her and that she was looking for a new place to work. She was so cute and harmless that I couldn’t imagine targeting her, and I felt protective and mad. Then she mentioned her pimp in passing, “My pimp wants me to work at the top clubs in Portland.” I was shocked. Didn’t she know that you’re not supposed to call your pimp, “your pimp”? I wanted to tell her to save her money, to buy a cheap beater, to call Radio Cab. “You know, you should really cut the tag out of your bottoms.”
“I should?”
“Yeah, it glows under the black light. It’s how everybody knows that you’re new.”
“Oh! I didn’t know that. Thank you!”
After work I went to Benihana for my birthday. There was a stripper accompanied by a Daddy Warbucks seated on the other side of our table. She wore a Twilight sweatshirt and played on her iPhone, one knee pulled into her chest. He would lean over and tell her things like how she is the most talented dancer in Portland, and she would poke away at her screen. After they were done eating, he implored her to show him “that muscle that nobody else has.” She set down her phone, stood up, peeled away one half of her sweatshirt and flexed her bicep next to his face while he pinched her arm in admiration.
Then we went to that vegan strip club mess and watched a girl dance with a jewel buttplug lodged firmly her ass. It was as though Richard Burton had found the gem and GG Allin selected the setting. When I read the words advertising “Star & Her Magic Butt Plug” in the magazine, the naïve part of me had thought that maybe it was just a lucky buttplug. You know, like something she would carry in her purse and set on her desk while taking an exam…not something that she would carry in her butt all night. Shows what I know. It bugged me that she was dancing barefoot.
Pee Guy was there randomly, and he approached “to apologize” for unspeakably horrible behavior last month. I asked if he felt any remorse and he answered no, so I told him never to talk to me again. Then my friend told me that he probably just got off on hearing that. I thought about dumping a drink on him, but that also seemed like more free masturbation fodder. I almost let him ruin my night, but then I remembered that he once drank the DJ’s piss after he gave a handful of money and a champagne glass to a dancer with an empty bladder. I remembered that that’s what I do when customers suck; I laugh.
Before we left, we dumped all our remaining dollars in front of a traumatized North Face vest woman dragged in by some male friends. She didn’t understand why we were placing all our money directly in front of her until there was a blinged out asshole in her face. The poor thing is going to think every stripclub is vegan and full of…full orifices.
I had to go tell the former world pole champion bartender about the buttplug girl. I knew she would be outraged and delighted, “I just wanna go down there and slap her! I’ve never seen anything like that in twenty years and I started in Vegas! Maybe I should be the first bartender to wear a buttplug! What do you think about that?! If I was her, I would go to a lingerie modeling place and make the BIG BUCKS. What is she thinking?” She stood on her tippie toes and walked, wondering aloud that maybe the bare feet had something to do with keeping the damn thing in place. My throat hurt from laughing and I had to go home.