Whether I like it or not, I’m about to turn...umm...let’s say 29. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to get my first real job, settle down with a woman who doesn’t have a stage name and act my age. But, since I don’t have any experience outside of a few small achievements (I can cook steak, I know some basic guitar chords and I have a master’s degree from Portland State University...so, nothing really useful), I’ve been trying to find ways in which I can apply the skills I’ve learned as a strip club DJ, to other areas in my life. Thus far, I’ve wrangled up six life hacks that I’ve learned while working as a dance commander. Hopefully, you can make use of this knowledge without throwing a decade of your life away on free drugs and sexy women.
The difference between a standard nightclub DJ and a strip club DJ is that, in the strip club, most customers aren’t there to listen to the DJ—rather, customers want the DJ to play music that compliments the dancers on stage. However, a bad strip club DJ will get more attention from the crowd, staff and dancers, than a good strip club DJ will—if you’re fucking up the announcements and playing "Old Town Road" for a tattooed, punk rock stripper, folks will notice. In order to stand out as a good strip club DJ, you’ve got to play to both the crowd and the staff (which includes dancers, bartenders and security).
During one of the first shifts I had as a strip club DJ (after years of being a radio DJ), my then-boss and mentor, Zoth, asked me, hypothetically, what I would do if someone asked for shitty music, like Limp Bizquick or Crazy Pants (I intentionally avoid calling these bands by name, because I don’t want them getting hits on our website). I replied, "I’d tell them to fuck off and that I’d play good music if they wanted."
"Wrong," Zoth said. "If the customer is tipping, Limp Bizquick is your favorite band for the duration of their stay. Nod your head, act like you enjoy the music and sell the fantasy."
This made more sense than any advice I’d received up until that point in my career. A strip club DJ is a living jukebox, who answers to the requests, themes and expectations thrown at them by various players. It is their/our job to find happy mediums in certain cases (a rack full of bikers, teenage stripper who wants rap music...this is when you dig for that Nelly song with the AC/DC sample), and in more rare circumstances, set the tone of the room (if a fight is about to pop off, it’s a perfect time to play some fun, upbeat music that is impossible to beat someone’s ass to, such as Hansen). But, more often than not, the strip club DJ is working for the room, not the other way around. In fact, most clubs actually prohibit dancing from customers, so the better you are as a nightclub DJ, the more likely you’re going to suck as a strip club DJ.
How has this translated elsewhere in my life? Well, for the few years that I worked as a comedian on the road, I was able to remember that I’m not there to preach, but, to some extent, pander. A room full of old ladies in Idaho don’t want to hear jokes about gluten-free vegan girls, and on the same token, gluten-free vegan girls don’t want to hear anything positive about Idaho. In the hookup scene, this knowledge has been extremely useful—I realized that women need special catering-to and that they require specific things that may or may not be obvious, so I decided to buy a Playstation 4 and stop dating altogether. Basically, life is all about pandering to people, but without being obvious. There’s a subtle difference between the obvious "D.A.R.E." bumper sticker and the ability to speak to a cop without letting them know you’re high. Speaking of which...
If you’re planning to DJ strip clubs, you will do drugs at some point in your career. And, yes, weed is a drug. So, keep in mind, that even though the strip club may look appealing to people on substances (hot girls, good music, low lighting, good company, etc.), the job of a strip club DJ involves keeping track of dozens of dancers, on multiple stages, while juggling requests, special announcements and keeping an eye on the floor—all while on a two-to-three-minute leash, as an announcement (or at least some vocal presence) is usually required between songs (thank you to the clubs that allow for the DJ to take a break, by the way). Basically, this is really, really hard to do while high as hell. But, since you’re going to be high as hell at some point or another, it’s a great exercise in hiding your high.
While on shift, you will discover all sorts of ways to get around the legality (and ethics) of doing drugs at work. Vape pens? We had those rigged up, on our own, years ago. Key bumps? That’s kiddie play—before work, just cut a few straws down to two inches, fill them with coke and burn the edges shut to seal them. Crack? Well, I’ve never smoked it (actually, that’s a lie, but I’ve never smoked it on purpose), but if you work downtown, I believe it’s actually permitted in most alleys. So, get high, prepare for public interaction, and as soon as the owner (actually, scratch that—it’s usually the assistant manager that kills the buzz) approaches you with a question, demand or other conversation, flex your poker...er, smoker face. After all, you’re surrounded by women who have learned to be naked around their customers—putting on a front is commonplace in strip clubs.
There are many, many times in your life that, regardless of chemical intake or level of sobriety, you’re going to have to put on a fake smile and bullshit your way through your day—whether this involves law enforcement, parental figures or romantic partners. To learn how to handle this, at least once in your adult life, try some acid or ’shrooms and do something that constitutes as "normal." I, for example, may or may not have taken a trip to Vancouver, B.C. while tripping balls, with my mom. This was like playing Dark Souls—it was hard, but it made me feel extremely accomplished when I finally made it past the skeletons at the gate. Even if you only smoke weed once, in college, alone in your dorm room, at least make the trek to a convenience store and see what it feels like to talk to the person at the counter. The ability to hide one’s intoxicated state is a skill that can be applied to a limitless amount of situations in sober life—similar to how being in shape is useful outside of the gym.
Speaking of being high in public, I have an extremely big mouth and no filter. Thus, my first few years as a strip club DJ were a total shit show, for better or worse. Eventually, I learned that microphones are more of a garnish and less of a main course. By the time the crowd sitting at the stages knows what the dancer’s name is and how many more songs she has left, they’re already sick of the DJ’s voice. But, if the customers are not reminded to tip, the girl on stage may as well be volunteering at a human zoo. So, it’s up to the DJ to find a nice middle ground between a constant barrage of irritating panhandling and total silence. Add to this, the fact that strip club DJs have a small window of time in which they need to squeeze in a ton of information, so the issue of verbal vomit (speaking too fast and not making any sense) comes up—this is why some strip club DJs sound like they’re auctioning off cocaine with a gun to their head.
Obviously, this skill is great outside the club, especially when it comes to authority figures (such as police officers or girlfriends). Learning to only say what is necessary, in a short amount of time, has kept me out of jail and/or having to sleep on the couch—many times. If a talkative person, say, a Dutch Bros barista, gets pulled over by the cops, they’re gonna spill their guts and incriminate everyone within a ten mile radius. But, if a seasoned strip club DJ gets pulled over, they know that "I’m on my way home from my work, I don’t drink and I was going the speed limit. How can I help you?" is the beginning and end of the conversation. As far as how you can use this skill on the ones you love, well, I’m not going to self-incriminate. Just know that I love you, baby. There’s no one else and that girl you saw me with is just a friend...what do you want for dinner?
Everyone—and, I mean gay dudes, monks and old folks alike—loves staring at a nice pair of tits. I’m sorry to put folks on Front Street, but it’s true. After all, you’re not reading this magazine for the articles, are you? Naturally, it takes some time to get used to seeing dozens and dozens of naked boobs at your place of employment (let alone talk to the people who possess them, without staring directly at their nipples like they were the most beautiful pair of eyes you’ve ever seen). But, after a decade of working in the clubs, I don’t see tits—well, I do, but I "don’t see tits" the same way that white liberals "don’t see color." Basically, eye contact is something that folks take for granted, until there’s a giant pair of breasts competing for their attention. I, on the other hand, know how to keep my chin up while talking to a topless goddess.
How does this skill apply to daily life? Well, let’s just say that when a tight shirt and a huge pair of tits no longer hold power over you, your ability to maintain frame in any situation improves. I don’t find myself buying random women at the bar drinks, I tip the same amount regardless of how hot my waitress is, and to further echo how everything here mostly applies to women and police, I no longer get immediate tickets when the hot cop in Salem pulls me over (the "I was just staring at your badge" excuse stopped working a few red lights ago). Of note, some (not all, but some) women take equal offense to you not noticing their rack, as they do when you’re caught staring. To solve this problem, maintain eye contact, never look down, but always remember to end every conversation with, "Oh, by the way, nice tits" (I’m kidding, by the way...don’t do this unless you have a shitload of money and/or work in public office).
Oh, red raffle tickets...how you’ve ruined my liver. As a general rule, DJs are allotted a certain amount of "free" drinks throughout their shift. However, most of us forget that sitting on your ass, while soaking up calories and alcohol, is not the best way to make it through an eight-hour shift—particularly when you have to speak with proper English and share close spaces with people who can smell your breath. Plus, after a night of shots and energy drinks, playing nothing but Bananarama always sounds like a good idea (plot twist: it’s never a good idea). Basically, just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. And, nothing teaches this lesson quicker than an open tab and/or a pile of drink tickets.
Outside of the club, this is also a useful skill to remember. If I had a dollar for every time I said "sure" to "one drink" on a Monday night, I’d have, well, how many dollars is the majority of one’s week spent in bed with a hangover headache worth? There is no such thing as a free drink—ever. In fact, I find that, when I’m paying for my own drinks, I am much, much more responsible with my liver, vehicle and wallet, than I am when I rally around the strip club with a pocket full of drink tickets. When drinks are on the house, it becomes an issue of self-restraint, which is something that doesn’t let the bartender know it’s "declined" if she tries to run it past the limit. Plus, when you know how to tip your coworkers, you learn about special drinks, such as "Pint Of Vodka" or "Just Take This Box Of Wine."
Clearly, learning how to not be a drunk piece of shit is a useful life skill, but it’s one that I’m still working on to this day. But, after years of working in strip clubs, I have actually learned how to say "no," when offered a free drink. Sure, this happens maybe twice a year, during full moons, when it’s snowing, in June. Still, I try. And, realizing that being sober after the bars close is always a good idea (when it comes to transportation, at least), I’ve made much better decisions when it comes to dietary decisions (Denny’s is impossible to eat while sober) and women.
Every single club has the coke dealer, who insists they’re not a coke dealer (but, clearly are). If you find someone hanging around, after close, who does not work for (or have a partial ownership in) the club you’re at (or at least a sister club), that’s the coke dealer. Get to know this person, even if you don’t do cocaine.
Now, why would you want to befriend a drug dealer? Well, to put it bluntly, if this person has manipulated their way into being able to kick it after the club kicks everyone else out, with a pocket full of felonies, they’ve probably got other life skills to share. For instance, one of my coke-dealer-customer-turned-friends hooked me up with Blazers tickets and offered to loan me his boat. That’s right—I was given permission to borrow this guy’s boat, so I could see our team lose. I didn’t take him up on this offer, but it’s nice to know that if, for whatever reason, I needed access to a boat, I know a guy.
These dudes are similar to characters in the Grand Theft Auto series, in that they all give you access to super cool, high society type shit, as long as you keep their "secret" under wraps. Sure, everyone with two brain cells knows that dude-with-the-gator-shoes-in-Portland is a blow salesman. But, it’s really all about respect—you know, just act like the guy isn’t a drug dealer and he will invite you to a Rolling Stones show and loan you the keys to his beach house. Of course, you don’t have to be a strip club DJ to meet a coke dealer. Everyone probably knows at least a few. The transferable life skills in this section should be obvious, but if it needs repeating, a stranger offered to loan me his boat. Thank you, sweet, white powder.
