Double Bind

We want customers to stay, because customers bring money to the bar and to the dancers. We do what we can for them - we entertain them, keep them company, offer a wide assortment of alcoholic drinks, all for the purpose of keeping them happy and in the bar.

But we get bad apples. And we get a lot of them.

There's only a few rules, and the rules are in place for the protection and comfort of both the girls and the customers; it's not like we arbitrarily make them up to screw them over - no, we WANT to keep them there. The general rule of thumb is to act as if you're visiting an acquaintance's home. That said, the rules include but are not limited to:

1. Keep your pants on.
2. Keep your cock in your pants.
3. Keep hands OUT of your pants.

I assume most people have the common courtesy to not drop their pants in front of their grandma. In many ways this is better than being at your grandma's house, because you can talk as dirty as you'd like with no chance of encountering an awkward situation involving withered tits.**

Which leads me to DSP (Dirty Simon Pegg - this guy looked just like Simon Pegg, albeit a very dirty version of him). He came in on a Friday afternoon, bought a PBR, sat at my rack and commenced making entitled-prick stares at me (pursed lips, eyelids half closed, appearing displeased). No matter. I thanked him for tipping and ended up having a nice conversation at the bar with him consisting entirely of how smart he is and how much about this industry he knows, since he used to be married to a stripper and all that jazz. He eventually asks for a private dance, during which he continues his entitled-prick staring directly into the inner depths of my vagina. No matter. On the customer meter of awfulness, he rated about a 3/10 - not bad, not bad.

Until two girls pull me aside and tell me he was jacking off at my rack.

Because I'm on an elevated stage, I cannot see the lower half of the customers' bodies when they're sitting at the rack and would never have known if he was masturbating or not. But the girls are not positive they're talking about the same guy I'm thinking of. I feel I'm a pretty reasonable person, and I refuse to kick someone out unless I'm positive they've broken a rule. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt even if you are a scumbag. So when he crawled in the next day, I asked him, directly, "did you jack off at my rack yesterday?"

"No I did not."

DSP then proceeds to tell me that he's simply too gentlemanly to perform such a vulgar act and that he is embarrased that I would suggest such a heino-- "Are you sure you didn't? I won't kick you out if you tell me you did - I just need to know the truth."

"No I damn well fucking didn't."

I tell the girls what he said, then ask them if it's him. It most goddamn certainly is, and they even describe, in detail, the sight of his hand stroking down in his pants like he's petting a fucking hamster nestled between his legs.

And just like that, I found myself in a double bind - this guy would clearly continue to spend money on both the bar and I, however he clearly crossed a line... though nobody else saw. No, I decided, I would have to do the right thing; as I walked up to confront him he scuttled out of the bar.

I should probably end the story right there but find it hilarious that he came back the next day. I was ready to lay it on him, but he came in just as I was on stage. I effectively ignored him the entire routine, yet for some reason he still tipped me. As I'm about to calmly explain to him why I ignored him and why I'm unhappy with him, he very flatly proclaims "COULDN'T SEE" and scuttles out the door.

**Which actually reminds me of another story, for another time.

Awfulness: 3/10
Douchiness: 8/10