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She got tired

Philip A. Stein

I was in Dr. Don's Famous Door about 6:30. I torture myself with this place once or twice a year. Oddly, it's a magnet for young (and usually fat) newbie strippers. I call it the stripper university, the graduates end up at better clubs like Potters or Cracker Jaxx. The thick (mind and/or waist) are domed to additional semester work.

So I'm there, she comes back from the hardly separate area called the VIP. I'll call her Sunshine since that's her stage name. She isn't called Sunshine because she's bright, more likely because her gut is the size of the sun. I quickly remember I have met her before, she has a purse made of Crown Royal bags. I remember her mom does the sewing as well as make her stripper outfits.

We're the only two at the bar and she has no recollection of me, I wouldn't expect her to. My conversation makes it clear I'm only there for a quick drink. She has little sense and starts talking to the bartender about her earlier VIP. She mentions that this is her first time working in a while because she's broke. Then she says she bails on the VIP after 4 songs because she got tired. Tired? Whooh! Tired of pulling $20 a song at 80 bucks. Un-fucking-real!