Las Vegas or Bust

Yes, I know it's been awhile since I have posted. Even longer has it been since I've written 
something original for ASSC save for AFTSD 97. You'd be correct to call it apathy. I really 
prefer my lurker mode on the newsgroup (marc182 generates enough scandal for the both of us I 
think) and my occasional appearances on IRC. But it seemed appropriate to write about my
working trip to Las Vegas with Tiffany. From my point of view, working at home at TD's East 
Showclub in Tucson is routine stuff. Anything outside the routine may be entertaining 
storytelling for the rest of you too.

Please note. Unlike the majority of the news and reviews present on the ASSC newsgroup, this is 
from _my_ point of view. In other words, from that of a DANCER. So before you start spouting 
off criticisms about my attitude and complaints, put yourself in a pair of 5 inch heels, grow (or 
buy) some tits, stand naked in front of a crowd of drooling men, and carefully rethink your
position before you reply. I don't mind constructive criticism. I'd like to think that reading ASSC 
has made me a better dancer. I try to look at dancing from the guys' point of view most the time 
while at work; I'd also like to think that's why I'm just as successful as my more attractive
counterparts. How can you be a successful at your business if you don't know what your clientele 
wants?

On that same note, I welcome any dancer who plans on coming to Vegas to read up on it. Not 
only here on ASSC, but on TUCSL (www.tuscl.com), LMR's excellent review page 
(www.stripclubreview.com), and any other source you can get your hands on. If I had the 
resources, I'd be more than willing to put a dancer's travel information page similar to TUSCL. 
But since I'm not a traveling dancer, maybe you could all write Tiffany 
(doon138@primenet.com) and ask her to do it. She's the travel expert. ;)

Tiffany, my traveling companion and partner in crime, you may have met at ASSCON '98. If you 
don't remember her, you should be ashamed. She's worth remembering. We decided, at random, 
to go on the 3rd weekend in April. We'd miss that National Broadcaster's Association  
Convention by a week but we figured that was all the better. No large influx of out of town 
dancers to compete with (I remember what CES was like at Cheetahs and OG).

I should have known something else was brewing when I had a terrible time finding 
accommodations 3 weeks before we left. Two options finally emerged, neither of which, I was 
terribly happy with. The first was Crest Budget Inn (AKA Crest Butthole Inn) and the other was 
Days Inn Downtown. Short of paying for a $200+ per night on a luxury suite at the MGM Grand, 
these were  most economical options. Our entire goal here was to keep the trip expenses as low
as possible since this was supposed to be a money making trip. The Butthole Inn turned out to be 
more miserable than it's acquired namesake. The Days Inn, for all it's 4 out of 5 star rating wasn't 
much of an improvement but at least it was fairly clean and secure. Mental note, don't stay 
downtown unless it's at the Gold Nugget.

Our flight got in later in the day than we liked (around 11am); we had a lot to do before we 
(hopefully) got to work that Thursday night. The plan was to check in at Cheetahs and get the 
form for the sheriff's card. The next step was going downtown to obtain the card then returning 
to Cheetahs to work. As we entered Cheetahs at about 12:30 PM, there were two very pretty 
black girls waiting to see the shift manage.

"Are you waiting to get hired too?" they asked.

"Yeah, we just got in." I replied.

"Good luck," said one, "We just went around to Olympic Gardens and Club Paradise. Nobody is 
hiring. They've got too many girls."

"Yeah, and four skinny-assed white girls just went into the managers office ahead of us." the 
other beauty grumbled.

I looked at the nice (short) skirts and skimpy tops the two girls were wearing. I'd elected to wear 
levis and a long sleeved tightly fitting black top that morning. I winced inwardly at Tiffany. Her 
beautiful curves (not to mention cleavage) was hidden by the baggy overalls she wore on the 
plane. We both had hardly any makeup on. Plane flights aren't conducive to clown makeup. It 
was obvious that we should have cleaned up a bit first before rushing into Cheetahs.

Such was our luck. The four girls ahead of us left the manager's office with white papers and 
smug looks. The manager (5am-1pm shift) told us to try Crazy Horse, a sister club. His shift had 
too many girls scheduled to justify hiring any more dancers.

A stop at Crazy Horse gave us a whiff of the urine soaked carpet, and the paper for the sheriff's 
card from the eager manager. Judging from the size of the rear ends of the girls already there, I 
could see why he was looking for some fresh faced recruits. We exited as quickly as possible for 
some fresh Las Vegas air.

Thankfully, Tiffany and I had both printed out the sheriff's card information page from LMR's 
site. After driving past Butthole Inn and dismissing it as a possible accommodation option, we 
found the 601 Fremont building and waited in line for about 1/2 hour. Waiting with us and about 
100 other people of assorted shapes and sizes, were the 4 girls we saw at Cheetahs along with 6
other gazelles with their papers signed by Crazy Horse Too and Lil' Darlings.

Sheriff's card in hand, we checked into our motel (it didn't inspire the designation, hotel, by a 
long shot).  Cleaned up and made up, we decided to look at other employment options in the Las 
Vegas topless club industry. Having the sheriff's card seemed to be a key element. Club 
managers were more willing to talk to us and audition us if we already had the card, but that did
not guarantee employment.

Our first stop was Olympic Gardens. We had our misgivings about OG (nicknamed the Only 
Grabber). We both witnessed the "grab and grind" routine during CES with distaste. If that was 
what was expected for $20 per dance, we both preferred working for $10 at Cheetahs. However, 
a former Ten's (another Tucson stripclub) manager worked there and it was assumed that he 
would hire us if he was on shift. No such luck. Bill (the Ten's manager) wasn't working, and OG
wasn't hiring.

There was only one other topless club in town to try. Club Paradise, otherwise know as Silicone 
Parts R Us. A courteous manager, Kirk, showed us around the luxurious club with pride. The few 
dancers I saw were all tall, bony, and surgically enhanced. We were told that we could audition 
but needed gowns. I'd brought one with me in the my gear bag but Tiffany had left hers in the 
room. We returned to our motel room and debated the worth of auditioning at Club Paradise. 
Tiffany was tired, as was I, and didn't really want to audition or work at Plastics, Inc. I didn't 
much like the snooty atmosphere the club maintained. But, I figured it really couldn't hurt to try 
since we were jobless anyway.

I paged LMR, with the hope that he could give us some more info on a sympathetic Cheetahs 
manager to sway. At this point, I was getting rather irritated and discouraged. Things weren't 
going smoothly. I'd forgotten to bring my emergency back-up credit card, I'd less than $100 cash 
in my wallet, I'd left the laptop and my cell phone at home (convenience of communication is
the hardest thing an internet junkie can relinquish) so it was impossible to reach any other LV 
ASSCER (sincere apologies to fuf), and we so far, had no place to work. Although Tiffany had 
danced nude before (in Alaska), I could not bring myself to contemplate dancing nude. The only 
male who has authorization to see my cookie is Marc182. That left places like Wild J's and
Spearmint Rhino out of the loop. We decided to go back to Club Paradise and give it a shot.

On our way back, we dropped by Cheetahs again. Despite their earlier dismissal, I wanted to try
again with a different manager and a different look. We were told by 1pm - 9pm manager (Mike) 
to come back on Friday for an audition during his shift. Fair enough.

We went back to Club Paradise. The dressing room of Plastics, Inc. was the nicest I'd ever seen; 
the lockers had their original paint, the stickers and anecdotes on some the walls  were amusing 
and intelligent, there was veggies, snacks and finger food galore laid out for dancer consumption. 
At one point a walking tree named Roxy Leroux walked past me with a smile. The well lit
dressing room revealed one other startling fact. Many of these women, gorgeous as they were, 
were much older than I'd initially guessed. I don't know for certain if it's the slavery of the 
sunlamps or the burden of working in feature-performer-training-ground-central, but at 24, I felt 
like quite a youngster.

The audition was held in the Cristal Room (yes, that's the way they spelled it). The Cristal Room 
was Plastics, Inc. version of the VIP room. In other words, if you were egotistical enough to 
spend $100 on a bottle of champagne, you were allowed to sit in there, gawk at the girl teetering 
on the itty bitty stage in the middle of the room and shell out $30 for airdances from an
artificially enhanced beauty queen.

Did I mention the stage? Actually, it's not a stage; it's a dinner plate with a brass pole rising up 
from the center. Tiffany went first for two songs. One in the dress (excuse me, gown), one 
without. Her dress was edged with faux jewels and studs around the edges which clanked noisily 
on the brass pole with every turn. Since there wasn't enough room on that stage to do much but 
rotate around the pole, Tiffany's first performance was inspired but rather noisy. Not that the two 
gentleman in the room cared, they were too busy getting their $30 air dances.

Next, was this bundle of nerves called Teena. I realized, with a queasy stomach, that I'd _never_ 
worked on a stage outside of Tucson before. I stared dumbly at the stairs leading up to the stage. 
Good christ! It was a pool ladder! I was supposed to climb up to the dinner plate using a brass 
pool ladder in 5 inch heels! After a rather shaky ascent, I began to dance, sway, spin etc. to the 
reassuring tune of Billy Idol's "Rock the Cradle of Love." The song eased my nerves somewhat 
since it is a favorite of mine (I used it in a rookie skit I'd performed at TD's 3 years ago), but the 
lack of horizontal space on stage did nothing for my shaky knees. By the second song, I was 
doing better, but the reflection of my body I was getting back from the mirrors (since my 
attempts at eye contact with the two occupied men were unsuccessful) could not compare to the 
silicone goddesses on the main stage that I could see through the smoky glass.

After our audition, Kirk, informed us gently and very politely that they had too many girls 
working this weekend and that he didn't have the room to accommodate us. If we were planning 
on returning later in the summer to work, we wouldn't have to audition again and we could work 
right away. We got dressed and went hunting for a cheap buffet dinner.

It's funny how dancers perceive rejection sometimes. I was very discouraged. I thought we had 
been very politely told to take a hike. I knew, logically, that I would never make it at Club 
Paradise. I wouldn't like it as a customer and I would dislike even more working there. Tiffany, 
on the other hand, believed sincerely, that we had been hired, and that were up to their snuff. But 
she also agreed that she would dislike working there, because it was a smooze club. We're both 
used to the Tucson style of hit-and-run dancing. Talking a guy into buying a dance isn't standard 
policy. It really isn't necessary or profitable with the dance prices so cheap in Tucson.

We ate our glum dinner at The Boardwalk Buffet at the Holiday Inn. It added another splinter in 
the growing irritation known as Las Vegas.  Let's see. The theme was supposed to be a seaside 
boardwalk café, complete with maritime decor and piped in wave-crashing sounds. We assumed 
(and you know what they say about assumptions) that it was a seafood buffet. Not. "Oh yes," 
said the woman at the cash register, "A lot of people get very upset when they find out it's just 
the theme of the restaurant, not the actual food. We can't really do a seafood buffet for $7 here 
you know." We went back to our motel downtown, lulled to sleep by the whistling wind and the 
cackling of the drunks below.

Friday, 1:00 PM found us in full slut gear glory in front of a tired looking house mom at 
Cheetahs. She took our cards, handed us a worn 3 ring binder with the house rules laminated and 
bound on the inside. Nothing too out of the ordinary for us. It was a significantly smaller list of 
rules than what you get at my home club. Every club has it's peculiarities however. No solid 
black outfits were allowed. Double t-bars were required at all times. Mom visually checks that 
the cookie is covered in double layers of cloth, and writes down our check-in time on a chipped 
clipboard. She then demanded our $40 dancer rental fee up front. Tiffany and her smooth tongue 
informed her that we didn't have it and would give it to her when we made it. Dragon lady snorts 
that this would be the only time we would be allowed to do this and shoos us out of the dressing 
room door.

The 1pm - 9pm floor manager, Pete, very graciously gave us a run-down of how he ran the club. 
He outlined the rules of Vegas, the rules of Cheetahs, and the rules of Pete. Each was 
successively more lenient than the previous. The last basically being, you can try and do 
whatever you want, but just don't do it while in the range of his eyeballs. Pete was true to his 
word and in my humble opinion, a good manager. Whenever either of us was having trouble
getting dances or approaching customers, he graciously introduced us to regulars with money. 
He kept an eye out for "grabbers", reprimanding one that was accosting Tiffany during a dance. 
To my chagrin, he told me to back up as I was picking myself up from a boob plant I'd fallen into 
due to the surprising mobility of Cheetah's chair casters. I apologized to Pete as well as the poor 
grinning soul below me. I thought maybe I'd hurt my client's nose, but judging from the glazed 
grin, he didn't seem to notice.

I could never lay claim to being a spectacular stage performer. I have a lousy sense of balance as
it is and being on stilts doesn't help. My native club doesn't really encourage stage acrobatics 
either. Our main stage is a simple runway without poles and our back stage has two poles too fat 
and too close to the ceiling to be of much use. I don't expect to make much more than a couple
of dollars on stage at home, and judging from the crowd in Cheetahs, that's about what I'd be 
lucky to make there. The rotation had Tiffany and I for two songs on either the main stage (4 
poles) or the front stage (2 poles) and 2 more songs on the "tipping stages" the row of four mini 
stages near the bar. The small stages were appropriately named. I was tipped only once on the 
main stage and once on the front. The mini stages was where I received a good portion of my 
tips. They weren't as profitable as I've observed in Denver, but it was better than at home.

I think I was lucky that shift. I only had to ask someone once if he would "like to have some 
company."  For the most part, I was approached or tipped to come sit and chat. The first was a 
guy who was a retired two-man luge team member. I picked his brains about the sport for several 
songs. I love learning about things I'm not experienced with, whether it be sports, business or
science. He bought me a drink, a coke. The waitress gave me a dirty look when I ordered a coke 
instead of a light rum and coke i.e. a rum and coke without alcohol q.e.d. a coke. The rule book 
specified that you couldn't turn down a drink bought for you but it didn't say I had to get 
something with alcohol in it and I know tacking "light" in front of it wasn't going to fool the guys 
one bit. If there was a price difference and I saved the guy an extra buck, maybe he'll show some 
appreciation and give the buck to me rather than the greedy waitress.

Next came the slimy rip-off artist who came to sit with me on the couches near the bar. Frogwart 
thought it was great fun to fondle my legs and other parts while talking to me. After dancing one 
song for Frogwart (by then I was tired of his lewd and brainless chitchat), he handed me $10. I 
pointed out that the dances on the couches were $20. He tried unsuccessfully to convince me it 
was $10. I wasted my time with him for another 2 songs before he grudgingly handed over the 
additional $10. Tiffany informed me later that Pete had told us to ask for the money up front, 
since he really couldn't help if the dancer was shorted money. I must have missed that part of the 
rule recitation.

I went to thank a nice gentleman by the bar who had tipped me $5 on one of the smaller stages 
earlier. I could tell immediately, he was an Asiaphile. Alas, after some conversation, he refused 
my request for a dance. His reasons: I was from out of town, and would soon be leaving, my 
engagement ring, and I was too beautiful. The latter was polite bullshit. But I understood the first 
two reasons. My diamond was remarked upon by every man I danced for that shift. In Tucson, 
it's hardly noticed and, so far, has not reduced my earnings by a significant amount. I found no 
good reason to take it off in Tucson and it would be equally disrespectful to remove it in Las 
Vegas. It stayed on my finger for the rest of the shift.

I spent far too much time chatting and dancing for a Boston traveler and tourist in the Cheetah's 
VIP. A large gorilla bouncer named, if I'm not mistaken, Kiki, brooded over his domain. His 
presence deterred me significantly. I don't regret the amount of money the Bostonian gave me in 
the end, because I did spend a good hour chatting and dancing for him, however if I was paying 
$20 per dance in the VIP room, I don't think I would have rated my dances as "worth it." I found 
that, on a whole, I was forced to dance much cleaner than my normal mode in Tucson.

My next victim was a retired MIT physicist and avid stockmarket investor. Of all the people I 
met that evening, he was the most interesting to talk to. I probably spent 2 hours talking and 
dancing. It wasn't a very profitable association, but very stimulating intellectually. I don't mind 
this type of interaction at all; either at home or in Vegas. If I can't make the money I'd like to 
during a work shift, I'd rather spend it having interesting conversation with someone with a good 
brain.

I chatted and danced a few for a Toronto college student who was enchanted by my eyes, but, 
alas, he had little money, and fewer brains so our association was brief.

A man from San Francisco took my hand and asked me to dance for him. He said he knew Mimi 
Miyagi, and was doing some work for her in town. I didn't ask what, but got the impression that 
it may have been for her magazine, Oriental Dolls. He gave me his email address and asked me 
to write him. For what, I've yet to figure out. As I started my dance, I asked if he knew about 
ASSC or had any experience with the clubs in San Francisco. He replied that he didn't dare go to 
clubs in SF because he was "a family man with responsibilities and a position to worry about." 
SanFran Hypocrite then proceeded, for the rest of the dance, to dive his hand down my t-bar. 
Being unsuccessful at that, he then tried clawing at my nipples. Reaching down and grabbing a 
firm twist of scrotum skin and pubic hair through his pants, I said as sweetly as I could, "Look 
mister, be nice, or I won't be." He got the message through watery eyes and desisted. I hastily got 
ill-earned my $10 and moved on.

I'm not used to remembering every single soul I dance for during a shift, especially during an 8 
hour one. I'm used to the hit-and-run technique of Tucson. Hustling is the only way to make 
money in a town where the average dance price is $5. I've heard of dancers making $500+ in 
Cheetahs. I was prepared to make at least $200; average on a good night in TD's. But, as you
can see, the afternoon wasn't that profitable. An interesting and educational experience, but not a 
goal-buster. I made less in 8 hours in Cheetahs than I usually make in 5 hours at home.

Tiffany was in the same position I was by 9 PM. We counted up our money, figured our 
expenses into it and decided it wasn't worth our time to stay in Vegas for another day. We 
gathered our things and headed for some buffet style sustenance. We stopped by the Las Vegas 
Hilton to pay homage to the Star Trek Experience after dinner but unfortunately (this misfortune 
business was becoming way too common during our trip) it had just closed. Not even a Trekkie 
consolation prize was to be had.

So with negative numbers and a little more wisdom, Tiffany and I returned to Tucson early 
Saturday morning. Returning to Las Vegas to work someday has not entirely been ruled out but 
for now, as they say, there's no place like home.

Teena                             *
a.k.a Jasmine Tea                 *   Guns don't kill people,
jasmint@primenet.com              *   postal workers do.
http://www.primenet.com/~jasmint/