Now it's that time in a series when I've gotta be the bad guy. These next two dozen or so entries are what piss off the most amount of people and stirs up the most controversy-- dancer doxxing. I have a vague interest in the defending the practice-- the people who I doxx are scabs, sexual predators, abusers who should’ve been fired a long time ago. The world must know these people.

Mouse's Ear had some peculiarities of etiquette that are not found in other clubs around the country. The Brownings created a culture of bizarre etiquette at their club, because they were desperate to sell expensive juice. As covered already, the Brownings wanted the dancers to sit with the customers and drink juice. If a dancer got up to hang out in the dressing room or do whatever, but left her half-empty cup of juice at the table, that was her way of marking her territory on that customer. Other dancers were not supposed to talk to that customer sitting by himself, unless the dancer with a half-empty cup of juice had a friend who she permitted to speak to him. Many dancers at Mouse's Ear also sat with customers to drink multiple cups of juice, over the course of an hour or two, to make him feel appreciated and show her hospitality. Maybe he'd get a few songs after an hour. Maybe not. It was goddamned ridiculous. I thought it was all so incredibly stupid, such a horrible waste of my time, so unlike any other club I have ever worked at in my life. I am so disinterested in talking to most of the losers who patronize strip clubs, and solely focused on their money. My hustle, the hustle of any experienced dancer who needs to earn a living, usually involves sitting with a customer, spending as little time as possible speaking to him before he buys a dance, and then moving on once his cash is transferred from point A to point B. This can vary if the customer is paying to sit and talk, or if the investment of time speaking to him has the potential to pay off. I do not get paid by the hour, and my time is precious. I do not care if customers feel underappreciated because I do not sit with them for free. Many women, particularly ones from conservative backgrounds, have low self-esteem in terms of male entitlement. These women are oppressed and hobbled in many ways. One of the ways they are hobbled is by believing the burdensome notion that men deserve their time for free. Many Southern and oppressed women lash out and abuse liberated women, who they see being awesome. They may call them greedy, cold, brutish, selfish, callous. They do not understand that these kinds of liberated ice queens have risen above their oppression, to maximize profits, maximize free time, maximize liberation. I kindly offer my coworkers advice when they ask, but few listen. I kindly offer to pay union dues and pass out union cards to sign, but nobody wants that either. They just want to rain on my parade.

When I first started dancing, I didn't make a lot of money. I had to rely on FAFSA, a part-time college library job, and monthly rent checks from my parents. I did not understand how some of my coworkers could just sit with a customer for a few minutes before convincing him to go to the ATM. I did not lash out at my coworkers, become angry, jealous, or upset with my coworkers who had this ability. I studied them, learned from them, politely asked them how they did that. Some of them were patient enough to explain it to me. I always thanked them for their time. Learning their various methods helped me maximize the use of my time. One of my first bosses, Laurie Causey, was a former dancer who owned our club in dreary downtown Portland. One day when I was young, I told Laurie that I felt sorry for a customer, and I didn't want to take his money because he had a sad life. Laurie shook her head no, told me to never feel sorry for them, never ever feel bad about taking the money of any man who steps into a strip club. I listened to smart Laurie. One of my greatest hustling mentors was a former foster sister of Kurt Cobain; her stage name was Cadence. She was from wet rainy Aberdeen, Washington. She was so sweet and such an astounding hustler. She wasn't the most conventionally attractive dancer, and at one point she was nine months pregnant. Many more conventionally attractive dancers hated Cadence, slandered her, attempted to destroy her. I befriended her, hung out with her, and learned from her. Laurie never let any plebeians destroy Cadence. Laurie also never allowed any drug use in the workplace, and never allowed male staff to fraternize with dancers. Laurie never hired a DJ. We hated DJs. We used a computer to put up songs just fine by ourselves. Many people in Portland disliked us, and it was goddamned hilarious.

To all the findommes and hustlers out there, keep doing that Rain Dance baby, and stay tuned for a fun month ahead on Mouse's Ear Memoirs.