I consider myself somewhat of a seasoned dancer. I have danced for four years and worked everywhere from Dallas, Texas to the Carolinas and in between. The locker room is an interesting place. It is actually a place I try to avoid for two reasons: I keep to myself and I don't make money in the locker room. You will hear things, see things, and sometimes wonder, "Why the fuck would someone say/do that?"
I remember Sparkle. We called her Spackle: A skinny hillbilly with the body of an eight-year old boy, the face of a pepperoni pizza, and a country accent worse than Larry the Cable Guy. I often wondered---how the fuck does she make any money? She had a bad habit of talking to you even if you didn't respond to her. Even if you were totally engrossed in putting on your make-up or even walked out of the dressing room, she would continue to talk. Actually, it was more like rambling. One day I was in the dressing room putting on my make-up and out of the corner of my eye I saw movement so I looked. Spackle had her thongs down around her knees. Her vagina was fully exposed and her pussy looked like, well... when I told Z. this story he volunteered the phrase, "Roast beef lips." (I can see the contestant on Wheel of Fortune trying to guess it now.) As if that wasn't bad enough I heard (I'm going to use phonetic spelling so you get the full impact), "Mah mama sayd thats whi ma pusse looks lik thius cause eye beyn dooin ahl theym black guys." Unforunately this event was burned into my mind forever.
I remember a conversation I overheard in which a dancer said (loudly) that she had been to the doctor and had a yeast infection. I found it rather distasteful that she would say that in front of a group of people. Half of which don't like her so I suggested she may want to keep her vaginal hygiene updates to herself because she was giving the other girls ammunition. She didn't seem to care.
I have seen fights over a girl dancing to another girl's song, stealing another girl's socks, thongs, and make-up. The best fights are the you stole my customer fights. Then they justify the loss of their customer by telling everyone that the reason he quit seeing her is because the new girl he is dancing with sucks his dick in the back. This seems to get a dancer pissed faster than anything. There's nothing better than seeing a stiletto fly across the room only to slam into someone's face. Five minutes later all that's remains are tracks of weave, rhinestones and earrings lying in the floor; occasionally some blood which is even better. The last time I saw a fight that resulted in blood, the girl who was bleeding called the cops up to the club to press charges. This got her dumb ass fired being as every phone call to the address of the strip club contributes to a public nuisance case if it ever comes under scrutiny. Good one, dumbass. You got your ass kicked AND got fired.
Then there is the usual complaining by a girl who just finished a dance with some customer who tried to pull out his cock. They act like it's the first time it happened. They are just appalled. Truth be told, I'm reasonably certain they have tried to slide their hand up a customer's shorts a time or two to make that extra $150 voluntarily. I have come to expect that kind of thing. That's why I get my money up front. If it happens I end the dance and keep the money, then I tell the bouncer. That is protocol, but I don't see a reason to make a big scene about it to the other dancers.
My pet peeve is hearing a dancer argue with her boyfriend on the phone. Cuss him out, talk shit, hang up, and call him back. I hate listening to it. It fucks up my money mode to listen to negativity. Sometimes I want to walk over to them, grab their phone and bust it into a million pieces on the dressing room floor.
I have seen dancers do drugs. I have seen dancers pass out drunk with their money right on their garter belt. I have seen girls get drunk and lose money. I even know a girl who left her money in the champagne room while she went to use the bathroom. When she came back the customer had taken her money and wasn't in the champagne lounge anymore. When the bouncer tried to figure out where he went she was too drunk to remember what he looked like.
