Ouch! I dunno if it's my new sleeping arrangement, or I pulled a muscle mid pole-trick (okay, it's obviously not the latter since I don't know any!), but I worked the other day with an extremely painful back. I couldn't call in sick, since my summer days at the club are numbered and I'm trying to max out before the semester starts up, so I popped a prescription painkiller, chased it with a wee bit of tequila, and worked a generally slow shift completely stiff and unable to lift my leg, hoping to look graceful nonetheless. Lucky for me, this super awkward dude (perhaps somewhere on the Asperger's spectrum?) who was VERY well schooled in the realities of corporate media bullshit about surveillance and the War on Terror (yet completely incapable of making eye contact or a joke) wanted to give me a few hundred bucks to just stare at my ass. Nice! I didn't have to give a painful dance; after talking dope politics and having my ass worshipped, I could just camp out in the dressing room and massage my lower back out of spasm.
Ass Worship dude isn't alone in his love for politics and random strip club behavior. Recently, another dude came in who was similarly awesome in his politics. This white, handsome, middle-aged dude wanted to talk at the bar about media bias, US empire, and the ways the US "creates" terrorists - both by pissing people off through shitty foreign policy, and by literally grooming militants against "our" enemies who then turn their weapons back on us after we've armed and trained them. And he wanted to tip me generously while we talked! Score! Anyhow, I was sort of leaning on him while we talked about all kinds of fascinating stuff - the bullshit Zimmerman verdict, terrible media reporting about homeland security, and Snowden. I counted later, and during the course of this interesting chatter, he'd tipped me a few hundred in singles. Sounds like easy money, huh? But as soon as I pulled away from him to go on stage, I noticed his nasty, veiny, pink dick had been OUT the whole time we were talking!
In other news, this other guy has been convinced that, even though I've told him several times that I don't give my number out at work, if he comes to see me enough times, I'll change my mind. Here's a literal exchange between me and him:
Him: So can I have your number? We can go out for dinner sometime?
Me: Sorry, like I said last time, I can't give my number to you. I don't give my number to any customers I meet here.
Him: No, you will give me your number. Maybe not today, but you'll give it to me. You'll see.
I'm sorry, what? Who is he, the little engine that got wood? Does this kind of creepy persistence EVER pay off? Or has he just watched one too many Bollywood movies and now believes harassment is the way to a woman's heart?