Last Spring, I was getting ready for work, and recieved a text from my boss saying I was let go. Fired via text message! Do you believe that shit? I was using the flat iron when I learned of this, and right then found my first gray hair. Unemployed and getting old, great start to my day. My sniffly phone call to my boyfriend was met with zero sympathy. That's because I'd been bartending at a seedy strip bar, and me being outta there was just peachy with him. I yanked out the offending gray and looked on the bright side. I'd been canned because I'd flatly refused to start wearing stripper costumes behind the bar. I don't care how good the money is, no way am I working in a metallic bikini top and neon ruffle that's supposed to be a skirt with the sides of my thong out saying Hello. I'l just collect unemployment and be happy I don't work in a place that reeks of Amber Romance anymore.

You've probably noticed by now that Portland has a buttload of strip bars. And for 18 months I bartended in one. Working in one of those places is a whole new can of worms. There are some parts that are better than a regular bar. And other parts...well, now i understand why strip club employees have such short fuses.

Good stuff first. From a bartender standpoint, making the tip is easier. Most people are there to drop money. Cash, mainly. Can't have the Tasty Trollop Club showing up on the bank statement for the wifey to see. The tip is usually more and, my favorite part, they leave you alone and watch the show. They're here to see spinning nakedness, not you. Fine by me! They usually show up in a good mood and, if you can tolerate the atmosphere, you can make a ton on busy nights. The dancers are the ones who typically have to deal with bad customer behavior.

Now the trying stuff. And a lot of this had to do with how the bar I worked at was ran. Strippers love to flake on their shifts. You aren't going to make any money if 3 of the 5 strippers scheduled that night no-show to go to the Mickey Avalon concert. Sometimes I'd work and the would be no strippers at all. They'd scheduled and just didn't come. Thanks, sluts. Maybe you can explain to my landlord that I'm late on rent because you had hangovers and blew off work. And the whining! It's in constant Surround Sound with this crowd.  Boohoo, no one's tipping you. Step up your game then. Maybe try not looking bored and play songs the crowd might like instead of the same ones over and over. Either way, you're still going to make more than me, and the only thing you have to clean is the pole. So get on your prepaid phone and call someone who cares.

The task of cleaning the dressing room also fell to the bar staff. The strippers certainly won't do it. This can get downright disgusting. Why? Two words: Pussy wipes. Toilet paper sticks to you and glows brilliantly in the black light, so baby wipes are used to clean their nether regions. What do they do with them afterward? Throw them on the floor. For me to pick up. Charming. Oh, I see Desiree isn't pregnant after all. Yay. Sometimes one would pass out cold on the floor and I would have to vacuum around them. Since you can't leave till everyone's out, you have to revive her and get her dressed and into her ride's car. What invariably happens? "WAAAAAA! No don't touch me! Leave me alone! WAAAA! WAAAAA!!" Now she's crying and uncooperative, and you're like, "Bitch, I just want to go home!" So you, the bouncer and/or the DJ have to bodily carry her and her shit out while trying to not get impaled on her shoes. You know the part in Zombieland where they push the dead body over the wall, then Purell their hands? Very similar scenario here. You don't like having to touch that, but sometimes you have to. Besides, if she pukes, that has to get cleaned too.

Speaking of Purell, working there will turn you into a 24-carat germophobe. Especially as the night wears on and the girls get sweaty, smelly, and the drugs they took are kicking in. The patrons are even more questionable. Then you have to cash in their grubby dollar bills that have touched God-knows-what. That's why you'll see bar staff obsessively washing their hands and a big bottle of hand sanitizer on standby. No Gonosyphaherpewarts of the hands for me, thanks. What's that, Cherry lost her makeup bag and wants to use mine? Ah, NO.

Woe is you if management designates you to collect stage fees. This quickly takes you from cool bartender to the Wicked Witch of the West. They complain about how mean YOU are for extorting their money. And if you don't do it, you'll be replaced by someone who will. So it becomes a clash of wills with the strippers stalling and being upset about paying and you having to pry the fees from them slumlord style, and you don't even get to keep any.

And, it must be said, 80% of all strippers are gross. Dirty, drugged out, spun. Bar staffer's typically aren't poster children for clean living, but stripping takes it to a whole 'nother level. Once a wasted stripper's tacky knockoff purse toppled over and her doctor's appointment card fell out. It said her PID/Chlamydia test results would be available Tuesday. It was Saturday and here she was putting her vag in people's faces and letting guys finger her during private dances. Buyer beware.

Now, you strippers who do none of these things, good for you. I'm sure you don't like the bad apples either. Your job is very hard and you deserve the money you make. As for the rest of you, if you find any of this offensive, prove me wrong. Here's an I, Anonymous I submitted to the Mercury after a particularly trying night. They didn't run it. Guess it was too scathing even for them.

                                                             I, Anonymous

                                                   Shove Your Stripper Drama

OK, I bartend at a strip club because no other place was hiring. It's alright except for the fucking strippers. Some are cool, but not many. The rest of you live like nasty feral cats. Then you whine at ME about your problems. Guess what? I DON"T GIVE A FUCK. You decided to be a dancer and discovered spreading eagle for strangers has drawbacks? TOO BAD. I don't sympathize with the predicaments you put yourselves in. I only pretend to like you. Your lifestyle and drug habits and body spray stench and abusive boyfriends disgust me. Just do your damn job and entertain the customers so they don't go to the better strip club down the road. Sick of showing pink to nasty guys who don't tip? Here's an idea: Make better decisions about the jobs you take. There are ways to make a living that don't entail putting your taint on display. I don't want to get in your pants, so don't bug me. And SHUT THE FUCKING DOOR WHEN YOU GO TO THE BATHROOM!