True Confessions of a Strip Club Bouncer

Aftershocks of the Crazy Lust

2008-11-24T13:27:00.001-05:00

Okay, now that I have told the story of how I met Heather, I will tell another story about her.

Okay, this was a few months after I moved into my new apartment. I was at the club on my night off enjoying drinks with friends and watching the monthly wet t-shirt contest. We and my boys were sampling the amateur buffet and having a great time flirting with all the horny college girls. I struck up a conversation with this girl, I have no idea what her name was so let’s just say her name was..err…Natalie. Well I had seen Natalie in the club before with a few of our regulars so I was talking to her about random crap and the conversation was getting a little serious, well as serious as one can get when one is talking to a girl with rock hard nipples sticking out of a soaked white t-shirt.

Well it would turn out that Natalie was with friends and since I had two of my buddies with me, Natalie brought over her girlfriends and you know who one of them was? That is right my friends, that crazy bitch Heather. Have you ever seen a grown man run like a little school girl who just saw a snake? Well that was me, I just bolted followed by an angry crazy bitch who threw a beer bottle at me, then keyed my car as I locked myself inside.

Long story short, the cops came, she got arrested since there was a restraining order placed on her and she was banned by the club, and that is why I continued to work there. I was insulated from that crazy bitch for a little longer, yet she would turn up in the months to come.

That however, will be a story for another time.

Crazy Lust

2008-11-24T13:12:00.000-05:00

My fellow readers, I have neglected this blog for too long and I have now found the time to pick up my keyboard again and start telling more tails from the VIP room.
One story that I reflected on with much displeasure in my past was a story of love, well more like a story of lust. As you readers may know, I was in a six month relationship with a lovely brunette named Lindsay and I vowed to stay single after her departure. Well, that didn’t work out too well. This story starts like so many others, and ends, like so many others.

I was club hopping with some buddies on a Friday night and looking for a date for the evening. The night went well with pitchers of beers and a serious buzz. I was striking out and was feeling the seventh inning stretch. Last call was called and I starting chatting up a girl at the bar. I have no idea what I said since I was so drunk, but it apparently worked and I ended up going back to her place for a few hours of steamy nookie. She gave me her number and I left for home. A week later, I found the number and wondered who the fuck “Heather” was, so, I called. Big mistake! As soon as she picked up the phone I remembered who it was and I immediately wanted to get off the phone, yet she started to chat me up and we ended up going out to a movie and then, back to her place. You know how you don’t want to be mean and blow someone off? Well that was me and I caved big time. The only thing was, well, I was sober and this girl didn’t sit right with me. I made an excuse as to why I couldn’t spend the night and I booked it as soon as I could. I tossed out the number so I would never be so stupid to call it again.
Then, all the fun began.

It turns out that this girl was friends with a guy who knows a girl who knew a guy who was friends with someone’s third cousin who knew me. So she got my address and telephone number (she didn’t have call display as per why she never called before). So, I hadn’t talked to her in over a month and one day out of the blue, this girl calls me and asks why I had been ducking her. She goes on to tell me she went to the club looking for me and even went to my employer (the other club) and she wanted to know why I was such an asshole and why I use women. This caught me quite as a surprise and I just told her I didn’t really feel a connection and blah blah blah. Well she hung up on me, and then started calling me twice an hour for the rest of the day. I just stopped answering the phone. Two calls and hour tuned out to be 5, then 10, then 20. I didn’t use my phone for a few days. Finally I went out my back door to my parking lot the find the word “Bitch” painted on my hood and my tires slashed.

Funny huh? We’re just beginning.
The calls died down but I would mostly get calls on a Friday or Saturday night around 3am, I would answer and the person would hang up. I thought it was all over. Then one day, I came home to find her talking to my roommate. Yeah, she was sitting there on the couch talking to my fucking roommate. I took my roomy aside and asked why the heck this crazy bitch was here and he told me that he thought we were dating and it was all cool. Well I told her to leave and naturally she freaked out and locked herself in my bathroom. After about an hour I got pissed off and kicked my bathroom door open and her reply was to rip my bathroom sink off the wall. I have no idea how the hell she did it.

I used physical force to toss her out then called to police in fear of my tires getting slashed again. She was arrested and whisked away and three days later, my tires were slashed again. I promptly packed up and found another apartment. I guess it was safe to say I would be single for a while.

To this day, whenever I am in that town, I keep my eyes to the ground in fear of what I may see.

Superbowl Sunday

2006-12-14T21:52:00.000-05:00

More and more as the months went on, I would find myself hanging out in the very club that I worked. I mean hanging out, on my days off. As scary as that sounds to me today, it was fun back then. I would always head to the club with my buddies because of my “inside” knowledge of everything. It is amazing how popular you become when you can get your friends inside without a cover charge.

One Superbowl Sunday, I ventured forth to the club with two of my buddies to watch the Superbowl on a projection screen, enjoy free pizza, half priced beer and lap dances. I could think of nothing better on a Sunday night.

The evening was fun, and quite enjoyable. Sunday was always the changing of the guard and I got to sample the new dancers who revolved to our humble club. Sunday was always a good night to work, or a good night to hang out.

The evening ended when my buddy Steve, yeah the guy from my first entry, passed out on the loveseat in the rear. As Steve was getting awaken and ousted by the Brick Shithouse, Steve cocked his head to one side and puked all over the bouncer’s shoes. Man did I lose some street cred with that little stunt.

Steve spent the next few hours sitting on the bench outside as Todd and I enjoyed the rest of the night. Served Steve right for being such a cheap drunk. Todd got scammed out of $200 from random dancers. The girls love guys like Todd, always willing to throw his money around in desperate hopes of getting laid. It cost Todd $200 to find out that getting laid that night was just a pipe dream.

The girls (most of them) were professionals.

Far too long...

2006-12-14T21:34:00.000-05:00

Well shit, if you readers have not noticed, I have not produced a new entry in quite some time. I just find it ever so hard to find the time to sit down, and write. Between the job, social life, and the woman, time just falls out of my hands. Maybe if I didn’t have to sleep every night, perhaps, only then, could I find the time to do everything.

But when it comes down to it, I am just a lazy bastard. I can admit that, but this is my blog, so I can update whenever I feel like it…. Yet, to the dismay of my loyal readers. I do not mean to neglect you.

I recently realized that this blog was featured on Fleshbot’s website in regards to the “Sex Blog Roundup”. I was happy to see that I was featured with Ex-Millenial Girl, who I would regard as my muse. My blog was quotes as follows….

G irls Gone Wild....Too Wild

“One of my favorite things about working at a strip club was the feature nights. My favorite was the amateur wet t-shirt contest. This feature was a night you loved to hate, or just loved. An excuse for drunken college girls to take off their tops and expose the goods. I didn't mind one bit. The wet t-shirt contest was a great way to meet new people and yes, pick up a date. I have no shame...”

- True Confessions of a Strip Club Bouncer

I guess I have a sense of achievement to see that I have been recognized for my works, yet I feel a slight sense of shame since I have neglected me work for so long. I guess my morality has become a two-way street.

College Girls Gone Wild......Too Wild

2006-09-05T00:32:00.001-04:00

One of my favorite things about working at a strip club was the feature nights. My favorite was the amateur wet t-shirt contest. This feature was a night you loved to hate, or just loved.

An excuse for drunken college girls to take off their tops and expose the goods. I didn’t mind one bit. The wet t-shirt contest was a great way to meet new people and yes, pick up a date. I have no shame; I’m the first to admit it. All the other staff was the exact same way. JP just loved these nights.

As I stated before, you have to take your good with the bad and the bad was, girls and alcohol. I am sure I have explained this point in a previous post but I must reinforce this ideology once more. Men get drunk and we fight and we get a little rowdy yes, I will admit that, however, woman are a completely different story.

Woman mixed with booze equals no morals and thus nothing will ever be taboo. We always run a full security staff on nights like these as per the amateurs would pick fights with the dancers, the amateurs would pick fights with the amateurs, amateurs were giving hand jobs to regulars in the parking lot, amateurs were passing out on the floor, amateurs would not get off the stage because they were having too much fun with the pole and we would have to physically pick them up and drag them off the stage.

You just have to stand back and let everything wash over you, then you smile and the aggravation slowly subsides and laughter takes over. Case in point, one night, one girl was so drunk by the time she got up on stage that she started dancing, then, puked all over the stage, then passed out and fell off the stage into the arms of a few guys in perverts row. Almost like the scene from the movie “Detroit Rock City” only with a woman.

Yeah, college girls went wild once a month. Wild was an understatement.

Little pig little pig, LET ME IN !

2006-08-23T19:50:00.000-04:00

It was an ordinary Thursday night if there was any. I was back to work, The Little Mobster went back to his cushy house with his stripper wife, J.P was happy because he could once again run the club and sample to new arrivals.

There was an average turnout, tips were going well, I was running errands for a few girls, softening them up for a nice tip out at the end of the night. The waitresses were talkative; the night just wore on and on. There was little trouble, as per this club was manageable and most of the rift raft and parasites went to the other club where they knew they could purchase their dope and a trick at the same shithole.

The night finally ended and the doors were locked. Clean up had begun and the beers were going down easy and then….. The racket began; BOOM BOOM BOOM at the front door. We paid the racket no mind and went about our business, but then again the sound BOOM BOOM BOOM. Someone was pounding at the front door.

I went the front door and notified the customer that we apologized for any incontinence but were we closed and if he/she would like to come back tomorrow, that would be terrific. Well okay, it was more like “We’re closed you asshole, so fuck off”.

All was silent and 5 minutes later, a huge crash sounded and the walls shook, the display case glass had shattered all over the floor, some girls jumped to the floor and dust blew out from the front door. The huge crash was more like an artillery attack then a guy beating on the door so Chris and I ran out the side entrance and found some drunk had just tried to drive his car though the front door. He was dazed, staggering and swearing like a sailor.

Chris just laughed “You stupid dumb fuck… ohh my fucking gawd” the driver promptly chucked a beer bottle at us and tried to run away. I called the cops and 20 minutes later the drunk was apprehended.

I didn’t get home until 6am after the rounds and rounds of questioning from the cops. The drunk said I hit him and we had to convince the 5-0 that I did no such thing.

I went home, smoked some weed and went to bed. That night of excitement was just too much for myself. It never ceases to amaze me how stupid one becomes when alcohol is introduced. I never did find out why the guy tried to get into the club, guess he was just bored and needed something to do.

What a dumb shit.

The Big Bad Me

2006-08-14T23:32:00.001-04:00

Now that I think on it, I am sorry that I don’t have more pictures from this era. Since I worked in the kind of establishment that I did, flash photography was prohibited and this, I never had a camera on me. I didn’t really socialize with most of my co-workers and the ones I did socialize with, well…. I kicked them out the next morning. So umm, yeah.

I do have pictures of me however, and at most times, this does not help to tell the story of my experiences. I frown upon this rational.

Wow, just another week of me being stupid

2006-08-14T23:23:00.001-04:00

I was exiled from the land of flesh for three days. I attempted to contact JP to inquire about when my shift would be and the “little mobster” answered the phone. Since I am such a dumb shit, I asked him when my next shift would be and got an ear full of “3jkejcew efvkvker ekrjmviejr ejrpjepoir erjr efvjrdfj erfvjerfjr” which meant blah blah blah, I’m bad, blah blah blah I should know better, blah blah blah, I should be more responsible, blah blah blah come in for Friday”

Hot dog! I fuck up and get handed the Friday night shift. As I had stated in a previous post, Friday nights were a cash cow. I could clear some serious dough on a Friday night. I needed it since I had not work for about a week and my road trip had left me a little strapped for cash.

I took a trip to the drug store that day and purchased several items like Advil, Pepto-Bismol and stuff for my sunburnt face, ears, neck, arms, back, and legs. Ouch, fuck I was in some serious pain. I spent the next few days drinking beer, and smoking weed with Steve and Steve and playing hours of Smack down 2 for the Playstation 1. I really couldn’t do anything else. I also got a visit from my landlord advising me to pay my rent before I was evicted. My week was not going well. I shouldn’t have fucked off and went to Barrie. So stupid of me. Well, I did have fun.

I also got another flat on my way to meet my girlfriend for dinner. I got chewed up major for that little bit and was notified that I needed to grow up.

Now that I reflect back on those years, I truly say that I was an immature asshole. I would like to think that after four years, I have finally shaped up. Well, only time will tell I guess.

Up Shit Creek

2006-08-14T23:08:00.000-04:00

“Where the fuck have you been?” Was the first thing I heard as I entered the front door at work. My Manager was pissed and worst of all, the owner was in town and had taken a sudden interest to how the whole place was running. This did not create an enjoyable working environment when JP was pissed. Mark…. Oh fuck….Mark (the owner) was as useless as tits on a bull. I shit you not. For one to understand Mark, I would need to describe him.

Mark’s English was really bad, I mean really bad. His accent was a mix of French and Middle Eastern. Mark was very short and dressed like an Italian mobster. Lots of Adidas jump suites, gold chains, rings o’plenty, sunglasses (in a dark bar) and the classic slicked back dark hair that was dripping wet with hair gel.

Yeah I was in shit from the gods of the strip club world. I guess my little escapade of taking off for a weekend worked out so well. I was hung over, I was sunburnt to the point where it hurt when I moved, I was in a foul mood, and I had the “littler mobster” yelling at me.

“I cannot run a respectable business when the help will not show up” or it actually sounded like “emfknmdvrdfkvdf fvpervpdv ermpemjvpoe 3repvcere” but you learned to decipher the meaning of most things as you spent more time around the “Little Mobster”

I was sent home to think about what I had done and to consider if I wanted to continue working at this club. I was more than happy to go home and sleep. Ohhh, the sleep.

We came, we saw, we left

2006-04-28T00:24:00.000-04:00

So, the day of events was worth the frustration. Beer, weed, girls, tittles, and hours of playing that game .....You know the one....where you rate women out of 10. The day was cold, windy, crowded, no place to sit, no place to piss, plenty of places to smoke up. I saw Cake, Project Whyze (or however the fuck you spell it) Our Lady Peace, Bif Naked and yes, Tool. I also dropped $100 on nothing.

My companions and I skipped out early to sell our ticket stubs to teenagers for half the original ticket price, then we hit the bar one last time. Then I met this girl. Guys let me just give you some words of advice, never promise a girl you’ll be right back, only to be found 15 minutes later, hitting on another girl. Yeah, I was blasted and took one of those cliché drink splashed in my face. Double J said I just laughed for like five minutes.

We hit the road, back to our meaningless lives and out deadbeat jobs. Fuck, my boss is gonna be pissed.

Next Morning

2006-02-06T19:23:00.001-05:00

Okay so Tool was just one of the many bands that were playing that day. Among the other bands to rock the house, Weezer, Bif Naked, The Tea Party, Project Whyze and a few other god-awful hunks of shit (Our Lady Peace)..

That morning, we arose to headaches, stiff muscles, shattered egos, and a liquid breakfast. Nothing like a Screwdriver to get you going in the morning. We hopped in our car, hid our weed in convenient places on our bodies and off we went.

That morning it had rained, and rained hard. The sky looked like it would open up on us at any moment, so headed to Wal-Mart to purchase garbage bags as a cheap alternative to rain jackets. Would you know it but over a hundred people were fighting over waterproof objects at the Wal-Mart. Yes, fellow concertgoers. Double J wasted $60 on a rain jacket. We spent $2.50 on 50 glad garbage bags. Well of course we made fun of him… the whole day. I guess it didn’t help things when it didn’t rain at all. As we stood in the endless line, awaiting our entrance to the music extravaganza, some girls mistook Double J’s raincoat price take as a VIP pass. Well sure we chatted the girls up a bit and acted like we were hot stuff with VIP passes. One good thing that this rainjacket brought to us…Well until Double J told them it wasn’t a VIP pass. They left right after that.

We were frisked from head to toe by security and I will tell you, not the toughest guy in the world will frisk your junk. So yeah, that’s where I had my weed. No problems, on we went.

Party on Wayne

2006-02-05T17:57:00.000-05:00

We were at the club, we scanned the room, scanned all the young hotties shaking their stuff. We started with a beer, a smoke and all the charisma we could spare. We were on the prowl. Now I am the first one to note, I don’t remember much about that night. I remember the early hours, the early run, tripping out on X and dancing to “Suck on my Lollypop by the DJ Alligator project. I remember the flashing lights, the feeling completeness thanks to the buzz and hitting on the tasty pieces of tail that clogged the dance floor. I do recall going up to the DJ booth that stood about 50 meters above the dance floor.

I guess I blacked out after that. I guess I had a great time. When I finally came out of my dace, some guy was throwing plastic shot glasses at me. I guess I was half passed out in a booth with Dr. Jones and Samitch. I guess I was half passed out. Fuck, what did I care? I sobered up, had a few more beers as we waited for Double J to return from his journey. I had two numbers in my pocket. Tracey and Amy. Who were these girls? I had no idea. I guess it’s safe to say that you don’t want to take the chance. The beauty could be a whale for all I know.

Finally we staggered home. Double J, Dr. Jones, Samitch, Double J’s sister, the freaky hot chick that looked like Bif Naked, and myself. We slept on a hard floor with no pillows or blankets. A fat joint sent us all to sleep. Tomorrow, we would see Tool in concert

ROAD TRIP: The Eagle Has Landed

2005-11-23T22:52:00.001-05:00

We finally made it to Barrie. In our infinite wisdom, we didn’t have a place to stay. We searched high and wide, yet every roach motel we could find was booked solid. Jeff had the idea to call up his stepsister who lived in Barrie. He hadn’t talked to her in about ten years, but it was worth a shot.

We lucked out, Jeff’s sister had a vacant apartment next to her place and we could crash there for the night. The trade off was, there was no furniture or beds. At least it was a roof over our heads.

We dropped off our crap, picked up some booze, and started drinking. It was late afternoon by then. I do not recall the name of Jeff’s sister, but her best friend Michelle looked exactly like Bif Naked. She was short, cut, and wild tats all over her arms. She was dynamite. A small house party ensued from there.

By 10pm, we headed off to The Roxx for a night of sin.

Samitch was so gonzo by then that he handed the bouncer his girlfriend’s health card without even noticing. The bouncer laughed at him and sent him on his merry way. Samitch arrived at the coat check a few minutes later, victorious at last.

Raod Trip: On We Go

2005-11-22T20:37:00.000-05:00

“Shit dude, I feel like shit” Well, we all felt like shit. We just had breakfast at McDonalds. Everyone had a McStomach ache.

Our early departure time was tossed to the wind. We were on the road for no less than 30 minutes before our driver took sick. Well he was already sick, but sick in the extreme way. As the only other licensed driver, I took over the wheel and on we went. I guess I should mention that I wasn’t covered under Trevor’s insurance. “Shit dude, I don’t care. Just drive and worry about that crap later on”.

An hour into the trip, the joints were lit and everyone become mellow. Jeff started strumming on his bass. The McAches were gone and the road trip really began. We were loaded with weed; assorted mixed cd’s of old school tunes, a carton of smokes, and a thirst for adventure.

Fifteen minutes later, I pulled over so Samitch could throw up. He was TKO for the next three hours. So yeah, good weed. We all had quite a few laughs at Samitch’s expense. On we went. Our crew was hurting, but things could only get better.

Road Trip: Getting Started

2005-11-07T16:40:00.000-05:00

It was Friday night and I met up with a few of my buddies at a local house party. We were sitting around, shooting the shit and drinking to our hearts’ content. Out of the blue, Trevor asks me “You want to go see Tool on Sunday?” Eagerly I replied that I did and Trevor told me the tale of how he snagged 4 tickets but one of his friends had dropped out at the last minute. “Fuck dude, you mean we leave tomorrow morning? In like, 7 hours?” Trevor just smiled. “Yeah dude, just crash at my place and we'll set off”

The road trip was set, and I would be off to see Tool at Molson Park in Barrie. The only problem was that I had to twist a few arms to get Friday night off, how the fuck was I to obtain Saturday and Sunday as well? I did the only natural thing that came to mind.

“JP, it’s Tavis. I’m in Barrie, my tranny is shot and I don’t think I’ll be making it out of Barrie for a few days, looks like you will have to fill me shift. Sorry Dude”

I figured it was a good enough excuse. Everyone knew my car was a little unreliable at best. I guess at my current state, I didn’t really care if the boss believed me or not. I was leaving town to venture forth on a road trip. The night winded down and after the second visit by the cops for noise complaints, we headed to Trevor’s wilth a crew of 10 people. During our journey, we lost 3 or 4 followers. At Trevor’s, a new home base was erected and we drank until the early hours of the morning. During this stretch of time, 15 people showed up, a window was broken and a couch went missing, A small price to pay for a night of merry cheer.

I was awoken by some big native guy who I had never seen before. It turns out that I was sleeping on this guy's jacket, and he wanted his smokes. “Alright chief, no problem” I got up, every muscle in my body ached, my head was pounding. It was 11:30am, a full three and a half hours after we were to leave. I woke Trevor, and he was still piss drunk. So much for our driver.

Samitch showed up a good hour later with some weed. Jeff showed up a short time after that. The crew was assembled, and our driver was intoxicated. I guess nobody really knew when we were leaving in the first place.

I'm Poor

2005-11-03T23:40:00.000-05:00

I think back on my financial situation when I was bouncing and it almost mirrors myself today. I had a job that made good money on paper, but when it came to all my expenses, I was a poor vagabond at the end of the night. It’s funny how things work out.

“All right Tavis, your tip out is $110” I would take my money and slap a $20 down on the bar to cover the last round for all the crew. I would hop in my car and put $20 worth of gas into my gas tank. A slurpy and pack of cigarettes would be purchased as well. Another $10 down the drain. I would get home at 4am, watch TV until 5:30am, and then hit the sack.

When I awoke the next day, I would take Lindsay out for lunch $45, then to an early movie $15. After ice cream (all the ladies love ice cream) I would be back to square one. It’s funny how money just goes when you’re having fun.

I guess it didn’t help when I kicked my roommate out and had to spring some serious dough for a new transmission for my lame car. As I recall, the whole summer pretty much went like that. After drinking and various girlfriends, I was dead broke. I was behind on my rent, my cable was switched off and I could hardly afford to feed myself. Yet, there was plenty of money for beer, woman, and all those other luxuries.

To the readers

2005-10-27T22:27:00.000-04:00

I do apologize about the neglect towards my readers (lovers and haters alike). I am afraid that since my recent promotion at work and the relocation to a more eye-catching apartment, I have been unable to accumulate the time required for a full-hearted update.

I am aware of some ill will due to my lack of posts and will put forth more energy to bring upon future updates, and to titillate your senses.

Thank you, now enjoy your debauchery.

Dipping the Pen in the Company Ink

2005-09-28T23:28:00.000-04:00

I had just got out of a six-month relationship before I started bouncing and I had no intentions of getting locked up into another relationship. I had been working at the club for a full month before I met a girl named Lindsay. Lindsay was a captivating brunette with a sharp mind, a nurse no less, and five years my senior. She lived in my building and I noticed her from the start, yet our schedules never met.

It was not until a tenant meeting that one older woman asked me what I did for a living and I notified her that I worked as security at the local strip club. Lindsay instantly took an interest and the rest you say was history. I guess it just reinforces the fact that girls love bad boys. We would date on and off for the next six months.

The best pick-up line I ever used was cheesy, yet got the job done. There was a group of girls who came into the club and they looked to be around the age of 25+. The mischievous party of me asked for ID from just one of them. She turned out to be 32, yet I even got her to recite her address and date of birth. I handed her ID back to her and apologized for the confusions since I could of swore she was not a day over 19. She blushed, her friends laughed, and I purchased the girls a round of drinks. The girl I carded (Jessica) was ten years my senior. I ended up going home with her that night. I just love the older ladies I guess.

Now people constantly ask me, why didn’t I hit on any of the dancers and try to go home with them. I just simply answer, “After a full night of horny men pinching their Asses and drooling all over them, the last thing they need are security doing the exact same thing, don’t you think?

Well I guess Susan was the exception, but that will be for another time.

An Interview with Andrea

2005-09-19T21:47:00.000-04:00

Friday night was my cousin’s birthday and to celebrate, we men went for dinner, then to the local sin bin for some local entertainment. After our third pitcher, I got thinking “shit, I haven’t updated my blog in over a week and I’m probably loosing readers every day” I needed something to write about. In my half buzzed stage, I realized that I was in a Strip Club and there was loads of material to be found.

By the fourth pitcher of beer, I made up my mind that I was going to spent $20 on the dancer I had been eying up all night. After the girl was finally free, I walked over to her and said, “Hi, I’m a writer and I want to spend $20 dollars on you, but I don’t want a dance. Can I buy you a drink?” The girl looked at me a little funny and she agreed to my proposal “I’ll have a white wine and 7up”. I went to the bar and ordered the drink. I returned and handed her the cocktail. “Okay, I write an online blog talking about the adult entertainment industry and my experiences as a strip club bouncer, and I just wanted to ask you a few questions pertaining to your profession and this club” The girl looked relieved and slash a friendly smile. The interview began.

I found out that the dancer’s stage name was Andrea, but her real name was Amy. She was 5’9 and 120lbs. Andrea was a local girl and had been working in this particular club for several months. Andrea notified me that this club had been the best club she had ever worked for. She had done her time in clubs in Montreal, Hull, Ottawa and Quebec City. I inquired about her earnings per night…. “Oh, I make about 200-800 hundred per night. It’s mostly 200-500 hundred, just one night last year I made $800 and that was nice” I inquired on how her night was going so far and she replied “It’s really slow, I’ve made maybe $100 and spent around $30 on drinks, so I don’t think I’ll make that much tonight”. The conversation progress to me complimenting her on her cute glasses, and asking her favorite style of music “I like to dance to stuff that’s energetic. I love 80’s tunes and old school hair metal”. I asked her feelings about her fellow co-workers and she said she didn’t mind most of the other girls. “Some can be really bitchy though, so I try to keep my distance” My final question was if she preferred thongs or the generic cotton panty and she laughed “I used to hate thongs, but I wear one for work all the time, so I got used to them” She flipped her skirt up in a playful manner to show off her purple thong “But when I’m at home, it’s always cotton”

I thanked Andrea for her time and flipped her my remaining $15. She smiled, called me a sweetie and kissed me on the cheek like I was some little boy handing her a daisy.

I returned to my table and polished off another pitcher with the guys.

The Off Season

2005-09-07T22:10:00.000-04:00

On this specific evening, the club had been really slow. I came to work at 7pm and started my rounds. I checked the men’s washroom for bottles and glasses, checked the woman’s washroom to make sure the girls were not snorting too much coke. Made my way to the private booths and found them empty. Most of the girls were sitting at the bar, drowning their woes in a sea of Rum and Coke or Baby Duck.

I talked to Stephanie, the 40-year-old lifer who notified me that SHE couldn’t even get a customer to dance with her. Steph was a pro, a girl who knew the trade and knew how to make the big money, but if she couldn’t make things happen, it was a dead night for sure. “You can only whip a dead cock for so long”

The younger girls were moaning and groaning about the club being slow. The drinks were flowing and as the boredom progressed, the girls started to turn on eachother. A powder keg was about to be ignited. It took less than an hour before the bomb went off.

Bouncing at a strip club is much like teaching kindergarten. You have to deal with Sally pulling Amy’s hair, and telling Tracey to stop making faces at Megan. Girls can be extremely competitive, but nothing can compare to the competition between exotic dancers. “She stole my brush”, “She gave me a dirty look”, “That whore was talking to my boyfriend”, “That bitch stole my customer”, “That cunt called me a whore”, “That slut spilled my drink”…… “I’m gonna kill you bitch”

I broke up two fights that night. The customers where cheering the catfights on, with zeal. Every man loves a good catfight I guess. I only made $60 bucks that night.

The Fat Lip

2005-08-31T20:10:00.000-04:00

It started off as a bad day, and things mostly progressed from there. The small things can really pile up. The power went out and I slept in due to an alarm clock that requires power to sustain life. On my way to run my errands, I received a flat tire for my effort. After a $15 patch job on my tire, I received a chip out of my windshield from a passing Tractor-trailer (and his heat seeking pebble). In the mall parking lot, I received a dent in my diver side door from someone driving a rather large white vehicle (I assumed it was an SUV).

The washing machine in my laundry room didn’t work and it cost me $1.50 to find that out. I washed my uniform in the sink and tossed it in the dryer. An hour later, I realized that the dryer I chose worked, but didn’t dry anything. It cost me $1.75 to find that out. I would later improvise and use my fan as a makeshift dryer. On my way to work, my cassette tape got jammed in my car’s tape player.

I arrived at work at my designated time (7pm) and I found the club to be quite busy for that time of night. I was assigned to the door checking ID. I would stand at the door for a good three hours, checking ID, kicking out minors, skimming money off minors, and talking to Tracy, the regular beer girl.

As I stood, poised against the wall, comfortable, content, talking about a fascinating topic with Tracey, the call goes out on the radio “Get your ass to the booths, major shit going down”, I ran to the back of the club to find one of the dancers freaking out, crying, yelling, swinging her arms. The girl was in complete shock. There was a terrible stench in the air and as I pushed the girl out of the way, I found an intoxicated customer lying on the floor.

I know what you’re thinking and yes, the guy had too much to drink and he threw up on the floor, on the chair, and yes, on the dancer. I hauled the guy up and started dragging him out of the booth just as a barrage of slaps came from the dancer. In an effort to keep moving, I cleared the girl out of the way with one hand and kept hold of the drunk with my other. In an attempt to launch one last assault on the drunk, the girl lashed out and I bore the brunt of the assault, including a sharp elbow in the face. After the assault, the dancer retreated to the dressing room. By this time, the cavalry had arrived in the form of the Brick Shithouse (Chris). Chris just took a look at my sorry state and started laughing at me.

I dragged the drunk to the door and radioed Chris to see how much the guy owed to the dancer. The reply was “40 bucks” so I reached into the guy’s pocket, retrieved $40, called the guy a cab, and then gave him the boot.

By this time, I had a bloody nose from the elbow and puke on my uniform. I radioed Chris to start the mop up and his reply was “Fuck that man, you find the mess, you clean it up”. Just my fucking luck. A good hour of mopping later, I closed the booth down, changed my shirt, and cleaned up my face. I had a fat lip.

My damsel in distress calmed down and took a shower. She later found me and apologized for her actions. How could I blame the girl? I know if I were in the same situation, I would try to kick the dumb fuck’s ass. I did, however, receive a generous tip for my actions.

I apologize that I don’t remember the dancer’s name; most of the girls who worked at my club went my “Michelle, Stacey, Stephanie or Tracey”. Just too many girls to remember.

Screw That

2005-08-24T21:09:00.000-04:00

JP calls me while I’m fixing to go out for a night on the town.

*ring ring*

“Tavis?”

“Yeah?”

“Where the hell are you? You were scheduled to be here at 7pm”

“Fuck that, I’m on for tomorrow night, tonight is my night off”

“Not according to the schedule, did you even bother to look at it?”

“Yeah I did, I looked at it last night before I left, Thursday, 7pm”

“Well that was changed today, so get your ass in here”

“Hey look, if you wanna change the times and dates, that’s fine with me. If you don’t bother to tell the people about the changes, not my fucking problem”

“So you’re not coming in?”

“Did you bother to call me and let me know my shift was changed before hand?”

“No”

“No, G’night JP”

*click*

JP called an hour later to let me know that he got Chris to cover my shift.

It Takes Guts

2005-08-24T20:56:00.000-04:00

Many people don’t understand the effort that goes into exotic dancing. Peoples’ general impression is that exotic dancing is a dirty, degrading and sexist profession. They may be right, however, that’s what makes it so interesting. Try going to your local sin bin, and just watch the girls as they make their rounds. It takes endless energy and guts to approach complete strangers and solicit for a private dance. Has anyone ever considered the toll that rejection may take on a girl’s self-esteem and self-confidence? No!

I witnessed the emotion every night, and on a few occasions, I saw girls completely breakdown. Some people are just not cut out for this type of trade. As I got to know the regular girls, each of them would reveal a little of their fears, hopes, dreams, and problems. It was very interesting to hear their angel on things.

To be an exotic dancer, you need nerves of steel. Retail sales and exotic dancing are the same in many ways. You offer a product, if the customer takes the product, then all is well. If a customer rejects the product, offer a rebuttal. If the customer will not take the bait, smile, and move on to the next customer. As with sales, there are good nights, okay nights, and dead nights. I did observe that the older veterans (Stephanie and Stacey) never seemed to have bad nights, because they knew how to push, and how to sell while the younger girls would be sitting around and complaining about how slow it is and how cheap everyone is.

Blair Stryker

2005-08-17T23:22:00.000-04:00

Every so often, my club would book a special feature for an entire week. On this memorable occasion, I shall talk about the wondrous skills of Blair Stryker.

I bounced three times that week and my usual duties consisted of (besides wiping down the pole every few sets) carrying Blair’s box of goodies to and from the stage, fetching her complementary drinks, retrieving her discarded g-string after every set, mopping whipped cream off the stage, and seeing to every one of her little desires. For most of the night, I was nothing more than an errand boy.

Blair’s fire show was most impressive. Equipped with two ignited batons, Blair amazed the crowd with acts of physical strength and endurance, not to mention, her love of fire. Blair’s routine was impressive and she had several instances where she spit fire at the crowd and even lit her chest on fire for a few short moments.

After her act, all customers were panting like rabbit dogs as they waited to meet, greet and get an autograph of this woman.

For those three days of work, Blair didn’t tip me out squat, yet she did entertain the employees with her road stories. The club was full for most of the week, so I made my money nonetheless.

The House Special

2005-08-14T15:25:00.000-04:00

As a little advertising technique, my club had a little expose called the House Special. The House Special consisted of all the dancers going up on stage and being introduced to the crowd. The patron who yelled the loudest would get a free lap dance. The hook was, once a guy had a lap dance, he would usually go to the private booths to have a few more dances. The House Special was a huge motivational tool.

Before the House Special, I was responsible to round up all the girls and herd them towards the stage. I also helped to escort each dancer up and down the stairs leading to the stage. You can imagine that girls walking in 6-inch heels need allot of help walking up and down stairs. While the free dances were engaged, I kept a close eye the patron’s hands and defended against any frisky business (from the dancers, or the customers).

Every DJ I encountered at that club was on a total power trip when it came to the schedule. Everything was set to happen at a certain time. If something didn’t happen at a certain time, there was hell to pay. One universal truth is, it’s impossible to have a strip joint run like a battleship. You must consider that girls are talking, drinking and dancing with clients. There are girls on stage, girls in the dressing room, girls snorting coke in the washroom, and girls smoking joints in the parking lot. Fuck the schedule.

Gathering all the girls in one area was a pain in the ass. If the house special were due to begin (Usually at 9pm, 11pm, and 12:30am) I would go around the club and notify each girl about how much time they had to get backstage. This extra effort usually worked (hence the word USUALLY).

The Grind

2005-08-10T14:18:00.000-04:00

It was my first week on the job and I pulled all the crap shifts as per I was the rookie. I was the "new kid" and I was treated as such. For the first month, I was forced to do all the low life degrading tasks that others refused to do. If a drunk hurled in the bathroom, it was I who held the mop. If someone dropped a glass or ashtray, it was I who swept it up. If a call went out over the radios, I had to go. The dancers tried to drop bullshit tasks on me in hopes that I wouldn’t catch on, but I did.

After closing, I completed most of the closing tasks such as being the asshole to kick everyone out after closing (I hated people like that when I was drinking), taking out the trash, cleaning the bar, sweeping and mopping the floors, cleaning out the tampon bin in the woman’s washroom (nasty), and all that horrible shit. I was always nominated to buy rounds for the staff after hours and my tip money was nonexistent after that point.

On a good note, all the girls were tipping me out at the end of the night because I was the new guy. The girls were always good like that.

I was more like an apprentice if anything else, and I had to pay my dues. I was okay with that, but I was getting pissed off about all the bullshit.

Wages & Tips

2005-08-07T17:09:00.000-04:00

Payment of wages would be undertaken every two weeks. I would make a lousy seven dollars an hour, yet the atmosphere (ahem…girls) was well worth it. I later realized that my job was more like a waitress or a hustler. My wages were consisted mostly of tips. The tips from that place were wonderful.

The tips came from 4 different areas, and they are as follows:

20% of total tips from The Bar
20% of total tips from The Waitresses (huge money maker)
20% of the tips from The DJ (DJ’s always lied about his end)

The dancers also tipped out at the end of the night, and I later found that a good portion of your night was spent keeping them happy. You would carry their luggage, bring them drinks, hail cabs, bounce somebody they didn’t like, and feed management a line when they went AWOL for a few minutes. At any given time, there were 10-15 dancers working and I would later be on the payroll for 4 to 5 of them each night.

At the end of the night, all the doormen would toss their earnings into a box, and the tips were equally dished out to those who were working. Fewer doormen equaled more money. Obviously you would not own up to that extra $20 in your shirt pocket. Sundays turned out to be my biggest earner because I was the only one scheduled on Sundays, and I would clear $200-$400 on my own.

The best tip I ever received was when one of our regular girls (Stephanie) had a guy drop $2000 on her for private dances. Later that night, I helped Stephanie move a couch out of her apartment and she tipped me $200 and told me that I “was a good guy”.

The first Night (Part 2)

2005-08-03T02:57:00.000-04:00

I met the new guys, shot the shit a little as the regular bouncers stood around the bar cracking jokes. We were then notified about something that caused two guys to walk out on the spot. This night, the night I was to learn the ropes, was Amateur Male Dancer Night. Shit. I was under the impression I would be swimming in perky breasts, but now I am forced to watch swinging sausage. Shit.

Roger, the head bouncer, gave us a little pep talk before the doors were opened. He told us to keep our eyes open “because horny woman with a few drinks in them are more troublesome than a full biker gang”. We were also told to keep our eyes on the private booths stationed at the back and make sure nobody used them.

Me and the other new guy would work rotating shifts at the door, the stairs leading to the private booths, the stage, and the bar. All in all, we would stay in each position for 15 minutes at a time, then rotate. Communication was made through two-way radios that each of the “meat heads” had. From what I learned over the next several months, these two-way radios were worthless and only transferred static and not communication.

The doors opened and the girls filled in. I checked ID at the door, confiscated a few fake ID’s that girls were passing off. I made my rounds, met up with a few girls from my college course that got in using borrowed ID’s., yet were underage.

I strategically placed myself behind pillars for the whole night so I could block out the male dancer on stage, but keep a good eye on the crowd. A few girls needed to be escorted out, a few more needed to be kicked out, but the regular bouncers did that job. I had to take a few cameras from girls and destroy the film. I got a drink poured over my head for my efforts. Girls like to take pictures of everything. Pictures of everything are against house rules.

On one pass by the private booths, I noticed a few shadows looming in a corner. I found a guy making out with some girl, so I grabbed the guy using the meat hook maneuver, and tossed him out of the booth. Shortly after, I would realize that the guy happened to be my manger. JP was steamed, but then he laughed because I was doing what I was told to do. The smiled at me and politely told me to fuck off. I did just that.

At the end of the night, I earned $40 in tips from girls who just handed me money. Just before closing, Shrek (the brick shit house) told me about the Staff Special. He said that during ladies night, each male staff had to find himself a girl and go up on stage and dance. The last staff on stage had to buy a round for everyone. I guess this was a ploy for the new guy (me) to be exploited; yet I was the first one on stage, and Roger had to pitch in for the round that was over $100.

After closing, Roger asked me where I had worked before. I fed him a line of bullshit about bars back home and Roger notified me that he liked me, that I had good instincts, and I was hired.

That was my first night at work.

The First Night (Part 1)

2005-07-21T22:42:00.000-04:00

I called my buddy Steve and let him know where I got the “audition” and he expressed to me how lucky I was to “have tits waved in your face 24/7”. Steve went on and on about how I should get him free lap dances and beer. The comment was typical male banter of someone who hasn’t been laid for months.

As I was taught at an early age, to make a good impression, one must show up to work early and show you are willing to put in some extra time. My grandfather and father lived by this rule. I had always taken this rule to heart and on this night, I would show up early.

I reached the club door at 7:40pm and knocked. No answer. I knocked a few more times until a guy opened the door and peered out into the sunlight. This guy was maybe 5’6” in height, but he was built like a brick shit house. He simply looked at me and said “Doors aren’t open for another 20 minutes, so fuck off!” The door was promptly slammed in my face. Determined, I knocked again, and again. Finally the door was opened once more and another guy looked out and asked me “What’d you want?” I was confused by this time and not quite sure if anyone knew I was coming, or if I had the wrong place or something. I looked at the new guy at the door and said, “I’m Tavis, was talking to JP two days ago and told me to come in and learn the ropes”. The guy replied that he was JP and that I was 30 minutes late. The door was opened and I was ushered in.

Walking to the bar, the new guy who introduced himself as JP asked, “You ever work a pussy house before?” My reply was simply “No, but I did some bouncing at a bar back home”. I lied; I had no experience of any kind when it came to bouncing. JP nodded and simply took a drag off his cigarette. There were four guys in uniform standing at the bar; one was the brick shithouse I had met earlier. Three other guys were at the bar as well. I assumed the three guys not in uniform were in the same boat as I.

Little did I know what I was in for next.

How it began.

2005-07-21T00:52:00.000-04:00

Times were tight that spring (2001). I just finished my freshman year of College; I had just kicked out my useless and troublesome roommate. I was also broke. As a college student, you receive all your scholarships and bursary money at the beginning of the year, and desperately try to budget the money so it may last for the 8 months of school. Naturally you piss a good chunk of the dough away at the bars, and then become a cheap skate to stretch every penny you have. This lowers you to stealing ketchup, straws, napkin dispensers and toilet paper from every fast food joint you can think of. I was no different.

I maxed out my credit cards and had creditors calling me every day. I needed a job. I needed a job desperately. As a former employee of the food industry, there was no fucking way I would be a burger slinger at McDonalds. I wanted something else, something better, and something exotic.

WANTED: Doormen to work at gentleman's club. Must be 19 years of age and possess previous doorman experience. Please call 555-5555 for more information.

Gentleman’s' club? I knew from the phone number that this “gentleman’s' club “ was the local sin bin. The one I had graced a few times previous as all college males do. Working at a strip club? What more could at 21-year-old guy want? The thought of being surrounded by beautiful woman was too good to pass up. I called the number and talked to the manager. He said they needed one guy to start next week and they were having a "try out" session in two days. The manager invited me to show up at 8pm (in two days)"to learn the ropes". I told him I would be there.

Fuck yeah, an interview. I was on cloud nine.