We all start out as cute, innocent little baby strippers. We get our licenses, sign paperwork promising to follow the laws about stripping. No touching period, no straddling the customers, no being within 12 inches of a customer while on stage, no letting the customers touch you, no flashing certain parts. No grinding. Absolutely never go home with a customer. The list goes on.
Your first lap dance is awkward. You don’t touch. You try to dance sexy in front of him, but he loses interest quickly. He doesn’t get another dance. So for the next customer you push your boundaries a little bit. Gently, nervously caressing his chest during your awkward strip tease. But he loses interest too. You go a little further for the next guy, and he likes it. When you ask if he’d like another dance he says yes. You remind him it’ll be another twenty, and he changes his mind.
Fast forward a few months and you find yourself straddling the customers, grinding, brushing against his hard cock with your tits. You flash some pussy while the cameras can’t see, letting him cop a feel of your ass.
Fast forward even further, a few years later. Girls ask you your secret for making so much money and getting so many dances. You shrug and say you’re lucky, but in you’re head you’re thinking “I grab a lot of cock.” You do ten dances in a row for a guy, not stopping to ask him if he’d like another or like you to stop. When you finally do stop he owes you $200 dollars that he has no choice but to pay, whether he likes it or not. You ripped someone off, broke all the rules. But you don’t care, you hit your numbers.
I watch the other female banker, Blondie, lead a customer to her desk from the teller line. She giggles loudly and tosses her hair on the way over. Briefly my mind changes the scene to the club. Flirting with the customer, holding his hand on the way to the couch. Charming him into giving you what you want. Blondie does great, racking up checking accounts like I do lap dances.
The newest banker tried joining in on the office gossip today. Me and another banker talking about how we’re pressured into using unsavory sales tactics. He’s optimistic, eager. He insists he can make it playing by the rules. We laugh at him. He’s so like those doe eyed new girls, wobbly in their heels. Insisting they don’t have to play dirty to compete. They never last long unless they up their game.
I sell a savings account over the teller line. Fast talking with a flashing smile. The scene flickers again to the parallel universe that is the club.
Me: You only have a checking. You need a savings.
Customer: I’m good, I’m not really saving right now.
Me: No no, you need it. Sign here.
Customer: Oh… ok.
Me: Want a dance?
Customer: Nah I’m good right now.
Me: No no, it’s ok. Come on.
Customer: Oh… ok.
It’s the same thing. Heavy sales. Sleazy tactics. Pushing boundaries until you’re not sure where your limit is anymore.The only difference is, with stripping it’s not hurting anybody. At Mega bank your rapist sales tactics can certainly do harm. This is why I’m getting burnt out.
When you look at it from the right angle, it’s all stripping. Fighting, pushing limits to get to the dollar on the tip rail first. Frankly, that’s a fight I’d rather fight in a g-string and stilettos than grey slacks and a button down.