Dancing Days

Have you ever done something just to get by? Just to pay the bills? Something out of the ordinary no one would expect you to do?

It was the summer of 2000. I found myself looking for a job and existing funds were quickly running low. Bills were piling up and the electric would soon be shut off.

During a recent visit to a local club, I noticed the male dancer they had that night resembled a sad version of Colonel Sanders in a G-String with what possibly could have been meth residue on his fingers. Having had quite a few long islands by this time I jokingly hopped on stage and took my shirt off and danced for a few minutes. I quickly made a few dollars and hopped back down and started to exit the club. The owner stopped me and said if I ever needed a job to come and see him. I laughed off the invite and went home. The following week those bills got to the point where something drastic had to be done. I nervously went back to the club and asked if the job in question was an actual paying gig or a clumsy sexual come-on. The offer turned out to be valid and I found myself with an actual paying gig as a dancer.
Dancer is an extremely nice way of saying stripper. I mean I wasn't in some sort of chorus line or backing up Beyonce, Instead of backup, I would literally be "backing that thing up" for closet cases in a seedy part of town in a classy little establishment called the "Bamboo Lounge"

I have seen strippers in action before both male and female. My friends decided to buy me a female lap dance as a joke and I guess instead of wasting their money on the pretty girl, I instead got a middle-aged crack addict, shoving her half-trimmed hoo-ha right up in my face and I swear I think I saw what appeared to be bullet wounds, cigarette burns and quite possibly the beginning of a nasty ring worm infection. Did I think stripping was glamorous? Hell no. I knew exactly what it was, a way to make money. It did nothing sexually for me to strip or see strippers in action and to this day get no pleasure in watching it.

I had two days before my first show. I carefully watched what I ate, ran 4-5 miles a day and lifted weights like I had had just been cast on "Jersey Shore".
The night of my first show I sucked up my pride and my gut and nervously walked into the club. Immediately I ordered shot of Jack and even considered walking out before I started. "Electric bill" kept humming in my mind and I went backstage to get dressed, or in this case undressed. So at this point I was ready to climb onto the stage. Let me just clarify what is considered a "stage" at The Bamboo Lounge. First you take an extra large dog kennel and then you lay a piece of plywood on top of it and then you call it a day, cause you just built a stage my friend.
I climbed sheepishly onto the the stage and soon heard the plexiglas of the dog kennel begin to creak. "male stripper killed after falling through dog kennel at gay bar" this would be the headline. To my astonishment the kennel held and the music started and the Jack began to course through my veins.
This wasn't so bad. In fact it was kinda easy. Drink, dance and collect dollars. I worked for two and a half hours and went home with $150. At this point I was drunk, happy and at the same time a little confused. Where the hell were these losers getting the money to tip me with. Most of the patrons looked like they were late for their cameo on "COPS". Who cares, I thought, I have electric.

As time went by I got a regular day job but continued to dance twice a week and began getting calls to work at other nicer clubs. The Renegade was a local club that was a tiny bit nicer and actually had 3 dancing areas. A real stage with a real floor and not pet transports, a cage overlooking the club, and what was my favorite area, a corner of the club with a glass encased working shower.
I shared a dressing room with other dancers and the drag queens that performed at the club and had to maneuver my way around fake nails, glitter wigs and a bevy of props and costumes.
I began to make more money at the Renegade and began to learn the tricks of the trade. Number one: let a customer buy you a drink but NEVER DRINK IT! Number two: Never go on a date with someone that has tipped you, no matter how hot they may be. Number three, and this is the most important of all, NEVER GET OUT OF SHAPE.

The hardest part of stripping is not laying your humility and pride at the door for everyone to walk over, that I can deal with, it's watching what you eat. No one wants to tip a dancer with love handles. I was working out an hour and a half at a time now sometimes twice a day and subsisting on a diet of water and ex lax. When those shows were over though I would head straight for the grocery store and buy a tub of roasted chicken and a pint of ice cream.

Another surprise to me was that not everyone tips in dollar bills. I would collect dollar coins, foreign bills, business cards with unwanted propositions and one time a really nice guy gave me a coupon for a free pizza, I should have married that one.

Believe it or not the very best thing about dancing is the self-esteem boost I got from it. In High School I was a very nerdy,overweight and unpopular kid who was dealing with a shitty home life and not knowing what to do about the fact that I was gay. I never went on dates. I never had friends over. And I was terrified to be at home and terrified to be at school. I never felt like I belonged anywhere back then. But for one year at the Bamboo Lounge I was a bar star.