Friday!
Ah, Friday night. Always such a den of suck.
First guy! Or guys, I should say. Whole pack of them, all around their 30's.
They're crowded at one end of the bar. From their position, they can see both the stage AND into the DJ booth (the booth is just a step up with no real door, just a frame). They're whooping, hollering, whistling, etc. That's fine and dandy. They're not tipping very well at all-somehow I managed to get $1 from each of them, but most of the girls were walking away with $0 to $2 from the whole lot of them.
Anyway. One of the girls, S, was standing in the DJ booth, picking her music. The DJ glanced out on the floor, and saw one of the group holding his camera phone up and very steady in the direction of S's rear end. DJ mentions this to S, who goes to the one hidden place in the booth (little wooden partition with CDs and stuff behind it).
Management is informed. The manager, a big guy we'll call B, walked over to the guy and asked him to give him his phone to delete the pictures. The guy refused, saying he wasn't taking pictures, he was 'just dialing'. B told him he could leave, then. The guy grumbles and hands over his phone. B goes through the pictures, deletes all the ones of the dancers, and hands it back, warning him to not do it again.
Now, since they're so close to the DJ booth, the DJ could hear their conversation. The ass with the camera phone comes out with this little gem:
"If they don't want thier pictures taken, they shouldn't be strippers!"
Oh, hell no.
The only thing you take home from the strip club is memories in your head and possibly a hangover. That's it. No pictures, no videos, and no girls.
A gets onstage, and the guy holds up his phone again. B comes over to the booth, and asks to see the DJs phone (the DJ has a camera phone). B walks over to the guy, gets in his face, holds up the phone at him, and just stands there.
Guy=What the fuck man, you taking my picture?!
B=Oh, gosh no. Just dialing. *clickclickclick*
Guys pictures are deleted AGAIN. And between the bartenders refusing to serve them alcohol, the bouncers practically sitting on top of them, and the dancers and DJ giving them dirty looks, they slunk out.
The guys parting shot? His 'scathing' comment to B to 'get him back'?
"Yeah, well...nice beard!"
Oh, the lolz.
The PC police might just get pissed at me for this one, but I don't really give a shit.
So there's this guy. Tiny little thing, smaller than me. Looks to be Indian (meaning from India, not native).
I do my dance onstage, and go around to him after, and this ensues.
Me=Dancer-girly :D
G=Guy
G=So, what is dance downstairs?
Me=They're called Champagne Courts, and they're a half hour long with the girl of your choice, and your drinks are all included in the price ^_^
G=How much is?
Me=$175 ^_^
G=Oh. I no need drink, you take off $50.
Me=*buh? Is he trying to haggle with me here?* No hon, it's a set price, it can't be changed.
G=And what I get?
Me=The girl you pick dances for you in a private environment.
G=When girl go down, bouncer go down too. I no want bouncer.
Me=Sorry, but we need the bouncers to keep us safe hon.
G=Oh. I no have that money here.
Me=That's okay ^_^
G=What are dance up here?
Me=They're called couch dances, and they're $20.
G=How long?
Me=Four minutes per dance.
G=I touch?
Me=No, no touch.
G=I pay $10.
Me=No, sweetie, the prices are set, you can't change them.
G=How much for touch and more?
Me=We don't do that here. *is getting very, very tired of this conversation by now*
G=I see, is club rule. How much for me call you later, meet up, have alone time?
Me=I. Don't. Do. That.
G=Show me dancer who do!
Me=None of them do.
G=None?
Me=None. We are dancers, we dance. We are not hookers.
G=Oh. *looks all crestfallen/angry*
Since he propositioned me, he got thrown out.
At the end of my shift (10pm), dozens of people, men and women alike, started flooding into the bar. It seems our bar was included in a stop on a "Bar-Hopping Hayride" (which actually seems like a pretty cool idea, if done right). I looked out the upstairs window, and saw a tractor in the parking lot with several large carts full of hay chained in a row to the back of it.
Problem #1? There's two entrance/exits to the road. The front of the tractor blocked one, and the last cart blocked the other. That was just tons of fun to get around when I was trying to leave.
Problem #2? All those dozens of people were assholes.
I didn't have to deal with them directly, as I was finished for the night. But I was upstairs for awhile-counting my money, chatting with some other girls, etc.
Dancer F came storming upstairs. We all look up at her.
"I made $0 on that set!"
Cue shock from us. The bar was packed to begin with, now it's packed three deep with people because of the hayride! You'd think that's optimal money-making conditions.
But no.
See, the hayride people were all around the bar. I mean, ALL around it. Blocking the customers who would tip from getting to the girls, and vice-versa. They wouldn't budge.
As I came downstairs with my bags (one of which is a large metal case-very effective for cutting through crowds), I saw that it had gotten to the point that the girls had to physically MOVE the hayride people out of the way. (We generally try not to do such things, as it's not very ladylike to show that you, a tiny dancer, are stronger than that 200lb frat boy, but when ya gotta, ya gotta.) Hayride people were moved aside. My joking suggestion of "Just start throwing elbows, they'll move" was taken seriously. At least one hayride person complained, to which they merely got a shrug and a "Next time, get the hell out of the dancers way".
Good times.