Ava Adore

DSM of Dbags: Type G: “Money Talks.”

Installment seven of the catalogue of the douchebags I meet.

Last night’s Douchebag of the Night: Type G, “Money Talks.”

The psychology of Money Talks involves sheer desperation and very grabby hands. We don’t why he can’t seem to get ass from any other female on the planet, but there he is, in his tipping glory. Unlike other douches, Money Talks has the willingness to spend—but also thinks this buys the privilege to mistake a strip club for a legitimate brothel.

Money Talks is like the Boss Level of Screwdriver. While the Screwdriver is more mental, and deals in ‘promises’ of sex, Money Talks is physical, and wants instant gratification.

Last night was not the first version of Money Talks that I’ve met, but certainly the worst. Usually we don’t waste time with grabby folks and walk before they can even blink—but that kind isn’t usually tipping 20s consistently.

After Paul had left, this new dude tipped me a 5 and called me over, so I decided to go see what he was about. It started out alright, he tipped me a 20 right off the bat, and slipped some singles into my t-back, and we got to talking.

It was the usual bullshit, would I like to be his girlfriend etc, all part of the game and harmless enough. The first red light that went off was when he said, ‘I’m hot, right? You’re attracted to me. Say you’re attracted to me. Then you could tip me instead.’

I told him the tipping went one way here and the creepiness was starting to edge out of his eyes as he got more comfortable with me. He tipped me another ten in singles and started to get super uncomfortable with the touching—and I mean really uncomfy.

I told him, as we do, “Boundaries!” and he got pouty but listened for all of 2 minutes before he went back to trying to touch my vajay over my t-back. I pushed him away and said, “Seriously, take the hint. Do not fucking touch me again or I am walking.”

He begged me to stay and tipped me another 20. After some useless banter of really inappropriate innuendos and him trying unsuccessfully to get me to put my hand on his groinal region, he tried to get under my t-back and I actually slapped him in the face.

I was beyond pissed and really uncomfortable, so I told him that’s a 20 dollar fine, because I was gonna take it and walk. I learned the hard way with Lilah that sometimes the bottom line in the club is that money is the only language anyone understands.

They want to hand you their wallet? Take it. They want to take advantage of you? Take advantage of them. He tried to wheedle and negotiate his way into a) paying less of a fine and b) still keeping me there. I told him to have a nice life and walked away.

By this time Steve was waiting for me with a drink like a godsend. I saw, unfortunately, that Ra. had taken my place; I’ll do a profile on Ra. at some point, she is an amazing person. Anyway, I didn’t want her to go through what I’d gone through.

I excused myself a moment from Steve and went to grab her away, which she was appreciative of, because she’s a little less direct than I am. We went into the back and complained to the manager. We got him kicked out. Bastard deserved it.

In conclusion to the sort of gent he is?
His first words to Ra. were: “So, do you like being molested?”
(You cannot make this shit up.)

Shift: 06.13.10, 8pm-4am.

Slow Sunday… but still better than a usual Thursday.

Started out with John and Paul, a large Italian and skinny tattooed guy, respectively. John called me over because he liked my bum in the Cherry Kirsch outfit (and I have to agree; that’s why I bought it). He boisterously proclaimed he wanted a dance from me.

So the three of us got to talking and John has a wandering eye but Paul liked me even moreso, and tipped me continuously. He was shy but very funny, I enjoyed the time I spent bsing with him; he was actually the one I got the dance with.

After they left, I had another stage set, and was called over by the Douchebag Who Shall Not Be Named. I will refer to him by his Douchebag Code, which is “Money Talks,” and I will address his assholery in the next post.

Lastly, Steve and his friend came in (Lilah and I met Steve a different night when we’d talked tats and photography); apparently he’d been in a few times asking for me. He brought me a CD of his spoken word band and is bringing in photos of Dita for me tonight.

Steve got 3 dances from me. He’s a sweet and respectful guy. He actually tried to comfort me after the douchebaggery with Money Talks. Why can’t more gents be kinder? And not try to treat dancers like a) cheap whores or b) like a strip club is a 3D version of match.com?

No new bruises. Costumes: Cherry Kirsch, Sparkling Diamond, Lace Domme, Boifriend.

Douchebag Count: 1.
$hift Grade: B