Alex Cave frequently stared at me while I was giving couch dances, in an attempt to catch me making illegal physical contact with customers, so there would be a reason to fire me. She never found that, because I never did that. It reminded me of dumb bitch Brenda Bonzo of Centerfold Columbus, who had her friend come in to illegally put his hands on me, while Brenda stood in the office with a video camera pointed at the security footage screen. Brenda illegally terminated me for standing up for my rights, by fabricating a scenario where I was assaulted, and calling it prostitution. I can see dumb bitch Alex Cave doing something like that some day. She will probably be a middle aged, saggy strip club manager violating dancer's rights her whole life, just like Brenda Bonzo.

I usually have strip club DJs put the song “Ridin’ Dirty” by Chamillionaire on my playlist rotation, as my little Song War taunt against losers who try to catch me doing illegal things in dances so they can fire me.

One time, Alex thought she saw me rubbing my chest on a customer during a dance. Likely it was her own delusion from all of the cannabis dabs she ingested. She suddenly became VERY excited and ran to the back office, to tell the Brownings about it and watch the security footage on replay like a sportsball fanatic. Unfortunately for Alex, it was a false alarm. I hadn't actually rubbed my tits on a customer like she said I did. Meanwhile, a dancer who went by Isabella broke more physical contact rules than any dancer at Mouse's Ear. Buddy occasionally yelled at Isabella, threatened to fire her, suspended her, and had her grovel. A day or two after Alex's big false alarm with me, I watched Isabella rub her mons pubis area on a customer's mouth while he kissed her there. It was fucking disgusting to witness, and Alex didn't do shit. Perhaps she didn't watch Isabella as closely as she watched me. For the record, I do not support the notion that strip clubs should have private booths or allow “decrim” in our workplaces. I liked Mouse's Ear because there weren't private booths, and I don't like it when prostitutes invade my work spaces under the SJW guise of being “marginalized.”

Isabella “tipped” Alex significant amounts at the end of her nights. When she found out that I didn't pay much to Alexandra J. Cave, Isabella started paying her even more money, to make up for what I was resisting. She'd apologize to Alex about me, loudly, turning her head toward me to make sure I heard. Isabella is a relatively dumb person with a slave mentality, submissive to her oppressors, weak and broken, so that is why she enjoyed giving up her hard earned cash to some stupid quasi-manager like Alex, not being properly classified, and not fighting for her rights. Whenever Alex harassed me and Isabella overheard, she would laugh loudly, to display her support for Alex like a good lackey.

Isabella goes by Cali Dotson on facebook. I don't know if that's her full name and don’t care to track down her exact name. Like many of us with Appalachian heritage, she has a cherubic face with doe eyes, well defined cheekbones, a button nose, and geometric facial beauty found on magazine covers. I've never seen a higher concentration of facial beauty as I did working at Mouse's Ear among the locals, rotten teeth be-damned.

Isabella used to purchase cocaine from a customer-dealer at Mouse's Ear. One night she was screeching with anger in the dressing room, because her dealer was told to leave for the evening while the Brownings were closing up, and she was unable to make her purchase. One time a customer was passing out free pills, saying they were ecstasy. I declined the random freebies, but Isabella gobbled one up like Skittles. It seems inevitable that Isabella will one day accidentally gobble some fentanyl given to her by some random guy. She once described her mother as “a bad drug addict.” She was also Lilith's customer. Lilith didn't have the greatest operational security, and I am very perceptive of my surroundings. It makes me feel sad that so many beautiful people who are my genetic kin are suffering this way. Isabella drank regularly at work, and expressed that she has to drink in order to socialize properly. I never witnessed her socialize properly.

Isabella called me “cut throat” with regularity, due to my awesome sales that she could not match. She was gravely confused about the hospitality process rules that the Brownings vaguely implemented. What she'd do when she first started working with me is greet a customer, sit him down at a table, get up, greet another customer, sit him down at a different table, and expect me not to approach any customer who she greeted and sat down, even if he was sitting at a table by himself. In the beginning, she'd only be ok with dancers speaking to customers she greeted if those dancers were her friends. She'd attempt to greet, seat, and get dibs on every customer she could while I was around, like whack-a-mole as they walked through the door. If I sat with a customer who didn't have a dancer with him, but who she previously greeted, she would run over to the table to yell at me about it in front of the customer. She'd say,

“Sorry, she's new! She doesn't know I was sitting with you!”

--Except she wasn't sitting with any of the customers who I sat with. She just greeted them and then assumed I would be too scared to talk to them, or too timid to disobey her fucking insane etiquette. She didn't come into work a lot, but when she did, the other dancers briefed her on my hustling style, and she felt the need to turn it up a notch in an act of cocaine-induced retaliation. She's been at Mouse's Ear for years. Her behavior was ridiculous, so of course I told Buddy about it. He spoke with her and told her to leave me alone, especially if I was with a customer. For the most part, she obeyed Buddy after he scolded her, though she still had some slip ups.

Isabella often burst into tears both on the show floor and in the dressing room. She often complained if I was at work when she came in. One time, she interrupted a dance I was giving, to speak with the customer DURING the table dance. None of that is normal. I had a fat hillbilly regular, who specifically came in to see me and pay me to chit-chat with him for hours. He was a professional poker player and enjoyed sharing his money with me. Isabella and several other dancers were deluded into thinking that I told him to reject their offers to dance for him when they asked. In fact, I did not do that. In fact, he rejected them on his own accord and preferred to speak with me in part because I am not insane and on drugs. She used to falsely accuse me of telling customers that I want to “fuck” them.

Isabella is probably around four-foot-eleven without her shoes on. Her body doesn't look like a fully grown adult’s. It is almost dwarfish. She wears long platinum blonde hair extensions that are down to her butt crack. There isn't anything about her that is particularly “womanly.” She's probably in her late twenties by now, but most people think she is much younger. Her voice is similar to mine. In addition to regularly crying, she constantly whined while talking, in an infantile manner. Isabella is a grown ass woman though, not a baby.

Isabella was very confused about why so many customers were interested in me or gave me their money. There would be plenty of customers to go around on a Friday or Saturday night, but Isabella would be crying upstairs in the dressing room about not making money, threatening to kill herself. She once stated that the dancers who made the most money at Mouse's Ear are “the ones who look like shit, because customers feel sorry for them!” She referred to me as “that Chewbacca bitch,” because I don't shave or wax all of my pubic hairs. I am not bald in between my long beautiful legs, while Isabella is completely bald in between her tiny matchstick legs. That is why she gave me the moniker “Chewbacca bitch.” Isabella thought that customers had charitable pity for my appearance, and that's why I sold so many dances.

Another suicidal dancer who couldn't hustle, stage name Roxy, agreed with Isabella wholeheartedly one evening while they were hanging out by my locker. Isabella and Roxy were unable to figure out how grown adult heteronormative men would be sexually attracted to a woman with long shapely legs, perfect porcelain skin, a silky sensual black bush, round womanly backside, perky unaltered natural bosom, long dark silky hair of Gaelic origins, a face as beautiful as any other Appalachian, plus a full set of teeth. Isabella and Roxy were confused as to why grown adult heterosexual men would be interested in sitting with me, paying me to discuss geography, politics, science, history, art, and labor struggles, all while I confidently kept eye contact with them, made them feel valid, and tailored my persona to their liking. Isabella and Roxy couldn’t figure out why the various bearded backwoodsman of Tennessee, business travelors from around the country, military infantrymen, scientists, and professional poker players among others would find me interesting or attractive with my unique perspectives and unaltered body of a 1970s Playboy model. Isabella and Roxy thought customers felt sorry for me for those things, that they were paying me out of pity, and that customers were actually sexually attracted to a pubescent-looking, drug addled, cry baby dwarf with fake hair, fake nails, fake eyelashes, and a bloodstream full of non-prescription pharmaceuticals. Isabella and Roxy were so full of wonder and confusion.

Certainly some customers did come into Mouse's Ear for Cali Dotson, perhaps to catch a kiss on her small hairless mons pubis whenever Alexandra J. Cave wasn't looking. Most men prefer me though— my black bush, my womanly confidence, my sapiosexual company, and that's just the way it is.

One thing I really liked about working at Mouse's Ear was the relative ease I had with throwing out customers who sexually assaulted me. The Brownings were cool with me putting guys in full nelsons or other maneuvers and physically escorting them into the lobby to exit. With their tendency to save money by not hiring security, aside from the two fat DJs doing side work, the Brownings were usually cool with me protecting myself from problem customers by taking matters into my own hands. One time I threw out a stinky East Indian man for grabbing my butt. Isabella was around to see that one, and after I threw him out, she began screeching about how I should've kept him in the building, about how she would've handled him better by making him pay her. It was a very victim-blaming expression of her total lack of solidarity for assault victims, annoying, triggering, but not surprising coming from such a pitiful specimen like Ms. Dotson.

After a few months of being coworkers, Isabella was in a reflective state of mind. Perhaps someone gave her shrooms. While I was at my locker, she began a whining rant of apology to me. She stated that she was sorry for the ways she treated me over the past several months, that she didn't want any “bad blood” between us, and that she wanted to be the “bigger person” by apologizing. She didn't name any specific things she was sorry about. Up until that point, I never even said hi to Isabella or had a conversation with her. I completely avoided her every time she insulted me on the show floor or in the dressing room. Every rant and comment she ever made was stonewalled by me, or I went to Buddy about it. I don't know why she thought she was being the “bigger person” by apologizing for her own behavior. I just was like,

“Oh, ok, you're fine. Yeah. It's ok. I'm not mad.”

I think she wanted to have a longer conversation with me or have me speak to her more than I did, because she became upset that I wasn't properly accepting her random apology with an exchange. But, she did abruptly stop harassing me after that, so it was one less thing for me to have to deal with. I have no idea what prompted the apology.

My friend Bunny started working at Mouse's Ear closer to the end of my time there. She had never danced before, had a drug problem and a skin condition. Bunny is beautiful like a chiseled marble statue though. She's a good listener, intuitive, tall, with great bone structure, natural blonde hair and blue eyes. So, naturally, she sold a lot more dances than a lot of other people. Because she was quiet, reserved, and did not gather in groups of vapid cunts, she got bullied by many dancers who did not make as much money as she did. Naturally, Isabella started accusing her of engaging in prostitution, and making up other lies that were inspired by their differences in sales numbers.

Isabella still dances at Mouse's Ear from time to time. She fits in well there, because people like Raven baby her, she grovels to management, she likes being extorted by Alex Cave, and because other toxic losers enjoy hearing her loud, mean comments like crabs in a bucket. She also fits in well with all of the drug dealers. I hate all of the predators who've ever peddled poison to Ms. Dotson, her mother, and all of Appalachia. I'd go so far as to call it a slow genocide, and for that Isabella has my pity.