Story Time!

This is another piece from my creative writing class. Its a tale about the time. . . well you'll get it once you start reading. Some of it is pieced together from multiple experiences and fabricated a smidge but that's where the creativity comes from.  Feedback is welcomed, Enjoy!

Working student Being a student is great, so you would think. Well, it was more of what we are lead to believe by college brochures promising study picnics with your diverse friends with lively smiles and a great wardrobe. Refusing to include candid shots of the long agonizing lines in the financial aid offices. “Don’t forget to fill out the FAFSA applications!” they said “its free money for your education.” School counselors and parents alike shouting tantalizing nothings at you. Let’s not forget the line wrapped around the school store to buy five two hundred dollar books only for the professor to tell you it’s not necessary. Or the irony of the fact that out of the whole semester if not quarter (which is shorter) we only read 17 pages of the two hundred dollar book that’s strategically used only for the current year. Then on the first day of class the professor has the audacity to say “Have your book(s) by next week” and you have to bite your tongue from challenging them with “Do you have, have your book(s) by next week, money?”. When you don’t qualify for grants and you don’t want to take out a large unnecessary loan for school you have to work for college tuition.

 I have a friend whose financial situation mirrored mine moons ago. She’s an energetic character who is absolutely fearless and confident. A 5’7” curvaceous beauty that partakes in the “shake life” occupation. Conveniently her name is Desire. That was the look that lingered in the eyes of men who were in her presence. The way she carried herself commanded attention. The way her hips swayed caused her derriere to jiggle and that alone had men in a trance. She was confident with her body because she worked very hard for it. In high school, which was just three years back, she had more of a round shape at two hundred pounds. Once Desire got into college she lost most of her weight retaining it in all the right places. On campus her new figure was accompanied by a whole new gravitational pull. She jumped at the opportunity to receive attention. If girls could collect attention and bottle it up in a Mason jar I’m pretty sure they would. Stripper money is easy to her, I mean all she had to do was take one step and her booty jiggled. The three hundred dollars in one night life is very tempting for anyone. Especially when you make that much every two weeks and have sleep for dinner. The life she lived already seemed tempting enough when you can turn on the radio and hear rappers reciting lyrics like “bounce that ass, shake that ass like the twerk team.” Glorifying exotic dancers. Seeing Amber Rose, Blac Chyna, and Kim Kardashian make millions solely based off their appearance. Can’t help but to think men are some of the most gullible creatures in the world. I’ve only been to two strip clubs in my life and I just so happen to know a handful of people in the industry. So I decided to have a ‘bring your friend to work day’ with Desire. I was so nervous following behind her like a child on a field trip. On the outside there are no windows and it has a mysterious aura to the location. Almost like it’s a secret society and you have to pay to be admitted. When you first walk into strip clubs there’s a foyer similar to the ticketing booth at the movie theatre. The anxiety builds up from the parking lot to the thick of the crowd on a busy night. Since she was dancing there we were some of the first people in the building. We tried to arrive early because the promoter told her that it was free tip out before ten. We were on colored people time and reached our destination at eleven thirty. So she had to pay the forty five dollar tip out. Tip out is a percentage of your profits from dancing split between the dj, managers, waitresses, including or excluding certain members of the staff. The splitting of tips is commonly used in waitressing at restaurants. Depending on the club you just pay forty five dollars at the door and that’s it while other clubs count up all the money made split it between workers then take their percentage out. Desire led the way into the foyer and as usually the man sitting behind the counter had his eyes glued to her. She stated her purpose, paid the tip out and we were granted permission into the secret establishment. It was much smaller than what I had imagined. To the left of the entrance was a mirrored wall with the stage attached to it. Directly across was chairs and tables for patrons to sit down and enjoy the show. Behind those chairs was a smaller circular stage. The club was barely open and men were sitting in the chairs drinking ready for any girl to come out and dance for them. On the right was the bar and further past that was the locker room. As we walked past the men sitting down she put me up on game who they were. They were regulars who visited every single day.

 In the locker room she undressed from her everyday persona and turned into a temptress who collected fees to be looked at. Even though she wore a bikini top that covered her breast she still had to put two pieces of tape over her nipples in the form of an “X”. It was a necessary precaution that all the girls had to take since it wasn’t a nude or topless club. Which I appreciated because I just don’t see how anyone can dance aggressively nude in front of people. When she started putting on her makeup another girl walked in. For a moment it was pure silence but the girl broke it by asking us a question about how old a person has to be to rent a car. She began to tell us how she moved all the way from Minnesota to Houston to be a stripper. She heard about the infamous VLIVE that Drake and other rappers talked about in songs. She was staying in a hotel and every night she took Ubers to the club. A piece of me wanted to know more about her life and help her. She was only 18 and moved across the country by herself. I was honestly worried that a man would see her vulnerability and use that as an opportunity to pimp her. She didn’t even know how to do pole tricks or walk in heels for that matter because she was stumbling all over the place. Eventually more girls came and repeated the same routine as Desire. There were girls of pretty much all sizes and proportions. One thing I did find interesting was the girls with implants. Girls as skinny as me with butt shots looked so weird and when they tried to twerk their butts didn’t budge. Some girls took sips of liquid courage while others popped pills to feel a little sexier. They looked like cheerleaders who were preparing for the pep rally before the big game. The club was packed and the girls had set time frames on who were on stage performing while the others worked the floor. I hung back by the bar to scope out the scene. Naturally I’m an observer and it was a lot to take in. Most of the girls didn’t know any pole tricks and if they did it wasn’t impressive. Majority of the girls stuck to shaking their butts and grinding on the men. The customers were so aggressive with the girls. They’d slap their butts and if she was light enough you’d see a red hand print on it. In the off chance that a girl knew what she was doing on the pole money would rain down on her. Seeing money regardless of its quantity thrown into the air then twirling down from the ceiling is the most hypnotizing site ever. Who wouldn’t be tempted to just scoop a little change up? Well if anyone dared to do that the girls would probably jump them. The girls walked around with bags or baskets filled with money holding them tight so no one would steal it. Throwing money in the club has a domino effect; after the initiator then follows a group of more men with more money. Sometimes it looked as if they just thrown money to compete with other men. Which was fine by the dancers it was less work for them.

 After a while I grew tired of holding up the wall and seeing all the money that wasn’t mine flying around like leaves in the fall. There were some girls in the dressing room counting their earnings from the night. One girl held a fan of money up to her face while the other girl recorded her Instagram video. It’s undeniable that strippers love flaunting their money on social media. I’m convinced they do it to plant the seed of envy in other people’s hearts and I’m here to say that it works. Every day that seed gross into a flower and that’s what led me there that night. If I had a body like Desire’s I would be out there making the money and not letting it make me. The life seemed very tempting but the cons outweigh the pros. I can’t walk around in heels all night dancing on men who sexually assaults me while degrading music plays in the background. Although this occurs while walking down the street bumping trap music the only details that are different is the setting and more attire. It takes a very strong woman to live that lifestyle and not get sucked into the evils of it. I just couldn’t make myself susceptible to those possibilities. Maybe financial aid will finally give me that grant for education. The books that I bought have to be profitable. Either scenario I’ll just continue to struggle paying for classes and missing out on those diverse friendships. Perhaps I’ll meet those friends in the long line that awaits me on campus.