Yesterday, at the grocery store I almost walked right into an old customer that I knew in the strip club world. Luckily he was looking elsewhere, and I was able to quickly turn and flee.
It happens. You’re coming around the corner in some public place, and all of a sudden, “The Farmer” is walking towards you. This customer was assigned such nickname due to his profession, and the fact that he was 1) cheap and 2) stank a bit of cow shit. (No shade to the farmers, especially the old timers- I totally get why you’re so cheap- you have had decades of trying to pinch every dollar to survive- I get it. But you should come to the strip club after you just sold your prize cow. That would work better for us.)
This guy wasn’t too bad, but sit with him long enough, and you would hear his racist and misogynistic comments slip into his talk every now and then. Along with gripes about the way things used to be, and the world is going to hell in a hand basket.
In the back room, he liked to toe that line between following the rules and breaking them. He would suggest nice things you could do to him, which would elicit a giggle and some a playful shock face from the girl. His hands sometimes got a little suggestive and you had to move like a Ninja to avoid them.
He stopped dancing with me back in like, ’07 because he knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with me. I didn’t have patience for that “let’s see if she’ll stop me” shit. Get the fuck out of here with that. You get four minutes of titties in your face, and that’s about it.
Anyway, I’m glad The Farmer didn’t see me. That would have been super awkward.