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Chapter 46: Quitting, Part 2
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Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 47: Pit of Thorns, Part 1
Quitting stripping was like falling into a pit of thorns. Well, maybe stripping itself was like falling into a pit of thorns, but quitting was like waking up in the pit and realizing, "Oh shit, I'm covered in fucking thorns." Over the course of the next year, I slowly but surely started to pull the thorns out one by one, and each one felt like a little blade slicing through my skin. The thing about thorns, too, is that infection spreads faster than you think. I had changed in ways that I didn't realize I had: I was more callous, more selfish, more money-obsessed. The aim of stripping was to manipulate people for money, and I didn't stop with strangers. People I loved became like money faucets in my mind: my parents, my grandparents, my friends: anyone who would give me money turned into a fixed dollar amount per month in my mind, and if they didn't give me money, it either meant that they didn't love me or I didn't care enough to bother with them. Of course, quitting, even abruptly
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 48: Pit of Thorns, Part 2
I quit stripping sometime in May. What would follow is what I call my "year of solitude," because that's essentially what it was. I had no job, and a full summer to think about the classes that I had failed. I had no idea what to do with myself. I looked for different library jobs, but only half-heartedly. I was afraid of the question that comes up on all employment applications, "Why did you leave your previous position?" "Well, you see, I was a stripper, and it was quite stressful, and made my brain think funny things, because of anxiety, so I quit, because I wasn't thinking properly, now here I am!" I also couldn't say, "Well, I just quit for no damn reason at all, because that's what it looks like." Plus, it was a dry season for library jobs. I received a steady stream of rejection notices, and I became more desperate to find a job, any job. Several months later, I tried re-applying for my old position at Garland. I even emailed my supervisor, explaining that I had been suffering
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 49: Redemption, Part 1
My redemption came from a place called Rowlett. The summer can be the busiest time for a public library, since many "Summer Reading Programs," generally take place to help encourage kids to read during the time away from school. The Rowlett Public Library was looking for a temporary, part-time library assistant to help ease the burden of all the excess foot traffic. Kids and their parents would come in flocks and droves to pick up books and weekly prizes for reading. The number of patrons per day doubled what it was during the winter. I didn't care that the post was only for four months, and that it was 23 miles away down I-30. It was $15 an hour for 25 hours per week, and that was a bounty compared to the previous year of fifty bucks here and there. When I interviewed, I tried to apply the lessons I had learned from some of my more disastrous interviews and tried to appear eager, competent, and intelligent. I didn't just want a job; I wanted one in a physical place, where I had a se
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 50: Redemption, Part 2
Although there weren't many true reference questions, the ones I did get I poured my energy into. "Can you tell me where books on fibro-myalgia are?" asked a girl no more than 13. "I want to help my grandmother." "Do you have any books on construction? I want to build a patio.""Do you have any good recommendations for historical fiction?" These types of questions I loved the most. I loved reading recommendations, because I honestly tried to give the patron my opinion but also attempted to help them branch out of what they might normally read. The toughest customer I ever had was a little girl, no more than ten years old, wanting "a good book to read." I suggested middle school stuff, Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Royal Diaries, Dear America books, Captain Underpants. None of it would do; she had either read it all or thought it would be "boring." "What about A Wrinkle in Time? It's fantastic!""What's it about?"How does one explain the beauty and exquisiteness of A Wrinkle in Time?"
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 1: Prologue
This quiet librarian was naked, except for a pair of T-backs , 6-inch heels, and a class ring from "The Harvard of the South" that glinted in the dark. As I stood on the raised platform, I felt as though I were on a pedestal, a golden goddess on her throne. I shimmied and gyrated to the music, feeling an intoxication unmatched by alcohol. A trio of men grouped around my small stage, each eager to tuck singles into my elastic band. The club was dimly lit, an eternal twilight that belied the blazing Texas sun outside. The AC pouring through the vents made my nipples hard and dried up the sweat on my back from the exertion of dancing. There were six stages, six dancers, and stage lights illuminated each one of us like dolls in a cabinet; we were living, breathing mannequins, each moving with a sensual fluidity as unique as a fingerprint. A mix of country and rock pounded through the stereo system, and groups of half-nude women chatted with fully clothed men in suits and cowboy hats,
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 2: Epic Fail
As soon as I opened my teller drawer, my heart started pounding. All of my strapped and loose cash was there from the day before, in neat little rows. How could you have left it out again? How could you have made such a stupid mistake? Everyone went silent. They all knew what forgetting to put one's cash in the vault meant. "Let's start counting," Kris, the head teller, whispered. My insides writhed as Kris and I pulled the straps off the stacks of 100s and 20s to run through the money counter . We needed to account for every penny. You didn't even lock your drawer!My fellow tellers, Megan and Amanda, tried to small talk about their plans for this weekend, to cover up the general feeling of embarrassment. Every once in a while, they glanced over at me, and I hated their stares of pity. The world went blurry as tears threatened to spill over my eyes. My nose turned its characteristic shade of clown-nose bright vermillion that let the world know how pathetic I felt. I excu
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 3: Hello, Little Girl, Part 1
I must have seemed like a country mouse at her first Freak Show, wanting the part of Head Freak. I drove to Baby Dolls, a huge glamorous club, straight from my shift at the Garland Public Library. The manager's eyes raked over my black pants, chunky glasses, and long-sleeved, lavender button-up."Sorry," he said. "We already have enough entertainers, but you can try our sister club, Lipstick. They're always hiring. Ask for Little Jon."At the time, I thought this was the manager's honest response, but I simply hadn't learned the tacit rules of the audition yet. Slightly dejected, but no less determined, I drove down Harry Hines, passing tire shops, cheap Mexican restaurants, adult toy stores, and filthy-looking, no-name hotels. Baby Dolls was Reunion Tower, Lipstick, McDonalds. Baby Dolls was a gargantuan, loud affair, with flashing lights, glittering bars, two stories and 6 stages, and catered to large wallets and black credit cards; Lipstick had a glowing neon sign of a lip-print
Confessions of an Exotic Dancing Librarian Chapter 4: Hello Little Girl, Part 2
I came three hours early on my first day. I hadn't meant to show up that early, but it was a Sunday, and instead of opening up at 11, the club opened at 12 (to get around those pesky alcohol laws in Texas). Pulling up to the back, I could see the kitchen staff were already there, hosing down the parking lot and surrounding area to clean it from the previous night's alcohol spills and cigarette butts. It still stank of stale beer, smoke, and grease, a combination I grew oddly fond of. When I walked in, Little Jon was snoozing in a corner, so I quietly went backstage to the locker room to unpack and get dressed. The House Mom hadn't even arrived yet. I found an empty locker and claimed it with a purple lock. The dingy room had ripped carpet, huge wall-length mirrors, and long benches for the dancers to sit on, or nap on, depending on how slow the day was. Not a single inch looked clean; the shower in the corner looked like a breeding ground for foot fungus, and nary a square inch was f
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