Two slimy middle aged brothers used to come in every weekend coked out of their minds, and unfortunately, they took a liking to me. They'd follow me around the club, and like an idiot I'd engage them in a conversation because I wanted to figure out their story. One was a stocky, beady-eyed insurance broker from the Valley, and the other looked like Al Pacino in "Cruising", with a leather vest sans shirt and everything. They'd obviously been frequenting the club for years, because they knew all of the bartenders and most of the strippers well. After awhile, they really started to get on my nerves so I would hide in the dressing room when I saw them walk in. Once they invited me back to their condo (they lived together, ick), and I realized how much they reminded me of Kenneth Bianchi and Angelo Buono. They probably had a pile of dead hookers in a public storage somewhere in Van Nuys.
We didn't have a dancer drink system at our club, but I'm familiar with the routine. A few years ago I went out to a total dive strip club on the East Coast, and was totally conned by one of the older dancers that worked there. My friends and I were pretty trashed by the time we sat down at the bar, and she took a seat next to me and started telling me about her husband's upcoming parole hearing. Ten minutes later, she was pouring me a glass of champagne, which at the time I thought, "Aw, this nice old lady is buying me a drink". Then she hands me a bill for a $25 bottle service. I really chewed her out for it, but of course, she didn't give a shit. Later I watched her beg a patron for a dollar while she was onstage. Needless to say, she was way too old to be taking her clothes off for a living.
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