Random Shit Guy

I had a glorious Sunday and Monday off, worked a double at my restaurant yesterday, so am now just finding the time to sit down and write.

It was Friday night, probably around 11 when he came in. He rolled up in a huge van and made multiple trips back and forth, carrying no less than 10 bouquets of roses and 4 or 5 huge shopping bags, as well as an assortment of boxes. With all of his stuff, he took up about 3 tables in the corner next to the main stage. I looked around at the other dancers; none of them seemed phased. I pulled one of them aside to get the scoop, a petite, sweet girl named Jolie.

"Oh him? That's random shit guy. Dave. Yup, he just brings in random shit to give to the girls. And he's really diligent about it - he keeps a notebook with him to record which gift he gave to each girl so he doesn't accidentally give them the same one twice."

I decided to go over to introduce myself to Dave, who is heavy set and slightly mentally challenged. He opened his notebook and wrote down my name in it, with "NEW!!" next to it.

For the next few hours girls came in to the locker room with flowers, beanie babies, dolls (knock offs of the American Girl type), you name it. Jolie even got a giant blow up Kahlua-bottle piggie bank. When it was my turn on stage, he places a whole bouquet of white roses and a little Otter beanie baby on the tip rail.

Here's the thing - I've always said to work this job you have to have pretty thick skin. I've had guys grab my boobs, try to stick fingers in my ass, say the most derogatory things you can imagine. I laugh it off and can honestly say that I never let it bother me. But this sweet, gentle man comes in with all these presents every few weeks, and I find myself in the bathroom crying over it. Can somebody explain that to me?

Friday night in general was pretty slow money wise, I think because there were a lot of sports games going on. I worked a double so I was still satisfied with the 700-something dollars I walked with. I had my first dancer be a bitch to me, and that upset me more than I expected to. I was leading a customer down to the lap dance area and accidentally elbowed a girl. I immediately turned around to apologize and she just glared and yelled "Don't FUCKING elbow me!" Jesus Christ. Calm down, honey, it was an accident.

Deena told me this is the worst club she's worked at in terms of the cattiness and the drama in the locker room. She likes working here in general, but can't stand the other girls. I had just assumed that that's how all strip club locker rooms are.