DJ in a Strip Club

DJ position, the notice ran. Rock-n-roll @msphere big $$ daily!! Fun!! 1203 Pioneer Blvd. Tacoma. Ask for joe. No phone calls.

I had taken a year of broadcasting school, and though I liked radio, didn't like it well enough to move to Boise or Omaha to "get my start" doing the midnight-to-4 shift. This job sounded like a hoot, and it was local. I cut the ad out and drove to the address listed. Gradually, the roadside businesses deteriorated from insurance companies and grocery stores to pawn shops and taverns as the overall condition of the road itself started to decline.

I was a little taken aback when I found the address, with its sign NEW PLAYERS CLUB! outlined in blinking red and white lights at 1 o'clock in the afternoon. New Players was obviously a strip club, often referred to in radio and print ads as a Gentlemen's Club.

I opened the black-painted plywood door and immediately was overwhelmed by the din of heavy metal, and the odor of sweat, mixed with cheap beer, fog machine solution and what to this day I can only describe as "strip club smell." A shadowy character with long dark hair, wearing a turquoise jacket, was hunched over the microphone in the booth by the door. He brought down the music and talked provocatively, rallying the four spectators to brief, uninspired applause. The next song started as he slid off of his stool and came over to take my five bucks door fee.

"I'm here about the job," I shouted.

He nodded and motioned me over to the booth. "What's goin' on, man. I'm Joe."

I reached my hand over the board to shake. He looked at it like I had tried to palm him a piece of chewed gum, and turned to the rack behind him to pick out another song.

"Okay, this bitch onstage is Jade," he said, pointing to the slender Vietnamese woman kicking and bending through the motions. "The next one up is Tawny. I'm gonna bring down the music in about 30 seconds and then it's all you, man." He pushed the microphone in my direction. My mind was racing for an excuse to leave when the music got excruciatingly quiet as I looked at Joe and he and everyone else in the club looked at me.

"Uh, all right, I'd like to thank everyone for coming out today and why don't you all give a big round of applause to this beautiful lady onstage here, uh, okay, we have more, so stay tuned. Thank you."

Joe nodded and brought up the music. I'd sounded fucking retarded and forgotten to name either of the girls, but Joe thought I had a nice voice and had me stay and run the board, while he showed me the ropes.

For the next four months I made a living saying things like, "Workin' hard to keep you that way, guys, put those hands together for Porsche." I learned that the girls are divided into three basic categories:

(1) Worker ants: daytime girls who are just trying it out because it pays better than waitressing or retail. They usually only stay a few weeks and are lucky to make "house" (the fee they must pay to dance). A $3-$5 tip is the best the DJ can expect from them for spinning their tunes.

(2) Worker bees: day or night girls who are usually older or not attractive enough to be in the top category, or used to be in the top category, many hard years ago. They are the most bitter and usually have boyfriends who have done time and aren't afraid to do more. A $5-$10 tip is standard.

(3) Queen bees: dancing only at night, these top-shelf girls are the youngest and most fetching. They typically have dreams of being "feature" girls, where they get to go on tour and be introduced while, say, sitting in a gargantuan rotating champagne glass, using both first and last names ("Give it up for Channel Staxx!"). They hope eventually to do porn. Queen bees only stay about two hours a night before they have made all of their money, throwing $20 at the DJ as they head out into the night to find coke.

I told my girlfriend that New Players was a regular dance club and I was playing music for regular drunks. All she knew was that I always paid when we went out, even if it took a little extra time to count out all those ones. "Why do they need a DJ at 3 o'clock in the morning?" she would ask. "Let's go shopping," I'd answer.

On Christmas Day at the New Players, all of the girls were dancing around in Santa hats or reindeer antlers. A bearded man in the front row, wearing a flannel shirt and a trucker cap, fell asleep. As he nodded I watched the bill of his hat hit the table, causing it to flip over, toppling his beer and exposing his bald head. Another man stood in the bathroom hallway, watching the show and pleasuring himself just out of view of the bouncer. My mind flashed to my family, sitting at my aunt's house on couches around the tree, opening gifts and giving thanks. Smiles and joy all around. I reached over and switched on the strobe light and fog for Tsunami's special Christmas number.