Afternoon Delight

I'm working the day shift all week. It's cool because I get to keep a pretty normal sleep schedule, it's easy, and the money is decent. Better than most lunch shifts at a restaurant, that's for sure. I get there at 10:30 and leave before eight. Since it's summer it's not completely dark when I get out, but if I get on the train home immediately then by the time I get to my neighborhood it is. I can't imagine doing this for an extended amount of time- at least with the night shift you can will yourself to get up after a few hours of sleep and enjoy some sun from the next day... or stay up into the next day. But working all day the lights especially kill me in that dungeon. I'm happy to sit by myself on the separate V.I.P. floor where there's AC, lower volume on the music and I can read my book without much distraction- but it's hard to read under the black lighting. I should start taking vitamin D before I go crazy. It's like working in a casino.

The day shift has been interesting in its own way. Like how I've noticed who the real addicts are- I didn't even realize how I was naively assuming that some of these guys just happen to come on the same days I normally work! The truth is some go every day. There's this one guy who's been in the last two days, which is about as long as he's been in New York on business, and the hostess knew him from a previous trip. It sounds like I might see him tomorrow morning again, too. Strangely enough, though, this one guy I don't mind. He's got a cute little Irish accent and looks sorta like Santa Clause. I've imagined him a jolly, old, fat, lonely man who just enjoys the affection. Maybe his beautiful, legend marriage ended when she passed away from some rare cancer that he nursed her through, and he vowed to never love another women and now resorts to paying for human contact. Hot stripper human contact. Anyways, I may not give him any affection (gross!), but I do feel drawn to sit with him when he's waiting alone for the host to get him a new girl for another new hour in the room (he was still there when I left!) I can't tell if any of the girls he goes in with are finishers*, since I haven't worked at this club long enough to figure all the dancers out, but they don't seem to be. 

Mark Twain says to never wake a woman up from her dream!

So yeah. When working the day shift I head out of the house early, grab an iced coffee, The Times, The Post, and my novel and head to the strip club. I put on my sexy little outfit in the basement (skipping the hair and makeup routine mostly since I'm rarely seen anyway) and head up to the top floor where I make sure everything looks right before I sit down at a table to read the headlines and the 'Strange But True' section, do the crossword puzzles, then the Sudoku, order my ten dollar three course lunch (Holla!) and eat it. That reminds me, I forgot my chocolate cake doggy bag on top of my locker. Damn.

I do all this, usually, before the first guy comes up from the main floor to get a private room. Afternoon delight after lunch. When he gets up there I ask him if they want a bottle of wine, champagne (How about a bottle so I can just leave you two alone?) or drinks, they put in an order, I make it, serve it, close their curtained door with a heavy duty paper clamp, and finish the paperwork that the hostess has prepared for the payment of the room. Then I go sit back down with the walkie-talkie and listen for the signals that someone else might be coming up. The guys leave good tips cause they're ballers, plus they don't usually want me making another trip to get change as that's only cutting into their private time. Simple stupid.

And as always- one guy can make the whole day. Come to think of it, the Irish Santa tipped me big on every drink all day. Maybe that's why I liked him. 

*Finisher: a woman who poses as an exotic dancer but then prostitutes herself when in the private room. Synonyms: fun girl; one who 'does the right thing'; closer; hooker; ho; etc.