Take your fancy cufflinks and GET OUT

So I’m a big update slacker- apologies, it’s been an odd, slow week. I’ve been working on something about the ongoing takeover of my workplace by a far larger company, but I keep getting distracted by shiny objects and unexpected sounds. Instead, here’s some stories.

It’s Tight-Arse Tuesday

Every now and then a swarm of misers will descend, locust like, upon our humble sweaty establishment. I don’t know whether it’s the largely cash-based nature of the transactions, or some misplaced idea that strippers come in a “Buy three and get the fourth ABSOLUTELY FREE!” value pack, or possibly just having watched one too many of those A Current Affair “SAVINGS BONANZA” specials that tell people that you can haggle over every damn thing. Anyway. They all seem to show up on the same day, which this week was a Tuesday. The first guy I saw was part of the business lunch rush- youngish dude, expensive suit, matching Georg Jensen cufflinks and wedding ring.

“So how much if I want to jerk off?”

“That’ll cost another twenty.”

“But I just paid FORTY to see you!”

“Yes, and it’s another twenty if you want to jerk off.”

“Let’s call it fifteen.”

“What? No, I don’t think y-”

“Fine, eighteen. FINAL OFFER.”

Look, I don’t give a damn if someone’s a little short on cash- they’ve paid the forty to see me, and I don’t really chase for tips. I’m quite happy for them just to pay to watch. But a dude with a couple grand worth of shiny-man-pretty trying to use his Business Negotiation Skills to gyp me out of two bucks? I say nay.

The rest of the day was filled with douchebags demanding their money back (after they’ve jacked off, naturally), for many and varied reasons. “She’s not hot, she’s fat, she’s ugly, she didn’t even DO anything” and my all-time favourite, “I changed my mind”.

The Dude Is Just Not Comfortable

In any customer-service industry, the general rule is that five minutes before closing, the most irritating and time consuming customer will stroll right on in and make themselves at home. So it follows that the dude who comes in and books a private right before my shift ends is going to be the kind of sleazy weirdo who walks around silently narrating his own imaginary letter to the Penthouse forum.

From the beginning, something was off about him. He baulked at the $20 jerk-off charge and was all set to storm out until I politely informed him of our No Refunds policy. After a little whinging and moaning (“Can I touch you?” “No.” “What about just your tits?” “My tits are a part of me, so NO.”) he finally settled down with the option of a twenty buck jerk-yourself-off and thirty buck “take the girl’s clothes off yourself”, and all went well. For about two minutes. Then, in the mirror I see his hand snaking up to try and grab my crotch.

“I just said, no touching.”,

He stands bolt upright, and in the most stentorian tones yells like an eight year old in a Say No To Strangers PSA, “I AM NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THIS. THERE ARE TOO MANY RULES.” He strides out the door, leaving me to try and grab a towel before everyone in the damn shop gets a free show. But hey- fifty bucks for two minutes work, not so bad.