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To The Woman Who Came To My Work

March 3, 2014

Saturday at work is always interesting. I don’t know why but if I have a good Friday night it’s a damn near guarantee that I’m going to have a shit Saturday. It’s just the way the cosmos works. Why cant the entire weekend be filled with super nice relatively wealthy nice guys who love to spend money?

Well according to the laws of the cosmos since I had my record breaking night Friday Saturday would be less than steller.

A group of lesbians came in- which isn’t a problem at all. Usually lesbians are my best crowd. Fun and respectful my favorite type of customer. However these women didn’t quite fit that mold. They were fun- at first.

Toward the end of the night I swung by their group again to chat for a bit because if I talked to another drunk bro I was gonna punch someone. With my stiletto. In the face. Repeatedly. Until they were dead.

You get the idea.

Well at this point one of the women turned to me and said “You’re better than this.”

Well honey I have a few things to say to you.

To the Woman Who Came To My Work,

 

I’m sure you’re a good person- had we met any where else we might have even become friends but now we wont.

We will never become friends. If I see you in public I will smile politely if you choose to acknowledge me at all. I might even make small talk- ask about your job in corrections and how your girlfriend is doing. I’ll wish you the best and politely excuse myself and continue on my way.

Why you? Why am I writing this to you and not to the thousands of other customers who have done things to me?

I don’t know.

Maybe it’s because as a Queer woman I expected you to at least understand doing something other people didn’t understand.

Maybe it was because you guys seemed really cool and I saw how happy and comfortable you were in your relationship. I thought maybe you’d get it in some way.

Which is silly and unreasonable. I get that.

But you turned to me in your drunken state and you said “you’re better than this.”

I’m sure you meant well. I’m sure you were trying to be supportive. Or at least thinking you were.

You weren’t. At all.

You didn’t stop for a minute and think that I was a woman capable of making my own choices. You didn’t even consider that I made the choice that was best for me. You didn’t stop and think that I love my job and I am very good at it.

You didn’t think at all.

You came into my job and told me about my life. You don’t know me. You have no idea about my thoughts and dreams and hopes. You didn’t look at me. You saw me as how you thought I saw myself- a broken compilation of tits, one liners and an ass you can bounce a quarter off of.

That’s how you saw me and you felt guilty for seeing that.

But I am not at MY job to ease YOUR guilt. I’m at my job to make a living and you don’t really have the right to come in and act like that. You don’t have the right all.

You saw me how you wanted to see me- how you thought I saw myself. You are wrong.

I see myself different. I am a strong woman. I stand by principles even when it hurts to do so. I stand up for what I believe in even when it puts me in a spotlight I don’t really want. I work a job I love and a job I’m very good at while going to school to follow my passions. I’m confident, I’m sexy, I’m smart and I have amazing people around me in my life.

I don’t expect you to see all of that. Not drunk and in a strip club. But I expect you to think a little bit. To stop and remember your life is not my life, your choices are not my choices. What’s right for you might not be right for me. What’s right for you might not be right for me.

That’s ok. I can see that.

The problem is you couldn’t.

So to the woman who came into my work and made me feel like I had to defend myself, my happiness and my choices-

Fuck you.

I deal with this from a lot of people for a lot of reasons. I’m queer, I’m a sex worker, I’m pagan and I don’t have to deal with this shit at my job. I don’t come to yours and tell you how you should live your life or that the job that makes you happy makes you less. Don’t do this to me.

So I might see you in the street someday and my Midwest ways won’t allow me to be rude. My mama raised me to be polite even if it kills me. It’s one of those principles I mentioned- rip them to shreds with a smile on your face.  But you wont ever have the chance to know me and I wont ever choose to know you.

Because you couldn’t see past your idea of me- past your guilt for making me a 2-dimensinal Barbie stripper and fetishizing the idea you saw.

And that is your problem not mine.

 

Sincerely,

 

The Stripper You Met on Saturday Night

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4 Comments
  1. Aphrodite permalink

    Thank God I don’t have female clients 😉

  2. Oh my god the number of times I’ve heard “you’re better than this”! And yeah it’s always worse when it comes from someone you initially think you might have something in common with. (They can all eff off!)

    • Yes yes they can kindly eff off. Please stop assuming I cant make my own choices that are best for me okay thanks bye. At least thats what I tell them with my best smile on my face.

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