P-I-M-P

Girl, just run. Run away. 

That’s what was going through my head when I got about halfway through this email, which is shared here with the writer’s permission:

I’ve waittressed at a couple different clubs in California for a little over six months.  One night at work, I met a young attractive man who said he could help me make more money.  He told me he “sells conversation,” and could teach me to maximize my earnings just by improving my interactions with my customers.  I’m pretty introverted and tend to keep to myself at work, and I’ve always known that the tips I make are more from my looks and less from any actual hustling on my part.  We hung out a few times, and it became apparent that he does not sell conversation, he sells sex.  He runs an escort service.  I let him know I wasn’t interested in that, and he said he still wanted to help me start dancing.  I’ve always been interested in making the switch from waittressing to dancing, and he said he’d help me buy the shoes and the clothes and get my roots done etc… Not clear on what he was getting out of this situation, I asked.  He said that I could start dancing on my own and after a few slow nights I’d probably quit.  Or, I could work with him, and he’d invest in me, and if I put my cash in his hand at the end of the night, he’d make sure that regardless of how much I made dancing he would pay my tuition, keep me comfortable, etc…  Also, if I’m working in a club and look like I have money, I think he believes that I could attract girls for his business, as well as direct paying men to it.
I’m kind of at a loss.  I know that there’s red flags here, but if he’s willing to invest in me and I’ve made it clear that I won’t be escorting, this could work right?  None of my friends do this kind of work so I don’t really know who to run this by.
So here are my reactions as they happened:
I’ve waittressed at a couple different clubs in California for a little over six months. (Ugh, Cali clubs [bad, bad and bad]. She’s probably broke.) One night at work, I met a young (no) attractive (uh oh) man who said he could help me make more money. (Oh, crap. Girl, that’s a pimp.) He told me he “sells conversation,” (I mean, even you should know better. You used the “sneer” quotes.) and could teach me to maximize my earnings just by improving my interactions with my customers.  (In this case, “improving my interactions” means “Charging them to put their penises in me.”) I’m pretty introverted and tend to keep to myself at work, (Then PLEASE don’t listen to this dude.) and I’ve always known that the tips I make are more from my looks and less from any actual hustling on my part. (That’s ok! It takes a while to learn how to hustle!)  We hung out a few times, (??!??) and it became apparent that he does not sell conversation, he sells sex. (DING DING DING!)  He runs an escort service. (That’s a nice way of saying a pimping service.) I let him know I wasn’t interested in that, and he said he still wanted to help me start dancing. (Pimps are a tenacious bunch. Especially if they think you owe them money.)  I’ve always been interested in making the switch from waittressing to dancing, and he said he’d help me buy the shoes and the clothes and get my roots done etc… Not clear on what he was getting out of this situation, I asked. (He’ll be getting your money, your freedom and probably regular access to your vagina.) He said that I could start dancing on my own and after a few slow nights I’d probably quit.  Or, I could work with him, and he’d invest in me, and if I put my cash in his hand (!!!) at the end of the night, he’d make sure that regardless of how much I made dancing he would pay my tuition, keep me comfortable, etc…  (Ah, the communism of pimping.) Also, if I’m working in a club and look like I have money, I think he believes that I could attract girls for his business, as well as direct paying men to it.  (And the pyramid pimping scheme, too. This guy’s got it all.)
I’m kind of at a loss.  I know that there’s red flags here, (UM YES) but if he’s willing to invest in me and I’ve made it clear that I won’t be escorting, this could work right?  (UM NO) None of my friends do this kind of work so I don’t really know who to run this by.
Ok, I have to admit that I was kind of excited when I got this email. I cannot tell you how hard it’s been to get girls to talk about their pimps. It’s kind of taboo. So when I got this, I was like, FINALLY, I get to hear what these guys say to make girls agree to this arrangement.
I don’t know what it’s like to have a pimp, but here’s a few things I’ve heard:

First reason you might not want a pimp:

If you have a one, you have to give him all your money at the end of a shift. Exhibit A, from a girl who’s been in the business almost as long as I have:
And from a defense attorney [hereby ironically known as D.A.] who’s represented girls with pimps:
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“Every dollar.”
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And why, pray tell, would these girls hand over all their hard-earned cash at the end of the night?
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“He gives them his attention. There’s extreme daddy issues. It’s an incredibly screwed up dynamic.” 

Second reason you might not want a pimp: 

You can’t just go out with your friends; case in point: I was invited to a concert by one of the dancers at St. James. I couldn’t make it, so I told her:
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“Just ask [--] to go.” I saw those two powing around at work a lot.
Her response: “She can’t go, she has a pimp.” I was confused.
“So she can’t go to a concert with you??”
Her: “She can’t even go to the movies.”
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Why the lack of recreational activity?
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“He doesn’t want you out with your friends because you should be working,” says D.A. “Seven days a week. The typical arrangement is that they have to hit that club by 7, and they’re there until it closes. They pick up some food on the way home, go home, smoke a blunt, go to bed, wake up and do it again.” 
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And yes, from what I’ve been able to gather, the girls live with their pimps a lot of the time. Once, when I was dancing at Treasures, these two girls started chatting me up:
“We just moved here … You should come over after work! We live in this huge amazing house in a gated community … we have a pet monkey!” I mean, really? You just moved here … you have a monkey … ?

Third reason you might not want a pimp:

Pimps mark their territory. If you see a dancer with a guy’s name tattooed above her vaj, it’s probably not her infant son. It’s probably her pimp. I’ve seen some crappy ones that look like they were done in the backseat of a car with a needle and a Sharpie, and I’ve seen some elaborate ones that look pretty expensive and time-consuming. I won’t go into too much detail about this, but I still felt it was worth noting.

Fourth (but certainly not final)* reason you might not want a pimp:

Pimps go to great lengths to make sure you’re not going to bail on them. I’ve heard of girls who have GPS tracking devices put on their cell phones, girls who’ve had to hole up in cheap motels to hide, a girl who was held captive in the trunk of a car … et cetera.
Bottom line, if you don’t have one, I wouldn’t recommend getting one. And if you do have one, please don’t tell him you read this.
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That’s all for now …
<3 :: aS
*This is not an exhaustive list. 

Now What?? -OR- The Most You’ll Ever See of My Insides

Last year, feeling like my four-seater Civic was a bit more car than I needed, I bought a Smartcar. People in Texas tend to frown on these sub-sub-compacts (but, paradoxically, not on motorcycles). They’re easy to park and look kind of cute, so I caved.

On Monday, I bid that Smartcar adieu after it had something of an arboreal run-in. The results are as follows:

Wear your seat belts, kids!

It’s officially a total loss.

Another result of that tree-induced snafu:

"Deep Inside Sarah: Skeleton Version"

My right ring-finger metacarpal is broken.

So now I have to decide: Should I take my busted self to work at the club or not?

A few Twitterers suggested that my injury will prompt sympathetic customers to tip me out of pity, but I think a stripper in a cast looks ridiculous and out of place. I’d feel like the stripper version of Tiny Tim. And all my pole tricks are on hold.

What say you, dear readers? Sarah the Crippled Stripper or Sarah’s Away on Leave?

That’s all for now …

<3 :: aS

P.S. … It takes a maddeningly long time to type now, a state of affairs that does not bode well for my day job, either. I never appreciated how dependent I am on all my fingers.

The 10-Hour Day Yields an Icky Fetish

I worked from 1:30 to 11:30 last Thursday, which is long enough to hang out with some friends, make some new contacts, eat lunch and pull down about $750. I also had a run-in with one of my least favorite of the weird fetishes: guys who like to have their nipples, um … bothered.

Foot suckers aside, the nipple guys freak me out the most. I personally hate it when guys try to reach out and rub or tweak mine; getting a dude who likes to have his … ew … stroked or pulled or WHATever, gawd, it’s so gross. Sorry. And just kind of bumping up against the general area outside the shirt is never enough. They aren’t ashamed to lift their shirts up and bare their man-nips, which, incidentally, are usually longer than what may be considered normal, the result of which I can only imagine must be from sexual apparatuses sold at stores like Nasty Pig on W. 19th in Chelsea. *

This subject freaks me out so much that I don’t like to talk about it, but if any of you out there have dealt with this before, please, feel free to elaborate.

Also, an ongoing comment war on my 10 Things You Should You Know Before You Date a Stripper post is some good post-holiday reading, if you’re up for it. Apparently, my blog is read by some ostensibly well-educated commenters with opinions on language, usage, and feminism. Thanks to Acadiana and Alice for the interesting back-and-forth.

That’s all for now … oh, and HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!

<3 :: aS


* Nasty Pig, by the way, actually doesn’t sell nipple clamps or sexual goods of any kind, (much to my surprise), unless you count something called “Playsheets.” And you should probably count those, although the web site doesn’t describe what play they might be used for.

Missus Claus, Take 2

Here’s a little more Xmas cheer from the Saint James dressing room:

Red shoes, green sequins, little bow ... XXXmas, here we go.

<3 :: aS

Ho, Ho, Ho … Here Comes Slutty Claus!

Holidays at strip clubs are fun because the girls break out their holiday-themed costumes, and I think Christmas is one of the best holidays for that.

I love all the different iterations of sexy Santas and Missus Clauses that come out at the end of December, so ladies, hook it up. I want to see your Slutty Claus costumes!

Here’s mine:

Send your Slutty Claus pic in a Tweet, in an email (angrystripper@gmail.com), or post it on my Facebook page. I <3 Slutty Santas!

<3 :: aS

How many punch lines are there to this joke??

<3 :: aS

10 Things You Should Know Before You Date a Stripper

1. We can drink longer and harder than you can. Please don’t test us.

2. We’ll wear heels anywhere. The grocery store, camping trips, gigging … everywhere.

3. We’re as hairless as a fresh baby bird.

4. We will be late to just about everything because we have these ridiculously high appearance standards for ourselves (… and we’re notorious procrastinators).

5. We’re friends with people you won’t meet in a million fucking years. And yes, they just text us right now, and no, we’re probably not going to ignore them.

6. Our sexual appetites are robust, an attribute due in no small part to a regular exercise regimen done in stilettos and our innate narcissism.*

7. We want you to buy us expensive goodies so we can brag to our stripper friends about it.

8. If you don’t like us dancing, you better be prepared to support our lifestyle. Otherwise, we don’t want to hear your bitching.

9. We’re kind of manipulative, even if we’re not trying to be.

10. Don’t get in without an iron-clad way to get out. Or you’ll lose your house (and/or wife, and/or sanity).

That’s all for now … (hope I didn’t scare everyone off!)

<3 :: aS


* By the way, here’s a tip for the non-stripper ladies: If you ever want to goose your libido, stand in front of a mirror and try a light, low-impact workout in nothing but a pair of high heels just before you shower.

In Case You Don’t Know …

Strippers steal things.

Or maybe it’s not the strippers, but people in strip clubs have a tendency to steal things, I suppose.

I’ve had two Blackberries stolen this year from the Saint James. And I remember one particularly sad night when a very sweet girl sitting with a less than genteel man on one of my tables was given about $400 cash only to leave it in the VIP women’s restroom before heading to stage rotation for the last two songs of the night. The cash was gone. She had a meltdown in the dressing room shortly thereafter, tears and all, while we were all getting dressed around her.

I found $30 stuffed into a chair cushion in the lobby of the Saint James once and tucked it into my purse. Thirty bucks ain’t a lot for a stripper, and announcing that you found it — “Would the owner of this money please step forward?” — probably wouldn’t yield the real owner anyway.

But $400 is a nice chunk of change, and all you have to do is stand in the dressing room with your ears open; you’ll know who lost it — especially if the previous owner is balling her eyes out like this: “I WAS GOING TO PUT THAT IN MY SAVINGS ACCOUNT aHUH aHUH aHUH!”

Anyone else have a strip club stealer experience?

That’s all for now … <3 :: aS

An Open Letter to the Drunk Girl Who Won’t Get Dressed

Dear drunk sweaty stripper who just got off stage and plopped down at a table full of people without bothering to get dressed,

It’s nice that you’ve got the kind of unflagging confidence that comes with downing multiple shots of Crown, but when the fried chicken party platter shows up, just put your top back on. No one wants to see you hunched over eating wings while you drop crumbs on your nipples.

Alternatively, you might want to try a bib.

<3 :: aS

Ten Reasons Strip Clubs Should Have Hand Sanitizer Dispensers Posted at the Door

1. According to shows like Dateline, 20/20, and just about every local news station in the country, cash is laden with human feces and cocaine, which is great if you’re a crack addict whose favorite movie is 2 Girls, 1 Cup. Otherwise, you may want to disinfect.

2. It’s flu season, and stripper flu is probably worse than bird flu. (But less dangerous than that nasty street hooker flu that’s been going around.)

3. That stripper who has three snot-nosed kids, a pimp, and a boyfriend who plays XBox all day? She’s still coming to work even if she catches malaria.

4. RABIES.

5. Have you ever touched the brass stage poles on a busy night at the club? They’re not smooth. Don’t ask why. Just wash your hands.

6. Girls who like to try to pick things up with their butt cheeks.

7. Guys who like to lick your hands.

8. The dude who’s been shooting Crown Bombs all night just quietly puked into a dark corner and used his hand to wipe his mouth off.

9. There’s an awful lot of ass running around without much of an absorbent cotton shield, and strippers will find a way to sit on just about anything when their feet hurt.

10. RABIES.

Hope you’re all keeping your mitts clean!

That’s all for now …

<3 :: aS

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