I always make fun of Vinnie when he requests a wake up call. We have an alarm clock, do we really need a call too?
The crappy alarm clock at my obnoxiously overpriced $145/nite room at The Four Queens didn’t go off this morning. I woke up at 9:55. My flight home was at 11. I didn’t even bother doing the bolt out of bed and do the try to make it dance. I wasn’t going to make it. I also missed my opportunity to take profits on the puts I bought yesterday afternoon. So instead of catching 14 pts on Google, I only caught 4 before the short-covering rally.
Mackenzie was heading home via automobile, and was more than happy to have company for the long drive across the Mojave desert….but I HATE long car trips. They exhaust me. I did that drive up the 93 once when I first moved to Phoenix in 2002. Just give me a Starbucks, my laptop, and wifi and I can sit in an airport all day. If I didn’t have to work my “real” job Friday morning, I totally would have worked another night at Treasures. I love tractor guys.
So I switched to the 2:30 flight and had time to putz around Vegas. I deposited cash at my bank’s local Vegas branch, had chicken tacos at Chipotle, and perused a Vegas Real Estate book. 3 nights @ a crappy hotel set me back over $400 (granted Mackenzie split it with me) but I can buy a 2 BR condo for $120K. Given the current economic outlook for Phoenix, I have a feeling I’ll be spending more time at Treasures in the upcoming months.
I found my stride at Treasures. It takes me a few shifts to figure out the nuances of each individual club. Sometimes (not always) upselling the 3-for-$100 VIP dances is not effective if I have to wait 4 songs for a couch to open up and 2 songs for the waitress to bring our drinks and the VIP Host to charge his card. In such cases, I find it more effective to negotiate a similar rate for a block of dances. Last night I just took guys one by one up to the SkyBar VIP where there were plenty of empty wingback chairs and no drink minimum.
It was solidly packed from 9:30 til I limped out at 4:30. I danced every single available song from 10-4. At one point I had to pee so bad, but I couldn’t make it across the floor to the bathroom without a tractor guy flagging me down and giving me another Jackson.
Sometimes it’s downright entertaining to be stone cold sober at 3:30 AM in a Vegas strip club. Drunk men say the stupidest things. It’s even funnier when you’re sober and giggly from exhaustion. They actually form sentences like Wow. You’re tall! or Your boobs are huge! and even I ain’t seen nothin’ like you before honey! I can’t tell you how many times I had to inform the tracter guys that they weren’t imaginary. “Cause imaginary boobs are the worst kind!” tee hee!
Moreover, I work with women from so many different walks of life: cokeheads, potheads, vegans, graduate students, drop-outs, single moms, fashionistas, former WalMart cashiers, bored rich daddy’s girls, just off the boat immigrants. Which one did the stereotype of stripper come from?
Tags: business, ConExpo, convention, las vegas, strip club, stripper