Socialization

Usually I like getting folks from out of town; if they fuck up, there's no risk of running into them outside of work.

They also bring stories with them, about where they live and what they do, and why they're visiting. A neat little bonus is that I've learned strip clubs in most other states suck considerably in comparison to the ones where I live; here, the clubs are full-nude, most with full bars. We also actually dance here as opposed to simply peel off clothing. (Most of us girls are also fully, 100% real. Huzzah!) Out-of-state-ers like this, and out-of-state-ers continue to keep coming back. Yay. :)

That said, there's really only one problem I can think of that I have with people from elsewhere, though I'll get to that in a bit. Yesterday I had the "pleasure" of meeting a couple douchebags from northern Michigan who routinely drive up to Canada to fulfill their strippa needs.

The tall, stalky one of the two motioned for me to come over. I lean over the short railing, upside-down, boobs to his face, and greet him. Without so much as a "hi" he goes, "can I touch you?"

"No."

Then, like a child asking for cookies, he pipes, "can I touch you please?"

"No, sorry, you can't touch."

"Awwh... okaaay." I smile an apology at him and continue, now moving on to a bent-over position, jiggling my ass about a foot away from his nose. At this, his short stumpy friend tells him to take his dollar bill and "stick it right in there".

"Don't do it," I warn.

"Nah man, I ca-"

"STICK IT IN!" And the mother fucker pokes my asshole with a folded dollar bill.

"HEY!" He pokes me again as I'm spinning around to address him. "Do that one more fucking time and I'll personally kick your ass out."

"Well where we're from we can touch!"

"Well you can't fucking touch here!"

(The stalky one is staring at my body while I continue to argue with stumpy one.)

"Why can't we touch?! We should just go back home and tip the girls there."

"THEN GO."

Stumpy, feelings hurt, sits back and tries to rile up stoner-Stalky, who, without missing a beat, replies, "nah man... I like this one." He stares transfixed while I ignore them the rest of the time.

A little while later I'm back on stage and they're still sitting in the same two seats. This time they don't tip, so I spend my time entertaining the other customers. At the end I collect my tips and Stumpy grumbles loudly, "you didn't pay any attention to us."

"That's because you didn't tip."

"We didn't tip because you weren't paying attention to us."

With other patrons throwing down three or four bucks, why on earth would I divert my attention to stingy dirtbags and ignore the tippers? Furthermore, they poked my butt, even justifying their actions with the childish, "my mommy lets me do this in my house so you should let me do it in yours." Except instead of a house, it's a poophole.

(I motion at the other patrons) "The other customers know to tip to get attention-" (I motion at the huge rules sign located directly on the stage wall, directly in front of them) "-or know how to read. The rules are one dollar per song per person."

He stares at me for a full 30 seconds, then puts down a dollar. I shake my head and laugh, then leave.

These two really exemplified a problem I do have with out-of-towners: they assume rules where they live are (or worse: ought to be) the same as wherever they should happen to go. This is usually most problematic in the private rooms; many think they're paying for groping and sometimes oral sucking/sex, just like back home. When in doubt, please, goddammit please, ask what the rules are. It would at least show you're trying to be good.

In retrospect this one might've been my fault. After all, I've had a prior experience with a pooper-poker in the past (note to self: next blog topic). It's really only that I'd hate to deny some good close-up ass-shaking just because there's a few bad eggs - everyone likes the jiggling. 99% of the time people don't try to poke me. It just seems unfair.

Awfulness: 8/10
Douchiness: 8/10