In addition to being a press operator at a plastics factory, I’m also a stripper. I’ve heard time and again that my job is a cop-out. I think one of the reasons most people don’t view dancing as legitimate employment is because – at least from my perspective – this job is fun as all hell, and a lot of us are oppressed by the idea that your job isn’t supposed to be fun. You’re supposed to go to work to make money, and go have fun during your time off. Most jobs don’t allow you to drink on the job or simply walk away from a troublesome customer (for obvious reasons). You’re supposed to grin and bear it (sober), and silently count the seconds until you can clock the fuck out.
Set schedules, strict policies, forced behavior, quotas… normal jobs suck. When I work at the club, the only real requirements are that I’m on the floor at least 4 hours, and I make enough money to pay my $15 tip out. I can usually make that much from talking to someone for 10 minutes, whether or not I play the pity card. That’s where this job gets a little more involved than just being a hot piece of ass. We have to talk to people – both men and women, yes, both, into paying money to watch us dance on a pole, or grind on their lap.
“Every night at the club guarantees losing skin on at least one body part, and bruising at least two. It also entails having to explain to ignorant buffoons that my knees aren’t banged up from what they all want to assume.”
I have to play the role of girlfriend, therapist, and personal adviser. I have to hold conversations on a variety of topics: from tectonic plates, to who I think will get traded in the NFL draft. I have to know how much, and when, to listen. I need to be in tune with when, and how, to reply. Most vital, I have to listen to my gut, and know when it’s time to get away from someone. I can’t just walk in, take my clothes off, and make my bill money. I have to be more than a cardboard standee. I have to pander to every customer to the best of my ability, and sell the idea of their wildest fantasy without really giving them anything.
I get solicited on a regular basis. Aside from the propositions, we have to cope with drunken assholes who are generally unpleasant to deal with in any setting. We get drinks spilled on us, bowled into like linebackers, and occasionally vomited on. I go without rest, survive the long drive while being less than half awake, and wrack my brain trying to figure out why I only made $100 that night.
I have to worry whether this customer might be the one who I’ll have to fight off for trying to assault me. But this job is taking the easy way out, right?
Customers often ask about “extras.” I get invited to more parties than the popular kid at school. I also get offered a shit-ton of drugs. This comes as no surprise. Our club is only an hour from some other notoriously seedy clubs. Some men come in here and think they can get the same treatment they get at the other places if they throw a few extra bucks or some dope to the bouncer. If there’s one thing I can take absolute certainty in, it’s that my staff can’t be bribed. They think about things from a strictly business standpoint. If someone were to get caught engaging in or supporting prostitution, the entire club would be shut down. Additionally, we would all be arrested and out of jobs.
One thing most outsiders overlook is the physical aspect. Walking and dancing around in 7” stilettos, performing Cirque du Soleil level acrobatics on a metal pole, and doggy-style twerking, is absolute hell on your body. I’ve been in several different sports – full-contact football, ice hockey, rodeo, and 14 plus years of MMA, and this job ranks as the highest in injury occurrence. I get the types of injuries that make it difficult to get in my car and go home at the end of the night.
Every night at the club guarantees losing skin on at least one body part, and bruising at least two. It also entails having to explain to ignorant buffoons that my knees aren’t banged up from what they all want to assume. It’s from popping my ass and rolling around on stage like a fucking Weeble. I hear, “Well anyone can be a stripper,” and even though that’s not entirely untrue, it takes a lot to be a good stripper. You need strength, flexibility, and dexterity on and off the pole. You need to have good conversational skills and a decent personality. You need to know how to make a sale, and ask someone to give you money without giving much in return. There are many facets to this job.
One of the greatest perks of being an entertainer; I get to meet some amazing people. I once met a BDSM exhibitionist who was into being punished and humiliated. We have to request permission from the management and bouncers to make any sort of aggressive contact with the customer in a non-self-defense situation, just so no one gets the wrong idea. This young man, who is around my age, paid me $100 to knee him in the groin, slap him, choke him, and spit in his face, all while calling him names and degrading him for 15 minutes. Nice guy.
Stripping requires a lot of mental and emotional fortuity, or at least the ability to keep your composure until you’re safe in the locker room. I have to stay calm while cleaning $700 in single $1 bills off of my stage. I have to keep my cool when the customer I’m talking to is belittling me with every word that comes out of his mouth. I have to figure out which customers are worth my time? Who’s just there to get a free show? Are one of these people going to do something to get banned from the club and scar you for life? It’s always interesting to see how your night is going to unfold, because no two nights are ever the same.
Sure, a normal 9-5 is a guaranteed paycheck, but that guy over there just pulled $2,000 out of his jacket and set it on the table. In this industry, you have to weigh your options, and you have to gamble. I can make more in one night than I make in an entire month at the factory, or I can make just enough to cover tip out, and grab a cheap pack of smokes.
Though I’ve educated many on the complexity of my job, one thing I can’t seem to eliminate is the stigma. Everyone has their own ideas of who strippers are, but very few are close to being right. Are there clubs and entertainers that live up to the rumors? Yes, there are. These rumors had to start somewhere, right? It is as with any other situation; one person got in trouble, and ruined it for the rest of us.
You see news about clubs and entertainers that get busted for drugs and prostitution, money laundering, failure to obtain proper licensing, but they never show you the positive side. You don’t get to hear about the clubs that run charity events for battered and abused women and their children. The news won’t tell you about the dancers that are philanthropists; who work normal day jobs in addition to dancing, and donate 100% of their club earnings to different causes and organizations.
Not all strippers are desperate. Not all clubs are shady. And not all money is earned underhandedly. When I first started dancing, I was very reluctant about who I told. I was almost ashamed of myself, because I knew the stigmas, and I knew what assumptions people might draw about me. I loved this job so much, and I was proud of myself for keeping my nose clean – literally and figuratively – so why wouldn’t my loved ones feel the same? I mean, it’s not like I’m a politician or anything. Eventually, I started to lose my give-a-damn. I’ve come to find out the saying is true: Those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter. If others can’t see in me what I see in myself, then that’s not my problem. It’s theirs.
Riley is a writer, and an epitome of a paradox- You can read her twice monthly, exclusively at The Underemployed Life.
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I’m not sure what this essay is trying to say… That you work a legitimate job run by reputable management? That you enjoy your job? That the job has it’s challenges? That people have a certain idea of what your job is?
It’s an interesting read for sure, it just seems lacking in a point.