So last Friday was a pretty interesting shift for me. Literally, the day before, a major London-wide newspaper, The Evening Standard, had featured me in a huge photograph and an accompanying two page article. Although the details were pretty hazy, and my face was hidden by an awesome blowdry, I knew that every stripclub manager in London would be thinking it was talking about his club, his girls, and him.
I walked into the changing room, and a few girls came scurrying up to me - was that you, I know you write a blog, was that you?
"Yes," I said. "Keep it quiet, it's anonymous."
Then later on in the evening, a waitress came scurrying up to me - "was it you, was it you?"
By this point, I had my stripper head on. I wanted to get my head down and hustle - to tread those boards and meet those men, be primed to pounce on them and their tables. The last thing I needed was to let out my secret and stand their and gossip with the waitress, then she'd tell someone else, who'd tell someone else - eventually it would probably reach my boss who'd haul me into the office and say god-only-knows-what.
So I looked the waitress in the eye and said, "No, that wasn't me. I was writing in my spare time, but I'm too lazy to keep up a blog."
"Oh, I did wonder. The boss thinks a journalist spoke to several different dancer's, but wrote it as if it was from one source."
"Really?" I was surprised at this, especially as surely it's illegal or bad practice to mould several different sources and quotes into a single little source called Lucy. What kind of journalist did he usually hang around with? News of the World?
"and, er, tell me, what does he think about it?" This reply could determine what I wrote on my blog for the foreseeable future. If he was pissed off, I'd have to keep a super-low profile if I wanted to keep my job.
"Oh he doesn't give a toss. All publicity is good publicity, right?"
"Right," I agreed, nodding my head. "It's all good...." Secretly I was breathing a sigh of relief that there wasn't going to be a witch-hunt, and I could keep my head down and talk to men, not the manager.
This conversation did put me slightly at ease, so I decided to concentrate on the task in hand - earning money. It was a late starting Friday, but once the guys came in I was on a roll, doing dances fairly easily and quickly with the customer's I chatted to. Unfortunately the initial rush of customers quickly died down, so by 2:30 finding an available guy that I could approach was getting difficult. I decided to leave and go join my friends at a party instead. Stashing my money in my knickers, and my stuff in my locker, I leaped into a taxi, smiling to myself.
It may have been an awkward Friday night at the stripclub, but it was still Friday, and I'm too young and pretty to be all work and no play..... besides, I was a few hundred pounds up and my phone was ringing. I settled into the seat of the taxi, and began to tone down my stripper make-up - London, here I come!
I walked into the changing room, and a few girls came scurrying up to me - was that you, I know you write a blog, was that you?
"Yes," I said. "Keep it quiet, it's anonymous."
Then later on in the evening, a waitress came scurrying up to me - "was it you, was it you?"
By this point, I had my stripper head on. I wanted to get my head down and hustle - to tread those boards and meet those men, be primed to pounce on them and their tables. The last thing I needed was to let out my secret and stand their and gossip with the waitress, then she'd tell someone else, who'd tell someone else - eventually it would probably reach my boss who'd haul me into the office and say god-only-knows-what.
So I looked the waitress in the eye and said, "No, that wasn't me. I was writing in my spare time, but I'm too lazy to keep up a blog."
"Oh, I did wonder. The boss thinks a journalist spoke to several different dancer's, but wrote it as if it was from one source."
"Really?" I was surprised at this, especially as surely it's illegal or bad practice to mould several different sources and quotes into a single little source called Lucy. What kind of journalist did he usually hang around with? News of the World?
"and, er, tell me, what does he think about it?" This reply could determine what I wrote on my blog for the foreseeable future. If he was pissed off, I'd have to keep a super-low profile if I wanted to keep my job.
"Oh he doesn't give a toss. All publicity is good publicity, right?"
"Right," I agreed, nodding my head. "It's all good...." Secretly I was breathing a sigh of relief that there wasn't going to be a witch-hunt, and I could keep my head down and talk to men, not the manager.
This conversation did put me slightly at ease, so I decided to concentrate on the task in hand - earning money. It was a late starting Friday, but once the guys came in I was on a roll, doing dances fairly easily and quickly with the customer's I chatted to. Unfortunately the initial rush of customers quickly died down, so by 2:30 finding an available guy that I could approach was getting difficult. I decided to leave and go join my friends at a party instead. Stashing my money in my knickers, and my stuff in my locker, I leaped into a taxi, smiling to myself.
It may have been an awkward Friday night at the stripclub, but it was still Friday, and I'm too young and pretty to be all work and no play..... besides, I was a few hundred pounds up and my phone was ringing. I settled into the seat of the taxi, and began to tone down my stripper make-up - London, here I come!
