Wednesday, August 13, 2003 You're a chicken, Rose-Louise
I've posted a little bit about my failed attempts at stripping for money before. In Philly I auditioned at a club, but never got called back, and in Richmond I was all set to go audition at one of the nicer clubs in the area. "Come in on Thursday," the guy said. "Ask for Meaty."
"I'm sorry, what was your name again, sir?" I fluted like Shelly Lomg on Cheers.
"Meaty. Em-Ay-Tee-Wye," the very large man said.
I gulped, and put together the closest thing to audition wear that I have (which is close to audition wear in the same way that the shirts and pants I'd combed through Bradlee's for in middle school were the closest thing to a cool outfit.)
When I showed up Thursday, though (this was a while back), I didn't have to take off any clothes at all. The downside was that I didn't get hired. Another club had just been closed abruptly, and the 40 women from there were all trying to get hired at the few other local places. Meaty showed me the door, but not before giving me a really helpful tutorial on the local clothes-removal scene.
Among other things, he told me every local club makes one wear pasties. State law.
So, I lost hope of going to work in a lucrative, yet sleazy field, and went bakc to m y old shit jobs. After 3 weeks of these, I feel like I could pretty much do anything for money, as long as it's more than I'm making now. I need to get the diving well in my Scrooge McDuck vault up to regulation, you know?
So, at my phone pest job, I sat down to make my first pair of pasties. I wasn't doing it out of the Martha Stewart urge, but because when I went to the stripper store to price pasties, I came out in a state of shock. They were like, 20-40 bucks a pair.
So I got canvas and sequins at the crafts store, and for the last two shifts at the phone job stitching what looked like little yarmulkes for the cats. I prepared a list of vague, non-sleazy things to say if any cubby-mates asked what they were, but then last night a woman two cubicles away swiveled over and asked, in the 20 seconds between calls, "Are you making pasties?"
I told her I was, and now she wants to buy them. I may not be a burlesque queen, but it's an extra $10 in my pocket, and everything's coming up roses. posted by Frenz | 8/13/2003 10:58:00 AM
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