Between the guy who likes women to use his hand as an ashtray (yes-ash, put out and leave in his palm their cigarettes), and the guy who came in today who spoke hardly a lick of english (this is America, right? just checking.) and would ask a dancer if he could cut a piece of her hair off to take home, I'm convinced strip clubs are like the Humane Society for Crazy Fuckers.
Granted, these are both normal, acceptable fetishes. Neither is strange, especially if you're well-versed in the fetish world. However, the person requesting the act makes a big difference. Ashtray Guy is a normal, nice man with money to blow and a slightly off the wall degradation fetish. Cut-Your-Hair-and-Probably-Make-Lifesize-Sex-Dolls Dude is...not so much. Give him an inch and next thing you know he's skinning the fatties and dancing to Q Lazzarus.
Let's not forget CYHaPMLSD Dude (hereafter, "CYH Dude") bore an uncanny resemblance to the Mexican in Constantine who discovers the spear of destiny. IE: creepy and most likely possessed. So combine his appearance, his broken (and slurred, I might add) english, his greasy skin (bleeeech) and his women's strands of hair fetish and we have..ta-da! A new Crazy Fucker inductee into our little topless bar refuge.
Not to digress, but my GOD why don't people teach their dogs to shut the hell up? Newsflash: if your dog barks at everything, he probably won't effectively warn you when there's a real emergency. And he'll annoy the fuck out of your pothead-but-don't-let-that-fool-ya-I'm-a-crazy-bitch neighbor. Just sayin'.
Anyway. It's not all bad at the titty bar. I had a blast today, worked my ass (clothes?) off, and made some cash. The majority of customers in today were fun and good natured. This kind of day makes my job so much easier, and in turn makes the patrons' experience much more pleasant. Who wants to see a bunch of morose, whiny bitches at the strip club? No one. Especially when they aren't all hot. This is not the club where strippers go to die. (That's downtown).