Some notes and observations:
I went to a location in Orange County (and told the owner I would not disclose the location, FYI.) Photos are also allowed for the amateur night portion ONLY, but NOT from the front row. Common to most clubs, no photography or video is allowed with the professionals. There are about 155 gals who dance at this particular location, 15 of which were on duty the night I came. They range vastly, more than what I have ever seen before, likely due to the mix of people in Southern California. Big butts, small butts, no butts . . no boobs, big boobs, etc. Sounds like an X-rated Dr. Seuss book, if you’re savvy to the reference. Every color, every size, and a range from about 21 years of age to upper 30s. Some with entire tattoo work, others with not a piercing. Indeed, some you’d say “look” like a stripper. I met one dancer who’s been at it for 11 years, and she refers to her pole work as her “art.” The audience, as typical, was also an array of guys. Some I didn’t think were legal and others I wondered if they could legally still drive. As the “amateur” portion of the night started, the crowd had many more women and folks who did not seem to be usual patrons.
This is the first time I spent hours watching several dancers/being in a strip club. Truth be told, I thought, “Damn. It’s great to a be a woman.” Women are just lovely to look at and can bend, sway and roll beyond what most men could ever attempt. I thought, “Would I want to see a man dance like that?” No, the answer is a clear no, at least for me. Since I did some pole dancing classes in the past, I also had a little base of insight in knowing how difficult techniques are. You could certainly tell the strata of skill and this was not a “hot will cut it” establishment.
When I came it, I first whisked to the back door office of the owner, who presented a number of forms, copied my license, asked what my stripper name was and so forth. I requested Bambi, which he scoffed at, saying that was too typical and that they already had Bambi on the floor this night. So I went with Bam Bam. Thanks, Micha Mikailian for that one. ;)
The owner has been in the business 17 years. I said, “Dude. That’s a ton of boobies.” He replied, “I don’t EVEN see em anymore. It’s just, well . . tits.” We laughed. The back office is rather cliche. Massive wads of dollars bills are piled lazily on the desk. The girls’ schedules are posted on the wall, complete with hearts and stars doodles. A big monitor captures several security camera’s view of the internal and external areas of the club. The owner talks with his three security dudes often on his little mic piece. I was wondering why so much conversation was warranted, but it was a busy night for lap dances, which the security guys monitor closely for fair play, payment, and so forth.
Now. This was “amateurs’ night.” This is a misnomer, however, as really it is AUDITION night for this club. About 20 women were present for this evening of try-outs. When the boss was reviewing the stringent set of rules and everyone seemed to know “the drill,” I asked, “Is this anyone’s FIRST night on a pole?” Nope. Not a single one. One girl said, “Girl, I’ve been doing this shit 5 years now. I just come for the money now that ___other club______ got shut down after that police rad two months ago.”
I now find many of these experiences so amusing, realizing at the point of really no return that I am horridly over my head. Better yet, that I am once again the humble student, this time with my masters who have bedazzled 5 inch stilettos on.
Local regulation requires that amateur performers wear two thongs, a boy short, AND cropped tights. You can remove two pair, but that’s it. Many girls thought this was quite crappy. You must also stay precisely in the 6-foot box on the stage and accept tips, palms out, from patrons. No cuddling or motor boating, at all. Topless is fine, but best mid-way in your song, I learned, so you can build up to a great moment, some said. “You don’t just want to toss em out there, girllll. Oooh, no,” said one. If you want a job, it will be offered IF it is of interest to the club and immediately after your performance. No follow-ups, and do not ask the DJ or the owner. “I have a million asses to watch tonight,” said the owner. This is perhaps the strip club notion of “I have a million things to do today,” I thought.
All the ladies are lined up on the side of the stage, and the DJ calls up each one for their three-minute song. A security guy sweeps the floor after each dance for the dollar bills. The stage is literally showered with bills rather consistently. Again, these women are not shabby. And! Quite pleasant and encouraging.
I was inspired by Jenna Dewan’s Lip Sync Battle performance of Pony and did an interpretation of that performance along with the center stage pole and obviously, nothing but underwear. (If you’re not familiar, then enjoy that one.) Fun and filthily was my theme, not coy and cute or seductive and sweet, but all ladies had their styles and it was fun (?!) to watch each kind. My little act, which seemed to last WAYYYY longer than three minutes, but such is the time warp of stage performance, I’ve learned, was well received, and I made about 70 bucks in tips. Many things went NOT to order, of course, but a lot of girls swapped stories incessantly about mishaps when we were getting ready in a glaring light of the locker room.
I was dancer 5 at about 10:45 pm, and I didn’t want to stick around for the remaining 15 dances. Upon leaving, now back in full clothing, I was approached by one of the apparent managers who asked if I was SURE I didn’t want a job. “We’d love to have you here full-time,” I said I had a day job, but thank you so kindly.
When I busted out of the door, I felt like I just exited an R-rated, raunchy though humanly kind rabbit hole. Worth the trip.