Saturday - July 13, 2014
Last night my agent booked me for two parties. The first one at 7 P.M. and the second one at 9 P.M.
There was one problem though. The drive time between the two parties was two hours.
My entire performance tends to last about an hour. It takes me that long to cycle through a variety of activities and girls. The customers expect an hour due to the large amount of money they hand out, so anything less than that causes dissatisfaction.
Tardiness also causes dissatisfaction. There was no way I would make the second party by 9 P.M., even if were to speed down the interstate.
I called the second party to ask if I could bump the time to 10 P.M. The girl who answered said that the time had already been delayed to 9 P.M. She originally requested that I show up at 8. "We plan on hitting up the clubs once you leave and we don't wanna go out too late," she said.
Because the first party booked me a week in advance, I had to honor their 7 o'clock reservation. As a result, I had to cancel my second show.
I called my agent and told him.
"No problem," he said. "I'll just get another guy to do it."
The rest of my evening continued as planned.
The first party, a surprise 40th birthday party, was amazing. It was located in an upscale neighborhood that had a pristine golf course. The ladies showered me with money like they had too much of it. They eagerly participated in all my activities, and everyone seemed to have a great time, myself included. I left with over a hundred dollars in tips.
Once I got home, I made dinner and sat down to relax. I was tired, hungry, and wanted to relax in my living room for the rest of the evening.
Then at 9:48 P.M. the phone rang.
It was the customers from the second party, the one I had to cancel.
"Hey, we're trying to call your company and no one is answering," she said. "I figured that you may know someone we can talk to."
"What's wrong?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.
"Well, your company told us that they got an Italian guy to show up. So we told the security at the front gate of our condo that an Italian guy would show up ... Well, a guy showed up, but he looks nothing like the picture. First of all, he's black. He definitely does not match the picture of the guy we picked. And he has some other guy with him, which is just weird. We gave security the description and name of an Italian guy. They won't let this guy and his friend in, and we don't really want them to come into our place."
"I'd like to help you," I offered. "But I probably won't be able to get a hold of my agent. He's pretty busy with the phones on Saturdays."
"Can you come strip for us?" she asked.
"I don't feel comfortable taking another guy's job from him," I said. "And it'd take me two hours to get ready and get out there."
"I see," she said. "Wait, I think your company is calling. Let me take this. I'll text you afterwards. Bye."
As soon as I got off the phone, my agent sent me this text message: "Call the Orange Beach party. They may take you."
I replied: "Yes. They wanted me to it. I think they turned the other guy away."
My phone rang again. This time it was my agent.
"These fuckin' racist bitches are really pissin' me off," he said in a tone mixed with anger and exasperation. "They don't want the guy who showed up because they think he's black. He's fuckin' LATINO! I told them that, but they still think he's black. They're demanding a white guy, even though this guy drove an hour and a half to their location. Anyway, if you want to still do this party, it's yours."
"The earliest I can get out there is midnight," I said. "And they've already been flaky twice tonight. The last thing I want to do is drive all the way out there just for them to give me attitude or turn me away."
"I hear ya," he said. "I mean, you offered to do they show at 10 P.M. earlier and they said it was too late. Now it's fuckin' 10 o'clock and these dumb bitches want you to drive out there. If they took the time you originally said, then we wouldn't even have this problem right now. I swear, sometimes I just want to reach my hand through the phone and choke the shit out of some of these bitches."
"Just curious. Do male customers who book female strippers ever give you these problems"
"Not very often. It's almost always the women. They complain about every fuckin' thing imaginable. Guys are easy. Just send them a hot girl with ass and titties and they're happy. Girls are a constant pain in my fuckin' asshole. They want some fantasy guy that they been dreaming about for the last 20 years to suddenly appear and strip for them, and if you don't send them someone that perfectly fits that bill, they raise hell. They bitch when the guy is 3 minutes late. They bitch about everything. Like I said, I'd like to just smack 'em a bunch of times."
In the end, I decided against doing the party. My agent was more than understanding.
After I got off the phone, the girl from the second party sent me a text message asking me to come out to perform. She said I could show up around midnight.
I did not reply.