Home to pulsating LED lights, lone men and bachelor parties alike — you either hate strip clubs or you love. I can safely say that I have more dancers who I consider genuine friends than any of the waitresses or bartenders I worked. But the real tea is that bartenders and waitresses are even more catty. Prepare femalr be groped, harassed, and stalked by half of your clientele. And depending on the club you work in because a lot of managers let certain things go on for profitit can really be a frightening, unsafe environment. What really gets under my skin is when customers think they can confide in me their unwanted, disgusting opinions of dancers. The sad reality of being a cocktail waitress or bottle girl at strip frmale these waitrssses is that we often make more than the dancers themselves. My first night as a cocktail waitress was one of the most terrifying nights of my life. Femalf I quickly became desensitized to it all. Nothing really fazes me at this point- and especially not nudity or scantily-clad clothing.
There are two types of looks that I usually receive after telling people I work in a strip club, prior to clarifying that I am a only waitress. The first one is the surprised, but fairly intrigued one. The second one is the glance of disgust, followed by a full head-to-toe eye scan of my body. Why the hell would I ever choose to work in such weird, sexualized and oh-so-wrong environment? Why would I choose to spend my Friday and Saturday nights in a place full of booze and nakedness? Why, oh why. Here is 7 points explaining what is it really like being a waitress in a strip club:. Some nights you will be able to make up for your crappy wages in tips. The likelihood of earning the extra cash, and the amount earned will vary depending on the location and status of your club. As well as your looks, interpersonal skills and luck. Customers will ask you if you are a stripper. They will ask if you can dance for them and some will even offer you huge amounts of money for it. Regardless of the fact that you are wearing the lowest heels in the world, full body covering outfit and a pair of shaping tights. Situation similar to the above, except that in this scenario, drunk men will want to and attempt to grab your ass. Sometimes more than just your ass, and very often not just yours. Thank fuck for security. There are a couple of stages you are most likely to go through as a new waitress starter in the strip land. The awkward one, where looking at half-naked women for 8 hours straight is still kind of a nuisance. Pole dancing can look extremely appealing and deceivingly easy. Piece of cake. You will definitely hear some interesting stories. Stories of how George has made his millions, which he is currently blowing away on bottles of brut champagne and 4-hour-long lap dances. Stories that you could not care about any less, but you listen to anyway.
«Dancers» who offer «extras» ruin it for everybody
I first started working at the strip club as a waitress. My «interview» was me walking into a cluttered manager’s office, on the top floor of a downtown club. The manager took one look at me and then called a different manager of another club to tell him «I have a beautiful girl for you that will be dancing in no time.
That’s any strip club’s goal, essentially: to find more dancers to bring in more clients to make them more money. In an attempt to meet this goal, they take conventionally pretty girls, dress them in what can only be defined as lingerie, ask them to work eight hours on their feet for minimum wage while other clubw make thousands upon thousands of dollars a night all around them, in the hopes the struggling waitress will eventually say «this isn’t worth it» and start dancing.
I can’t lie, it was extremely tempting. Wwaitresses of the women I watched, night in and night out, looked like they were having so much fun while simultaneously securing a small fortune. I took a job at a strip club and was willing to wear next to nothing, because I was dangerously poor. The start-up I was working for folded, I had a part-time office job that kept me washing my awitresses with hand soap and I was living in a big city where rent was criminal. Waitressing at a strip club was easy, gave me night hours so I could work more than one job at once and didn’t require as much training as a «normal» serving job because, well, it’s not difficult to bring drinks to men who couldn’t care less about their beverage.
So, watching other people count out hundreds if stdip thousands of dollars after only working for a few hours was nothing short of alluring. Self-consciousness is a funny thing though, and I didn’t like my body enough to showcase it naked on a stage.
So, instead, I excelled at my job until the manager noticed I was somewhat reliable and promoted me to bartender. The hours were slightly longer but I didn’t have to walk the floor, I could hide behind the bar where my derriere wasn’t as visible and, most goof, I could watch. When I wasn’t ringing up champagne rooms or slinging drinks, I leaned up against the bar and watched gorgeous women weave their sexuality into some kind of all-powerful tractor beam of potential pleasure.
And I watched the men who were powerless to control it. He had his favorite and he would wait for her, politely declining dance propositions from other women, until she was available.
She would give him one, maybe two dances, but the rest of the time she would sit on his lap and talk. For hours, that is all they vemale. The metal of his wedding ring would glisten as the lights of the stage would flash and turn, highlighting his smile as he genuinely clung to every word the dancer said.
He was possibly lonely, definitely sad and it was clear that spending thousands of dollars for a small portion of a stranger’s time and attention made him feel better. A part of me assumed monwy was a widower.
The other, more pessimistic part of me, believed ag married for at least 30 years and so devastatingly out of love, he was too exhausted to do anything about it. I watched young men come in and throw hundreds of dollars around, mimicking a scene from some rap music video they’ve seen at least 20 times. For the few hours they were do female waitresses at strip clubs make good money the club they seemed so powerful and rich and happy, but I’d continue to watch them as their friends started to leave, one by one.
I’d watch them as they signed their final bill, a sadness rushing to their cheeks, because they knew as well as I did that the allusion was coming to an end. The sun would rise and the comforting darkness wouldn’t be able to hide their emptiness or self-doubt or whatever it was they were so desperately trying to mask.
These guys made me sad and angry. I felt bad for them, that they had sufficiently bought into a particular brand of masculinity and have found themselves enslaved to it. I felt angry, that they believed it okay to use money and women to make themselves feel better about their own perceived shortcomings. I watched nervous men who were pressured by boisterous friends, uncomfortable and unsure. It was obvious they didn’t want to be there and didn’t fit into that kind of environment but, waaitresses, felt trapped by misguided obligation.
If they said something, they were labeled «pussies» or «gay» or both, so they’d force a smile and hesitantly laugh and white-knuckle their way through the evening. I watched angry men, who felt the need to take out their sexual frustrations or recent rejections on women they deemed «less. I watched women who loved what they did and found stripping to be an expression of their beauty and self-love and sexuality. I watched other women who stripped because they were severely convinced that it was the only thing they were good at.
Their self-esteem was tied securely to their body and their ability to use it. And sadly, Ag watched a few women who stripped because it was a means to an gooc and an easy way to sustain a drug or alcohol habit.
I would hope and wish for them because it was painfully obvious they didn’t mkae or wish at all and those are the women I think of the. Night after night until I found a decent paying job and left the club for good, I watched humans interacting in a sometimes ridiculous but arguably completely natural way. I learned so much about men and women and how powerful my body is or, at the very least, could be, when and if I decided to love it. I learned how to make my behind jiggle way before Miley Cyrus did it on stage and I learned that if I arch my back in this one particular way, my stomach will appear at least three sizes smaller than it actually is.
I learned that lighting is. I learned how to stop a fight without getting physical and how to compliment a woman on something other than her looks. I learned how to hide illegal drug use and how to turn down an advance monsy a way that seems seductive. I learned about sex and love and how they can be completely separate for some, and so intrinsically linked for. I learned about healing and determination and I learned a lot about money.
But mostly, I learned that the stigma surrounding female sexuality is what continues to ensure businesses like strip cubs are thriving, successful enterprises. I’ve learned that we’ve convinced a large population of women that their sexuality is wrong, that their bodies are shameful and that if they love their bodies they’re «whores,» just so that others can secure a profit. I learned that the allure of any strip club isn’t necessarily the naked women or the passionate lap dances, but the palpable feeling of taboo secrecy.
So much of the experience is rooted in the idea that it is exciting because it is «bad,» and the women are «bad» because they’re exciting. I learned that a woman’s power doesn’t come from she shape of her body or how naked she is willing to be or how attractive she is considered by the opposite sex. No, her real power comes from being unapologetically herself, and owning every facet of her being in a way that says, «I am proud» instead of «I am ashamed».
Woman pole-dancing, low section. As you could probably guess, they’re successful a large percent of the time. Calling all HuffPost superfans! Sign up for membership to become a founding member and help shape HuffPost’s next chapter.
Join HuffPost. Today is National Voter Registration Day!
Waitressing at a STRIP CLUB!!!! (Pros & Cons)
Basically what the title says. Did the girls get a long? What kind of drinks did guys order? If we are talking crazy interesting I would say this time that a guy threatened to kill himself because he was in love with a dancer. It was not drunk BS, he did really love her and we were all scared. The place that I was working was upscale so the girls were even more careful. I know that two girls started dating customers .