"I used to bartend at a club in college. One of the dancers, who was fairly new, was trying a new move on the pole where she hooked her leg around it and stretched her body out so she was parallel to the floor. Well, she fell on her face. There was a lot of blood. As the bouncer and I were helping her off the stage, one of the customers dipped his finger in it and tasted it."
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"I was a Las Vegas dancer for 10 years. This one dude entered my club and paid me $260 to just smell my hair. At first, I thought, 'Whoa! Easy money!' But about 10 minutes in of chit chat and hair smelling, he started growling."
"The absolute worst thing I ever saw as a club DJ (possibly in my entire life) happened at the fully nude place where I sometimes worked. The stage was about a four-foot by four-foot platform with a narrow catwalk leading up to it. If you sat on one side, you could high five someone on the other side without stretching too much. The DJ booth was about 10 feet behind all this and off to the side by the bar about three feet higher, so security and I could see the whole floor.
This one particular girl, tiny little thing asked for 'Dragula' to play while she was on stage. I knew when she was talking to me that she was messed up. To the point where cute doesn't matter anymore. Little did I know...
So Rob Zombie is thumping away, and she's on the little catwalk, fully nude by now, with a few guys on each side. She's bent over one guy, trying to pick up a dollar in her teeth while the guy behind her was getting the full view. Suddenly she grabbed out and barely caught the pole before she started retching all over the dude with the dollar. As he was directly underneath her head at the time, he did not escape at all. He looked like someone had dumped a bucket of sick on his head.
Which was still better than the guys behind the girl.
About half a second after she started puking, the other end erupted. She was Mt Vesuvius, spraying diarrhea all over the place. Reverse fingercuffs, projectile style. She even got some all the way up to the front of the DJ booth. She nailed three customers and two security guys without even looking.
I still have problems believing that volume of mass erupted from something so small, had I not seen and smelled it myself. Shudder."
"I am a former dancer. I started when I was 17 (fake ID and such), and it went on until I got married at 19 and had my son. I did go back for a short time about two years ago but ended up quitting and going into serving while I finished school.
This happened a month or two after I turned 18. I was working in the classiest (if you can call a club classy) club in my area. This guy came in by himself, mid-40s, not altogether bad looking, and seemed like a decent enough guy at first. As soon as I walked past him, he asked to buy me a drink. That got my interest because my least favorite part of my job was asking customers to shell out $30 for a drink.
He told me that he was recently divorced and that his son attended my high school (I did not tell him I was still in high school or where I went. He just told me where his son went to school). As he began to get more drinks in him, he got weirder and weirder. Since I was a younger girl, it was freaking me out.
At some point, he started grabbing my waist and talking about how tiny I was. I reminded him that touching was not allowed, even though I was clothed at the time.
About three hours in, and with him drinking the entire time, he leaned across the table and said, 'Do you know the difference between a man and an animal?'
I racked my brain for any response that didn't sound too stupid and came up with, 'Man is consciously able to control their number of offspring and animals are not?'
He said, 'No. When I make love to you, I can look into your eyes and connect with your soul. An animal cannot do that. You have child-bearing hips. I'd love to just lay in bed with you all day and make babies.'
My sister happened to be the bartender at this establishment, and it was a weekday, so we weren't too busy. I told her the guy was creeping me out and that unless we got busy, I was going to sit in the dressing room until he left. No dice. I'd been in there for maybe 10 minutes when he sent one of the other dancers back to get me. The managers of this place did not care about our feelings regarding our safety -- if there was a possibility that we would be making some money, we had to stick around.
He started to become belligerent, and I had to sit and listen. He then said, 'No matter what happens, do not let me not be with you. Don't let me leave without us being together.' I rather coldly told him that wouldn't happen and that I was going to be on my way. At that point, I was so aggravated and grossed out I didn't care if I got fired.
I left work at 11 p.m. I lived in a somewhat rural area, so it was uncommon for many cars to be on the road after 10 p.m. I noticed a car pull out behind me from the parking lot, but didn't think a whole lot about it at first. A few miles down the road, when I got to the point of my drive where I knew a car would only be behind me if they lived in that area, I started to get creeped out. Like I said, not a lot of cars out after 10 on weeknights in this area. I was being followed. I continued driving until I hit another town and kept going around the same block while this car followed me. Fortunately, I ended up coming upon a police car and followed it to a traffic light. I continued to follow it through a yellow light and the other car stopped at the red light. I went home, a little unsettled, and went to sleep.
The next day, I went to work as soon as I got out of school and he was outside with a friend. He started talking to me and I flat ignored him. He said, 'Can you not say hi? Why didn't you go home last night? Why did you drive around (insert town I drove around to get away from him)?' A chill went down my spine.
My sister was the bartender that let me in and I told her what happened. She was upset that he had tried to follow me, but couldn't refuse him entry to the bar. Every time I walked by him, he would loudly go, 'AHEM,' but I continued to ignore him.
Fortunately, I did not see this creep again. But to this day, I am weirded out by him."
"Last night was one of the crappiest nights I've ever worked. It was okay money wise, but I had to deal with some seriously annoying people. There was this young guy that kept following me around and butting into conversations with other customers, even though he had stopped tipping and I had walked away from him. He also thought it was funny to slide a five in my garter and then try to take it back. He'd even invite himself to sit at a table with me and another customer just to try and put his arm around me and act like he was my boyfriend. This, of course, did not make me happy and I told him so. That was just the beginning. The main event happened during my last set of the night.
I walked up on stage and had my back turned so I could set my purse against the mirror and away from any customers. As I was bending down, I felt something spray against the back of my legs. I turned around but couldn't figure out what it was. All I could see was a wasted guy sitting at the tip rail and an over-processed blonde girl sitting beside him. I shook it off and started dancing. Right before I bent down, this guy sneezed right on me. I mean, all over my legs. He didn't try to cover his mouth or turn his head to the side. He just let it fly. I was grossed out and stunned. Before I could even move, he sneezed on me two more times and proceeded to spit on the floor. He never said he was sorry or tried to tip me after he had basically spit all over me. I called him a name and picked up my crap to go farther down the stage. I also pointed him out to the girl next after me, loudly telling her he was a jerk and not to go near him unless she wanted to be bathed in spit.
After two songs were up, I made my way backstage. On my way there, I saw that the guy had spit about 10 gobs of mucus all over the floor by his chair. I gagged a little. I made it to the backstage and alerted our doorman that the guy was wasted and spitting on people and the floor. Our doorman was a nice guy and, even though the guy was one of his friends, he kicked out him and his whole group. They all walked past the backstage where I was dancing and flipped me off before they left.
I went to the back and bathed my legs in hand sanitizer and vented to my girls. I got to sit and talk to some friends for a while afterward, which brightened up my night a bit. I was so glad when they turned on the lights and I got to go home. The doorman promised to talk to the guy when he was sober and get him to apologize or give me some sort of restitution. I'm not getting my hopes up though."
"I'm an ex-dancer, so I have a few stories:
-There was a regular that smelled like bologna. He always bought at least five dances in a row from me. Once he asked if I would urinate on him, then in his mouth for extra money. I told him he would have to pay for a back room for me to do that. I wasn't going to pee all over a couch in the middle of the club. He declined the room.
-It was my first time giving a dance to a different regular. This man was one of the worst smelling people I've ever met. He asked if I would screw him while giving him a dance. I obviously said no. Then he asked if I would at least put my lips on it. Again I said no. 'Oh c'mon, you know you want to.' Luckily for me, he paid in advance. I stopped the dance right then and there and warned the other girls.
-The Outlaws (a motorcycle gang) frequented my club. On numerous occasions, they asked me to entertain at their clubhouse.
-Had a man ask if he could beat me with a belt while restrained in the back room. He offered $1,000 for a half hour. This I actually accepted. Once he was through beating me, he finished on my back, while I was still restrained. I did NOT agree to that. At least he threw in an extra $200."
"I worked at a shady club in my less than wise years.
Once, this girl came in absolutely wasted and was trying to look all hot in her eight-inch heels. When she got up on the stage, she looked like she was on ice skates. She tried to provocatively crawl on a guy, lost her hand placement and face planted on the floor. Her whole body clumsily fell off the stage like a dead fish and she just laid there.
A lot of girls that work in clubs have addiction problems (obviously). This one dancer went up to the bar and asked for a warm bottle of water and went into the bathroom. About five minutes later, another dancer came running out of the bathroom, freaking out. I wanted to see what all the commotion was, so I ran into the bathroom. Blood and vomit were everywhere. A girl was hunched in the corner, with a needle sticking out of her arm. She apparently overdosed. Three weeks later, she was back at work."
"The customers I hated were the ones that got obsessive. I had a guy who would drive by my house (he ran my tag numbers; I have no idea how). This man, who was about 70 years old, would tell me what cars I had at my house, when I mowed my grass, etc. I had to repeatedly tell him to leave me alone. After about five years, he finally did. There were a few others as well, not as bad, but they would show up with flowers and presents.
I also hated it when men would grab my hips during a lap dance and try to push me down on them harder like I was some sort of living hump doll. It's just rude behavior.
I hated it when the young guys thought that because they were young, that meant they had a shot with me, or that they should somehow be given discounts, or kisses, or phone numbers. They would sometimes get aggressive.
I shouldn't have ever been a dancer; I hated it from the beginning. I have social anxiety, although it's not nearly as bad as it used to be."
"I used to dance at bachelorette parties. It actually wasn't as exciting as it is hyped to be. There was this one lady getting remarried. Her sister was the maid of honor and hired me. At the bachelorette party, she basically hogged me the whole night and would forcibly pull me close to her whenever I tried to leave. I found out soon after that she had just gotten married. Soon after I found that out, I went outside to smoke and she joined me.
She broke down in front of me and said marrying her husband was the biggest mistake of her life. She said me dancing on her was the most love she's felt in a long time. After trying to be comforting while looking for an out for what felt like an hour, she threw herself on me. She was ok looking and I was buzzed enough to justify what was happening in my head. We ended up meeting in a motel after the party and did the dirty. When we woke up the next morning, she said sorry for being so desperate, but she needed that night to happen. She offered to pay me for my 'special dance.' I didn't take it.
We exchanged info and about a year later, she reached out to me. We started meeting up again because she was going to get a divorce. We dated for two years and I proposed.
She said no because she never actually divorced her husband and never would."
"I'm not a dancer myself, but I had a few dancer friends. I would go visit them and get cheap drinks, plus as a woman, I never had to pay cover.
One of my friends was on the pole and wearing thigh-high boots with six-inch heels. There was a muscular, husky lesbian sitting right there. For some reason, she leaned in just as my friend jumped up to grab the top of the pole and do a swing-around slide down, one foot straight out.
BAM! Her six-inch heel dug right into this lady's face. Blood exploded everywhere. She immediately grabbed her face and blood was leaking like a river between her fingers. The bouncers were there and escorted her backstage. My friend was just standing there, nearly naked, with a big 'O face,' stunned. The DJ ran out on stage and hustled her off and got another dancer out there, pronto.
About 15 minutes later, the lesbian was back out in the bar with her face bandaged up. I found out from one of the bouncers she refused their offer of driving her to a hospital, said she was fine, and just wanted to stay. They gave her free drinks for the rest of the night and two different girls gave her free dances. She looked buzzed and happy for the rest of the night."
"I danced for about a year to pay off a school loan, for rent, and other stuff.
I was dancing during a day shift and this little, old Asian man, who was a regular, came up to me and just pointed to the VIP room. It was weird because I had never seen him with any dancers; he usually just drank and watched. Well, we went and I gave him a dance when suddenly, he rammed his hand up my lady parts! I got off and started spewing Spanish profanities at him that he didn't understand. I took his money and then some. I told the manager. The man never returned.
This one guy paid me $120 to lick my belly button at another club.
I've caught guys in the women's restroom, snorting lines off a key. They paid me $100 to not say anything.
One of the craziest stories was when this guy came in and immediately took a liking to me. He spent the evening tipping only me. Suddenly, he got up and went to the restroom. A couple of minutes later, some lady was at my table and asked if I was Violet (my dancer name). I said yes and she started screaming at me, 'WHERE'S MY HUSBAND YOU HARLOT?' And more stuff like that. I told her I didn't know, that I hadn't seen him in awhile and that he never mentioned he had a wife. Although I know most men that go are married, I wasn't going to rat him out. She yelled at me forever. They finally escorted her out after she almost ripped off my extensions. That guy never came back."
"A friend of mine from high school was a dancer for a while. About five or six years after we graduated, she was dancing on the side stage when someone she recognized from our class came up to give her a tip. She stopped dancing, said, 'George Smith, you are not tipping me.'
He ran back to his buddies (who also went to the same high school) and one of them (not the guy who originally came up to her) started loudly shouting, 'I TOLD YOU THAT WAS ANASTASIA MILLER. THAT IS ANASTASIA MILLER. I TOLD YOU THAT I RECOGNIZED ANASTASIA MILLER.'
Because shouting a dancer's real name in the middle of a club is a GREAT idea."
"I have a sad story that has bothered me for years.
There was a guy whose wife had died and he had inherited $65,000 from her estate.
He seemed a little bit low IQ'd, but I rarely spoke to him. He ended up spending every last dollar on two unscrupulous girls who lied and said they would move in with him and marry him. He even gave them both diamond engagement rings, seriously.
In our club, for every hour you booked a dancer, they gave you two complimentary drinks. He used to book both girls all night. That came to 10 hours each, which worked out to be 40 drink tickets. He was the only person I ever saw who drank all his drink tickets. He drank them all, every single night.
When he ran out of money, they stopped speaking to him; it was horrible to witness. He would just sit sadly at a table alone, until one day he just quietly stopped coming in. It still bothers me, and this was 15 years ago."
"I was a door girl at a club and I've seen:
-A guy whipped his junk out in the entrance and tried to pee.
-A dancer punched a guy in the face after yelling, 'You threw bleach in my sister's face!'
-A dancer yelled from the bathroom stall, 'Go get Tina! I can't hit myself!' This was referring, of course, to her injecting smack.
-A guy came in a limo party, one of the females with him stole his Ice Breakers tin filled with 'party fuel.' I found it, the guy ended up asking the owner for his stuff back. Not a good idea.
-The over 50-year-old, obese DJ once beat the crap out of two younger dudes.
-A dancer trapped me in the entrance booth to show me her coochie (which had a love button the size of a thumb) to try to seduce me."
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