Open Letter to the Girls I Work With

December 20, 2015


Dear Girls,

I wish I could call you women, but as it stands, at this very moment we are fluctuating between High School and Preschool.

There are not enough mamas for the whole drunkenmonkeymentalmidgetcircus happening nightly.

And dad has been drinking again.


Stop now.


I love all of you.


She who never socially progressed past 4 years old, who throws shoes and tantrums like confetti at your own pity party, please know I tried. But being near you was my soul equivalent of chewing on tin foil.

I couldn’t, I can’t, I won’t with you. You are all sharp angels and teeth and you bite every hand that gets near you.

I tried to save you, guide you and you would run the other way, arms and mouth flailing not caring who you hit. I’m done.

You were never drowning, you just had to stand up.

Everyone else. I need you to listen.

Ours is the last clean club for a thousand miles in every direction. I know because I have been out there. Keep this up and we will be scattered to the winds of the Prairies or taking orders at coffee shops. Which is a better fate than those clubs by the airport, they’re hell and purgatory combined.

I started dancing in the 90’s after the Supreme Court ruling against any contact came down. It was all air dances for half a decade, then a slow decline back into grabbing and grinding. I do not work other clubs because they are brothels and sex is sacred to me. I am protective over my vagina and yours.

Maybe we should get on a bus and go to the cities where every girl has a set price list and the floors are littered with condoms when the lights come on. Take a little field trip and you can see why what we have is worth saving. Maybe then you would see that we work in paradise. Safe.

I need you to appreciate what we have and work with me to preserve it. I am almost alone and I am tired. Sofa king tired.

Listen to me…

If the boss gives you a drink limit it’s because you need one. The club makes all of its money selling booze. Do not bring booze into the bar. If you get caught by them you get sent home. If you get caught by the police or a liquor inspector we all get sent home. For good.


No, you can’t have that vodka back and when you sober up I will explain why, again, for the 10th time.

I will keep taking your booze and hiding it because I love my job.

I will keep explaining things until you hear me because I love you.

But if I hear you use that word in anger one more time my hand will fly on its own.

There are 2 words straight whites girls do not get to use. Faggot is one. Especially not spat out of a drunken mush mouth full of hate and anger. And especially not aimed at Him. I will cut you off with the same sword I defend you with. I cannot abide.

You have no idea what you have done. Not every kindness comes with a price. Sometimes people are just kind. He is.

So yes…I will keep taking your booze if only to stop your poison tongue.

Which brings us to the 3rd word no stripper should ever use. Whore.

I am dog tired and bone weary.

I keep hearing hoes calling each other hoes. STOP!!!!!!! THAT IS YOUR FAMILY.
The world hates us enough without us hating each other.
For better or for worse these are your fucking sisters.

Just like any family there are the alcoholics among us, sibling squabbles and tantrums. We won’t always get along. I need you all to see that it is us against the world.

I have worked in some weird places and my favorites were the ones where the girls showed some camaraderie. The 50/50 clubs where half the girls did extras and the other half didn’t. We found our counterpart and gave her what we didn’t want. My ‘blowjob girl’ always tipped me out at the end of the night, of course she made more money than me and of course she knew I helped. This is how it should be, always.

I make more than enough money to get by, I stand back so other girls can too.

This is my way. I talk to men, walk away and get chased. I’ve been at this for 19 years, I know what I am doing.

This is my body and my hustle.
I respect your body and your hustle.
Respect mine.

Every man and every song in the club BELONGS TO THE CLUB NOT YOU.

You will never see me jumping on every dude that walks in the door.

I know how to share. Got a gold star in kindergarten.

Competition is pointless.

There’s enough to go around.

There will be more if we stop pouncing on every dude that walks in the door.

You don’t get it.

Do you know why strip clubs exist?

Men need a break from the world and there is nothing more soothing than tits.

Be soothing. Be soft. Be kind.

Except to that guy, that guy likes getting choked a bit, and that one slapped around.

Watch out for the ‘ear rapist’. That one pinches and bites.

Regardless whether I like you or not. You are my sister and I will not allow you to be misused, stolen from, treated badly. I’m always on your side. Always.

I will always have a baby wipe or a cookie sheet for you. I will always have a clean shirt and a couch to crash on.
I will hold your hair while you puke, I will dress you when you need it.

It’s my way.

The rest of you have lost yours.

Dear girls I work with,



We are your sisters.

P.S. I love you



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