Flashback: The Beginning

Aug 24

I was asked the other night, “How on earth, did someone like you: a minister’s daughter, straight as an arrow A+ student…end up dancing.”

Well, it certainly wasn’t something that I planned.  Nor was it a career highlighted by my high school guidance counselor.  Although in my opinion, it should be.

Simple, I wanted to afford to eat. 

Not kidding.

It was October 1999.  I had just moved 3300 miles across the country to be with Mr Wrong.  Six weeks after arriving in the armpit town of San Bernardino, CA I found out just how WRONG Mr Wrong was for me.

My whopping teacher’s salary just barely covered the necessities of rent, car, insurance.  Even worse, my district paid me in one lump sum on the 1st of the month.  Now what 23 year old actually knows how to budget??

So I began browsing the classifieds for a bartending job.  I had worked in bars since I was 18.  It had been the only way I knew to circumnavigate the 21 to enter rule.  Never made sense to me: 18 to serve alcohol, 21 to drink it?  Unfortunately, it’s tough to walk into an established place and tell them that you can only work the good weekend shifts because you have a “real” job. 

Then I came across a well written ad: No nudity. Bikini Dancers needed. Spearmint Rhino Upland, CA.

Ok, what’s this about?  For anyone not familiar with California liquor licensing, “topless” bars are topless onstage only.  The topless zone is 6 feet from the tip rail for the 2nd song only.  Most clubs even have this line marked out on the floor to avoid tickets from the contact police.  All table dances are done fully clothed in bikinis.  Sweet!  I can do that!  Topless for 3 minutes, the rest of the time fully clothed?  I’m in!

So I drove 60 miles to Upland, CA.  I figured an hour was a good enough buffer from the elementary school where I taught 5th grade Monday-Friday.  I didn’t want to run into any parents or the creepy vice-principal for that matter.

“Hi,” I said to the doorgirl, “I think I’d like to work here.  Who do I talk to about auditioning?” 

She gave me the once over, turned around to the short redheaded guy behind her.  “John, you wanna take this one, she passes.”

I pass?  Pass what? 

Two seconds later, I was looking down at the short redheaded guy in the foyer of the club.  “Hi, I’m John, the general manager, have you ever danced before?”

“Honestly….ummmm….no I haven’t.  But I do have a college degree.” I replied.

“Good for you!  We need a smart one!”  He smiled looking me up and down.  I had seen more than one bad porno about the strip club manager “auditioning” new girls in the office and was ready to bolt out the door at the first sign of a scandal.  To my relief, John was very professional.  It was NOTHING like that.

“Do I need to audition?”  I asked.  “I brought a bikini, but it’s a regular beach bikini, not a stripper one.”  OMG, did I actually say that sentence out loud?

“No, don’t worry about it.  You don’t need to audition, I can tell that you’re fit just from your street clothes.”  He said, handing me two business cards.  “Go three stores down to the bikini shop, this card will get you 20% off your first purchase there.  This is my card.  Call me if you have any questions. You can start whenever you want.”

Wow…it was that easy?

So I went to the bikini shop and started trying on stripper clothes. The fitting rooms had a black light inside, so we could see just how florescent that neon pink gstring was. 

I hate to admit it, but my first stripper costume was HIDEOUS!  In the late 90s I was on a yellow kick.  I drove a yellow Jeep Wrangler, I had a yellow cellphone, and of course, my yellow Lab.  So, of course, I chose a neon yellow string bikini with butterfly appliques on the triangle top and the front of the gstring.  For some reason I thought a short sleeve black robe would look good over top. 

Wait, it gets worse…Unable to balance on standard issue 6 inch platform stilettos.  I decided to instead wear 5 inch clunky chunky glittery black mary jane shoes from Hot Topic.  What was I thinking?

My first night.  God I was nervous! 

Due to lovely SoCal traffic I showed up 30 minutes late.  John wasn’t working that night, instead a big black guy named Manny was the manager on duty.

“Um, hi!  Remember me from Wednesday?” I said to the door girl.  She rolled her eyes, “Manny!  New girl!”

“Can’t you see I’m busy ho!” He looks up from the solitaire screen.  Then he turns his attention to me.  “Girl, go get dressed and meet me here in costume in 10 minutes ok?”

“OK, where is the dressing room?” I asked.

“There ain’t no dressing room in this hole.  The baf-room is over there.”  He said motioning for me to walk around the corner.

OK.  I walk into the bathroom.  There were about 8 girls in various stages of undress.  Some doing their makeup, others counting their cash.  Suitcases and duffle bags were stacked up against the only available wall and under the dual sinks.

I put on my (ugh) neon yellow butterfly bikini, black robe, and hideous black glitter shoes and go out to meet Manny at the office. 

“OK, here is your paperwork.  Read it.  Sign it.  What’s your stage name going to be?”  he asks.

Stage name.  I had fun toying with names all week.  Being a stripper is soooo cool, you can totally invent a new personality for yourself, which can be personified through various stage names.  Samantha brings to mind a sultry vixen.  Barbie, of course a bubbly blonde.  Mercedes, a high maintenance bitch.

“Bailey” I decided, after my favorite spirit.

“Taken.”

“Ohhh…ummm…” my mind went blank.  I was so set on Bailey that the other names just flew outta my head.

“I think you should be Angel since you’re so innocent.”  Manny said.  Angel.  I like that.  And I can tell guys my real name is Angela.  They’ll never know!

“Angel it is.” 

“All right then.  Paperwork is done, you can go work now.” Manny said, turning back to the office.

Ummm, what?  Go work.  How.  What?  What do I do?  Manny must have sensed my panic.  He took one look at ashen face and gave me a pitiful smile.  “How about I get one of the girls to show you around?  OK?”

“Thank you.”  I managed to squeek.

He grabbed the first girl who walked by. ”Mariah, will show you around.”  he said.

“Uh, Mariah will show new girl around if Mariah gets a free house fee for doing Manny’s job so Manny can get back to playing solitaire.” the petite hispanic brunette quipped back.  She winked at me.  Phew, the last thing I want to do is end up on someone shit list my first night.

Manny nodded.  Mariah took my hand and walked me into the showroom.  She rattled off the dos and don’t of lap dances.  She introduced me to Pam the bartender, who became my SoCal hairdresser. 

Then she took me to the DJ booth to sign in.  DJ Geeno’s eyes lit up.  “Fresh meat for ya Geeno.” Mariah joked slipping him a $20.  “Geeno counts your dances.  On the books, he gets $1 per dance, the house gets $1 per dance, and the unwritten rule is that the manager get 50 cents per dance. But if you take care of him, he takes care of you.”

So I’m really only making $7.50 per lap dance.  Plus the house fee, plus the security tip out.  And the club runs 2- for-1 and 3-for-1 specials every half hour.  Thats a lot of dances.  I’m glad my clunky Hot Topic shoes are comfy.

TBC 

Tags: audition, first night, lapdance, nervous, scared, spearmint rhino, strip club, stripper