Thursday, July 9, 2009


Photos taken this weekend near Madison Square Park, in the East Village and at Rockaway Beach, respectively:

I went to the beach with a friend on the 4th of July, and got a sunburn so splotchy and rash-like I decided I needed to take the week off of work. On Tuesday I went in to Tryst to show it to the manager, who gave me an infinite amount of hassle about my request. He said sunburn wasn't a "legitimate" reason for taking time off. However, in an industry where beauty and confidence are necessary to generate income, having a painful and ugly sunburn is-- obviously-- an absolutely valid reason not to be able to come in. Who would pay me for a lap dance when I felt and looked far from my best, as my body language and demeanor would no doubt reflect?

Anyway, I was treated like a liar and fined 50 dollars for my last-minute "no-show" (I had actually called in on Monday to warn the manager of my situation, but the club's policy on cancellation is giving a full week's notice or one gets fined).

"Congratulations for putting him in a bad mood," said the cashier with wide, frightened eyes. She is usually friendly to me when she's ringing me up (for the champagne sales I make and the house fee I pay, surprise, surprise) so it was news to me that she could be so cowardly and petty.

"I'm telling the truth, and I am NOT working here this week. Whatever else happens, happens," I said with a shrug.

(maybe I would expect my schedule to be more inflexible if this were a salaried office job, but then nobody would be prying into my discretionary allotment of personal off-time, for which I would be paid, rather than having to pay my employer for the privilege. I would also not have to take time off for a sunburn if I worked in an office, so the point would be moot.)

I think it's disgusting for the other adults at the strip club to run around like scared rabbits based on the whims of the manager. I was only asking for time off, something a lot of employees do in any occupation. If this audacious request sets him off like a child being denied a toy, so be it. My intention was to do the best thing for me, which I believe is-- unequivocally, and also as a universal policy-- never harmful to anyone else.

I am so tired of being treated like a dumb bitch, subject to the whims of a patriarchal system in which even the women in management try to scare the dancers into seeing things their way (which is not always the right way) and treat us like the club's chattel.

PS Last night I went out with my friend Pearl, who is dating a conservative French-Canadian chemical engineer.

"If we go anywhere, I'm driving," he said to her recently.

"Would you like me to wear a burqa while we're at it?" she responded.

Seems there's no faction of society in which men don't revel in controlling women capriciously, when the opportunity arises.