Jo Weldon

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SNAPPY STRIPPER COMEBACKS

Me in San Francisco, May 2001.

I stripped my way through college. It's amazing if you think about it. Consider these numbers (and to give you a sense of whether I'm lowballing or highballing, let me just say that these are the numbers I gave the IRS): If I did ten table dances a night, four nights a week, 50 weeks a year--that's minus spending a week with my mom at Easter and another week with her at Christmas--that's 2000 table dances a year. I finished my first degree, which means I went to college for at least four years, so that's at least 8000 table dances. Before you stop counting, keep in mind that I attended graduate school, so that's two more years and 4000 more dances--yes! 12,000 table dances.

I hate to admit it, but I didn't learn a thing about dancing during those table dances. The thing is, once men finally have permission to stare at you, to gaze boldly upon your naked parts, what do they want to do? That's right. They want to talk. While you're standing there naked and ready to writhe, they want to have a conversation. They want to get to know you on a personal personal level so they don't feel like they're exploiting you (dude, that's what I'm here for), to respect you too much to get another dance, or just to say something so annoying that they're forever imprinted on your psyche.

I wouldn't say I have issues. But I'm capable of being annoyed, for sure.

To be fair, the vast majority of men who come into strip joints don't say these dumb things. But the ones who say them seem to think they've never been said before--what comes to mind is the scene in Pulp Fiction when Samuel L. Jackson says, "Hate to shatter your ego, but this isn't the first time I've had a gun pointed at me." Here's a heads-up for the nosy bastards: Shut up and stare! Objectify me when I tell you to!

Will you sit on my face?
Why, is your nose bigger than your dick?

What would it take to get you to leave here with me?
A fire.

Are those real?
Real expensive.

You're a beautiful girl, but I prefer women with dark hair and natural breasts.
Oh, you would have loved me a week ago.

It's just a matter of price. I bet you'd go home with me for ten grand.
Sir, you may be correct. For ten grand, I would consider sleeping with you. And I believe that for ten grand you would consider sucking off the bouncer. Since neither of us is offering ten grand, we'll never know.

I'd really like to know your real name.
Why, do you think we might be related?

Why don't you let me take you away from all this?
Sure, but then how would I get away from you?

I've always wanted to have sex with two girls at once.
Me too!

My wife would kill me if she caught me in here.
Why, does she work here?

You must make a ton of money.
Why, are you giving me a ton of money?

If you were my woman, you wouldn't be working here.
If you were my man, you wouldn't be spending here.

I've got plenty of money.
I'm really happy for you, but I'm not interested in your money; I'm only interested in mine.

Do you think size is important?
Wallet, or penis?

(After asking you to sit and yammering at you about how much money he makes for fifteen minutes) I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I don't want a dance--you're just not my type.
No problem! I don't care if you pay me to go away, as long as you pay me.

I've got a twelve-inch cock.
That's a darn shame, because all I've got is a six-inch vagina.

Have you ever located your G-spot?
Yes, it's on my G-string.

Are you just in this for the money, or do you get horny while you're dancing?
I'm in it for the money, but making money makes me horny.

Don't you feel guilty about exploiting these poor guys for their money?
I used to, but now that I can afford therapy I don't feel guilty anymore.

It must be great to make all this money you don't have to report on your taxes.
It's great, and not reporting taxes would save me all the trouble of being able to invest in the stock market or raise my credit rating or buy a house.

I bet this job really makes you hate men.
Only the ones who psychoanalyze me.

Why don't you go to college and get out of here?
I already went to college and I was glad to get out of there.

I usually don't come to these places.
Me neither.

If I was a woman I'd just go around with a mattress strapped to my back. Women have it so easy.
There are plenty of men who will pay you to have sex with them. Just take out an ad.
I wouldn't do that--I'm not gay!
And I'm not straight, so there you are.

I'm working on my thesis about adult entertainment, would you mind answering a few questions?
I'm working on my thesis about people who do theses on adult entertainment, would you mind answering a few questions? For instance, were you abused as a child?

Now that I've gotten to know you, I respect you too much to watch you dance.
I'm so so relieved, because I was so so worried about your opinion of me, but I hope you don't respect me too much to pay me anyway.

Now that I've gotten to know you, I respect you too much to watch you dance on a table.
I know what you mean--now that I've gotten to know you, I respect you too much to watch you sit at a desk.

How much is a table dance? (Usually asked by a guy who knows perfectly well how much a table dance costs.)
It's twenty dollars, and forty to get me to stop asking if you want one.

Frequently said to a naked woman with tan lines: I'd really like to see you in that bikini.
Then why did you just pay me to take it off?

Don't you feel bad about selling your body?
I haven't sold it. I still have it. You twit.

(Said by a possibly coked-out frat boy) You know stripping is just another form of prostitution, right?
Right, and honey, if it bothers you to be a client, that's your problem, not mine.

(I believe I'm meant to take this as a compliment, which I don't.) You seem too intelligent to be here.
You don't.

My all-time favorite dancer/persistent asshole story:
Now, while I don't blame a guy for asking once, and I have nothing against sexual commerce, this is what ought to happen to guys who can't take no for an answer.
One night Brandy and I were sitting with a guy at a table in Dancers, a strip joint in Atlanta. The guy kept getting table dances, but he also kept pestering the hell out of us to meet him in his hotel room when we got off work. Finally Brandy, a notorious scammer, said, "Okay, give me a hundred dollars and your hotel room key, and I'll let myself in at 2:30." The guy gave her the money and the key and left. I asked Brandy if she was actually going to the guy's hotel room, and she just laughed. Later she came up to me in the dressing room and said, "I was just sitting with a guy, and he was bugging me to meet him after work. I said, 'Give me a hundred dollars and I'll give you my hotel room key. He did, and I said, 'Great, just let yourself in at 2:30.' "