Flashback...Interview

Doug was the manager. I first met him on that fateful Tuesday, after interviewing for a waitress position at the lesbian country western bar next door. The gay boy wearing wranglers told me I was perfect, and they would hire me next month -- when the current waitress moved to California.

Shit, shit, shit!!! I needed money yesterday.

As I waited to turn out of the parking lot, I noticed the strip club had a sign posted, "Waitress Wanted". I threw it in reverse.

Inside, the bartender I would later know as Rachel brought my resume into the back rooms. She came out a few minutes later. "Dougie wants to talk to you."

Feeling as if I were falling like Alice, through the black painted hallways and into a black painted office with a couple of lamps, a couple of faux leather easy chairs and a very, very long desk. There was Doug. He stood to shake my hand. His hand was white, flabby, soft and clammy. He stood about an inch and a half taller than me, making him about 5'5''. He was chubby in a gross, wimpy way, kind of like the pillsbury doughboy. All of this obvious dorkiness, yet the overwhelming quality he emitted was unfounded arrogance.

"I used to manage 3 Chuck E. Cheese's before Jonas and Mike recruited me to run this place," he proudly announced, running his limp sausage fingers over his de riguer band t-shirt like a pigeon preening. I thought to myself, if this were true:

A: Why kind of idiot brags about managing a Chuck E. Cheese while interviewing someone and

B: What kind of sick misogynist fucks were Jonas and Mike, to recruit a guy from a kids' playground of bad pizza and video games to manage a couple of dozen women who found themselves dancing naked?

Doug continued, "I looked over your resume. You can waitress if you want but you won't make much money. You could be a dancer. I need someone else for the afternoon shift. You could start tomorrow at four, and work until ten. Most dancers stay later if they're making money but you have to stay at least until 10."

"What would you pay me?"

"Your payment is the opportunity to work at this pleasant establishment. You pay the house $20 or ten percent of your earnings each night, whichever is higher. That goes to the bouncers, because they protect you from all of the drunk, horny customers. You'll also want to tip out the bartender about 10 or 20 bucks each night. We expect you to sell drinks but you don't have to drink alcohol. Maybe it's too early for you, so when you start your shift tell the bartender not to send you any booze until you say. Right away a guy offers to buy you a drink and you ask for a Grey Goose screwdriver. The bartender sends you a glass of $10 orange juice at a $9.50 profit, and the guy is happy. He buys dances because he thinks you're getting drunk. But you can't have sex with the customers on the premesis. It's illegal. Also, no whoring in the parking lot. You don't look like the type, but it happens. You'll get fired."

"From a job I'm not getting a paycheck for? Besides, I didn't say yes to dancing." It seemed like crossing a giant moral line. Then again, I had been a hippie chick and had certainly run around enough topless. Doug explained that you wear a thong to cover your ladythings, because this club sold alcohol. I didn't like the way dancers had to pay the club like some kind of pimp but it sounded like I would make my rent money within a couple of days. If I waitressed, it would probably take more than a week and I'd be in the same environment, with the same gross men, only schlepping drinks.

"All right, Doug, I'll try it out for a week and see how it goes."

"OK. You'll need to pick a stage name. You also need to get some of this." He pulled what looked like a blottle of white nail polish out of the desk drawer. "It's a latex pastie. You can get it at most costume shops. There's a decent one one Central and Lomas. You paint it on you nipples and it dries clear like Elmer's Glue. Some of the girls mix it with lipstick. You can ask them for help in the dressing room. Jasmine and Mary Jane and Brandy are pretty nice. Some of the girls are crazy, drunk or mean -- or just plain bitches."

"Why do we have to wear that?"

"Oh, it's a law. Some nutjob in the state legislature got it passed a few years back. All women of an age in which they might be capable of lactating must seal their nipples with latex in the presence of open containers of alcoholic beverages or some nonsense. You also need to think about your costume. You want something that will turn a man on enough to buy dances and give you money. I'm going to tell you a secret because I sense you are a respectable person, unlike most dancers. I have a good sense of people. Go buy some fringed white boots. Fringed white boots are hot. You'll make a million dollars! See you tomorrow at 4 o'clock."

White-fringed boots? What an asshole!