Not Enough Strippers

It was 8pm on a Thursday, which is a special hour. Neither early enough for the dayshift gyals, nor late enough for the night shift strippers: 8pm at the strip club is a notoriously sleepy hour. A few strippers lounged on the vacant VIP couches, waiting like beached mermaids for a customer to walk in, worthy of putting away their phones. The rest hid away on the smoking patio or in their cars, sneaking a quick nap before the 11p rush.

I took one of the VIP couches facing the entrance so that I could keep an eye on traffic in between answering emails. I hoped a lone man would show up, looking for half an hour in a private room. Instead a group of men arrived wearing a mix of suits and Casual Friday attire, looking a bit sheepish as they surveyed the mostly empty club. I hate groups for a number of reasons, but primarily because it’s intimidating walking up to a pack of men solo. There were maybe ten of them and only one of me, which, fantastic as I may be, one stripper to ten men is a bad ratio for a party. Unless there's an eager man thirsty enough to snag the single stripper, most of the time the first stripper to approach the group is shooed away, told to return later. That, or the group asks the awkward question, “Where are the rest of the girls,” to which there is no satisfying answer. They aren’t present and I don’t have a stripper bat signal I can put out to summon them. Usually I just say, “they’re hiding,” which is not entirely untrue. Something people don’t understand is that many strippers are very shy. I’m not the only one by any stretch. A solid half of the dancers at my club spend their shifts hiding in the dressing room, avoiding men out of a fear of rejection and insecurity around small talk. Most of the rest drink, hoping for some liquid courage. It’s not easy talking to strangers, especially in lingerie.

“Selena to the DJ booth!”

It was time for someone to put on a show, and apparently I was the chosen sacrifice. I glanced over at the group of men, distracted as they negotiated who sat where in the VIP booth. Maybe they would notice me, maybe I’d just be used as filler for the all-too-quiet early club atmosphere. Two brave strippers walked over and introduced themselves to the group. Usually, I prefer to wait until the group is broken up a bit before making an introduction.

“Hey sweetie, what can I play for you?”

Julio is chill. No strip club DJ is The Best DJ, but Julio was better than the others because he didn’t have an ego about it. He’d been DJing at my club for over a decade. It wasn’t the job of his dreams. He told me in his free time he didn’t listen to anything, he preferred silence. Being a DJ had robbed him of his love of music. It seemed like a cruel fate, but I could relate. Stripping has robbed me of a bit of my eroticism, a price I hadn’t expected to pay when I signed up.

“Number 1 and number 5, please and thank you,” I smiled.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Appreciate you. Dino’s here and he’s gonna chew me out if I don’t put a girl on stage. Hopefully these guys are good tippers.”

“I get it, no worries.”

“What kind of lights do you want?”

“Purple.”

“You got it.”

None of the men looked up when I took the stage. I clicked my heels and did my normal flips and spins, but all to no avail. They milled about talking to each other, or wandered off for one thing or another, and the rest were awkwardly chatting with the two courageous strippers. The principle of Too Many Men And Not Enough Strippers was in full effect. The strippers seemed to be slowly backing away and the men’s postures appeared more and more closed off. Their arms were crossed, their bodies angled away, their gaze looked off away from the dancers. It was painful to witness.

I gathered my discarded lingerie and purse, and intentionally walked by the group, testing to see whose eyes would follow me. I looked back, catching a White man’s eye. He was a stocky little thing in a navy polo shirt with pink trim. I didn’t know if he was Looking or if he was just looking, but it was a start.

I returned from the dressing room, “clothed” again. The other strippers had abandoned ship. Fantastic. I took a breath and walked over, hoping my discomfort wouldn’t show. The men hardly acknowledged me. A few looked over briefly, the rest continued their conversations without pause. I decided my in was the short White guy. I squatted in front of him.

“Hi! Can I sit on you?”

He snorted awkwardly, looking around in disbelief, “Uh, yeah I guess.”

It was like he needed to survey the group for an answer.

“What’s your name?” I asked, settling into his lap.

“Devin. What’s yours?”

“I’m Selena. Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah”

Devin looked away, checking out another dancer walking by. It was already going poorly. I could feel my time being wasted, and yet I was there. I might as well shoot my shot.

“You named after the singer?” a man standing beside him asked.

I craned my neck to look up. This guy seemed a little better. He was at least smiling.

“Yeah!” I half yelled, trying to project up to him.

“You sing?” he asked.

“Kinda, but not like that.”

“Oh.”

I turned back to Devin. He squinted at me with eyes I recalled were referred to as “predator eyes”: tiny and cast under the shadow of a heavy brow.

“So how do y’all know each other?” I asked.

“We work together.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“Investment stuff.”

“What kind of investment stuff?”

“All of it.”

I felt like I was in a desert, wanting a single drop of a conversation I could latch onto.

“We handle business investments, not so much for individuals unless they’re a sizable investor.”

Devin smirked at the man and rolled his eyes.

“Like she knows what you’re talking about, bro. C’mon. We’re at a strip club.”

“C’mon, bro. She asked.”

“I know it’s not sexy, but I was curious,” I said.

“You married? Got any kids?” a third man asked.

“No and no. You?”

“Yeah,” he replied sadly, “Don’t do it. Everybody wants kids, but then once you have them, you realize you can’t have fun anymore.”

“That’s unfortunate,” I frowned.

“Damn Seth, why you gotta be such a bummer?” Devin scoffed, “Selena, why don’t you give my boy a lap dance?”

I looked up at Seth, unsure of what to do.

Seth waved his hand, “No, she’s all yours, bro. You know Shannon has a nose like a bloodhound.”

“You know how we could get some alcohol over here?” the unnamed friendly bro asked.

“What’s your name?”

“Simon, sorry I didn’t introduce myself.”

Devin craned his neck to watch another dancer walk by. It was clear he was a deadend. I stood up, accepting defeat.

“We technically can’t serve alcohol here, but if you talk to that guy over there,” I pointed to a man sitting alone in a VIP booth, “He should be able to hook you up.”

“Thanks! When are you up on stage next?”

“Uhh… honestly I don’t know. I was just on stage not too long ago.”

“Damn, must-a just missed you. Come let me know next time and I’ll show you some love.”

“Sweet. Thanks.”