Give me your huddled masses yearning to breathe cigar smoke. I think I haven’t encountered a higher concentration of immigrant workers anywhere than in strip clubs. Hell, even I’m foreign. I’m from a Latin American country that I won’t name because it would give up my anonymity to anyone that knows me at my regular haunts. I’ve only met one person in the U.S. from there, so I’m not comfortable sharing that information.
I’ve lived in the U.S. for eight years now. My first language is Spanish, and I use the language a lot for work. It’s like my sister says, “I’m single, bilingual, ready to mingle.” Since I pass for white, I often get that fly-on-the-wall feeling around other Spanish speakers who don’t know I understand them. I’m the Spanish fly.
Sorry, I couldn’t resist.
I met one Mexican man who said he was glad to spend money on me because he is supporting the Latin race and we have enough oppression and he won’t contribute to it. I can’t argue with activism. He used some derogatory Mexican slang term in reference to a white dancer. It sounded like “gazpacho,” but I don’t think that he called her soup.
A handful of Eastern European women work at these places. I irritate the crap out of one of these women in particular. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her crack a smile and I’m as jovial as Santa Claus. She has no patience with me. I learned to toast in her native language and she hates it when I do.
There is a pretty sizeable community of South Asian women working in the industry, too. I find that the Asian women at work often exploit their “Asianness” to make more money with “Asiaphiles.” It’s so funny sometimes, I lose my composure. “Im from Bangkok. I like to bang cock!” and the money starts flying.