Last night I sold a vintage bottle of Dom Perignon Luminous Rose. It cost $1025, and I didn't blink when I asked my client for "The pink one that lights up!" (STRIPPER TIP: If you sound nonchalantly stupid when you ask for something obscenely expensive, you are six times more likely to get it. Also, the bottle really does light up. And, as much as I LOVE me a good gimmick, I feel that Dom has just gone too far with this one). In any other circumstance, I would slap anyone across the face for even considering purchasing something so absurd. But when you're self-employed as a professionally frivolous distraction-from-reason, one's politics tend to get a little murky.
Let's do some math:
$1025 (not including tax and tip) ÷ 6 glasses = $183.3 per glass. LET'S JUST SLIP TWO BENJI'S INTO A CHAMPAGNE FLUTE, I'LL *ACT* LIKE I'M DRINKING IT, AND THEN CALL IT A DAY?
Nope. I sat and drank money for two hours and talked to a severely introverted but very polite man who spent his day "performing a few surgeries, and then went a Wilco concert in Westchester."
Who knew Jeff Tweedy made medical professionals want to make it rain?
I make a small commission off this sale, but mostly it just makes me look good to management. I hate that this should matter at all, but it does. By making the club money, a dancer's work environment is infinitely more pleasant and easier to manipulate in her favor.
But still. WHO THE FUCK BUYS A BOTTLE OF LIQUID HEADACHE FOR $1025?
Rich, educated white dudes who save lives and like Wilco, apparently.
In retrospect, what's most shocking to me is that I initiated this sale. No dummy is ever like, "Hi, what's the biggest rip-off, and may I have it please." It was me. I made this happen. I said "The pink one!" and Dr. Wilco said, "sure," and apparently I have no business ethic and a swirling moral compass. I am pro paying women boatloads of money for hanging out. I am significantly less in favor of spending the same amount on such a negligible amount of alcohol. For such a hefty price tag, couldn't we at least get the class of 2018 drunk? I would be more in favor of this practice if everything I drank didn't depreciate by 100% by the time I pissed it out the following morning. Couldn't I have ordered a cheaper bottle and asked for a more generous tip instead?
But it doesn't work that way. Clients prefer to be seen spending money, rather than give it to someone else. Power isn't shared; it's shown off.
At the end of our hang-out where Dr. Wilco literally sat and listened to me talk about music for two hours (win!), I watched him sign the bill ($~3000, a fraction of which I get to keep), and accepted a hundred dollar tip. I'm not complaining - I made some fat stacks last night and I'm feeling pretty good about it. But, man, sometimes this job is just a reminder that in spite of feeling like an expensive goddess at one-hour increments, I am a [life-enriching] Have-not, and Dr. Wilco is a [life-saving] Have, and unless I go to med school and sprout a dick, it's always going to be that way.