Job interview tests if applicant is team player.
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Team Player
The advert said they were looking for cocktail waitresses. I applied and got an interview. But when I got to the bar and found out it was in a strip club, for a moment I had second thoughts. That lasted just long enough for me to remember my student loans and credit card debts. My parents would be appalled at the thought I'd work there, even just as a waitress, but I couldn't keep going back to them for handouts. I was a big girl, and I had to manage my own life. Besides, I needed more interview experience as I'd fluffed the last two interviews because of nerves.
As a young girl I was well behaved and did whatever authority figures like my parents or teachers told me. In my early teens the few times I did misbehave was due to friends talking me into things I already knew were wrong. But peer pressure and persuasion overrode my better instincts. In my later teens I found boys could be equally persuasive and my natural curiosity led me to do things that would have shocked my parents.
But I enjoyed the sex, and the happy chemicals afterwards blurred the lines of what society would expect against what I'd done. At university, I tried to reign in letting guys talk me into things and take responsibility for my choices. The old me would have let my parent's opinions guide mine and I'd have walked away. But I couldn't let other people constantly tell me what to do.
Bracing myself as I entered the bar, I was pleasantly surprised. It wasn't tacky, but clean and fairly well lit. There was a long bar and three small circular stages. Each had the ubiquitous pole at its centre and a catwalk connecting them to some backstage area. Around each stage was a series of booths positioned for optimum viewing and a row of stools just out of reach of the performers.
I let out a shiver at the thought of being on stage only an arm's reach from an audience. As a girl, I loved singing and dancing, and I'd been in the drama club and taken part in plays and musicals. I was never brave enough to try out for a lead role, despite being encouraged to do so by my teachers. To this day, I regretted not taking that chance even once.
As I got older, I realised that some of the audiences were undressing me with their eyes. Which I found a little disturbing. Not for the reason you might think, but that it excited me. And that made no sense, as my upbringing was conservative and the idea of showing off my body was absolutely taboo.
It was only 2 pm, and I saw a stripper finishing her set on one stage. I could only see a few men close to her as she picked up her tips and her outfit. Part of me was relieved to see that she still wore a thong.
I suppose most women must wonder what it's like to be a stripper, even just once. To eschew social norms and let yourself become truly free. I know I had, even if I knew I'd never do it. It was weird to be jealous of the woman leaving the stage.
She had the guts to do something my upbringing would bar me from doing. Even now I had a little resentment of my friends that had gone out and done wild things. Or at least wild, as far as my parents were concerned.
Sometimes I wanted to do something exciting and out of my comfort zone. But it seemed the yoke of my upbringing weighed me down. I was 23, and it was 2024, for god's sake. It wasn't the repressed 1950s, but sometimes it felt like it was at home.
OK, I was being overly dramatic. It wasn't that bad being back under my parent's roof after being away at university. The problem was they made me feel like a kid again. And when I tried to talk to them as a grown up, they ignored me.
Sometimes I wanted to scream or say and do something to shock them into accepting I was a grown up. But I wasn't stupid enough to risk getting kicked out until I was sorted financially. Suddenly, I realised my mind was wandering. Something of an unfortunate habit when I was worried about things.
However, I set those thoughts aside, as my interview was in a couple of minutes, and I needed to find out where to go. When I looked over at the bar. I saw a barman looking in my direction.
"I'm here for an interview." I explained, and he smiled at me.
It was a cute smile, and I felt a little flustered. I'd not had a boyfriend in some time. And I had a bit of a reputation for doing things I shouldn't do when there was a cute guy, and I was horny. He picked up a phone on the wall and spoke for a moment, then offered me a drink. On automatic pilot, I said 'vodka and coke', and he quickly handed it to me as a tall woman approached. She wore a business skirt suit, which was rather short and her probably fake breasts pushed the jacket open.
Her makeup was a little heavy, and I guessed she was about 30. She gave me a firm handshake.
"Angela I presume? I am Gina."
"Hi," I said and looked at my glass. Should I down the drink or leave it?
"Bring it with you," she said, then leant into me and added. "You might need it to relax."
She led me down a corridor lined with hundreds of 10x8 photos of performers. It made me realise that the club in some shape or form had a history that went back decades. Each photo showed a performer in her pre-strip costumes, and some probably went back to the 1970s. Those young women were probably grandmothers by now.
It would be fascinating to study society's attitude towards these women through the ages. These days I doubt there are many women who haven't shared a naughty photo or two with a boyfriend. Well, apart from me of course.
We stepped into a fairly spacious office. Behind a desk was a middle-aged man. He was wearing a sports shirt that did nothing to hide his broad shoulders and thick arms. I was reminded of the bouncers in the clubs I went to during university.
He looked up and gestured to the sofa opposite his desk.
"Angela, pleased to meet you. I'm Jim Masters, but you can call me Jim for the moment. Although if you get the job, I expect to be called boss."
"Or Master." Gina added, and I frowned, but it sounded like an inside joke over his name.
Something about the body language between the two made me think the pair were something more than just work colleagues. As I sat on the sofa, I discovered it was lower than I expected, and I flopped back on it. Finding my knees were at least 4 inches higher than my hips.
"Careful, you don't want to spill your drink," Gina commented, and Jim frowned.
"Is that alcohol?"
"Sorry, the barman asked me what I wanted, and I answered on auto pilot. But I've not even touched it."
"OK, well, we'll come back to that," Jim replied, all business.
He picked up the application form I'd sent, and I waited nervously as he re-read it.
"OK, you don't have as much experience as we'd like. One summer job in a diner and another in a coffee shop. We need reliable workers here, people who can prove to be real team players. People who can step up to the plate and do whatever it takes to help the business succeed. I like to think of us as one big happy family. Whether you mop the floors, serve drinks or perform on stage. We're all in it together."
I nodded, having heard this sort of business mantra before. My dad scoffed at it, but it was pretty common these days.
"And because we need to weed out anyone unsuitable, we have a rather stringent interview and acceptance process. Do you agree with that?"
I nodded without questioning what I was agreeing to. Jim must have known what I was thinking as he expanded his explanation.
"Look, we're a legitimate business that fills a need in this city. Nothing sleazy or illegal. But that doesn't mean that politician after politician doesn't use places like this to rail against for cheap votes. I'm pretty sure that every one of them has used this club or others like it at one time or another, but hypocrisy is hypocrisy.
"So, it's not unusual for employees from the ladies who clean the Johns. up to me, to find ourselves targeted by those people to encourage us to perform some illegal act." Again, my mind picks up on 'Johns' and spins it from toilets, to hookers' clients.
Fuck, this was a bad idea coming here in this frame of mind.
"OK, let's start with the simple stuff. Urine test." He pulled out a little container in a bag and tossed it to Gina.
I knew companies would ask for that sort of thing, either to test for drugs or something that would be a problem for company health insurance. Gina stood, and I realised I was going to have a hard time standing. Because I was so low, and still holding the glass, the only way to get up was to roll virtually over, to kneel on the floor and get up.
But Gina took my glass and put it on a table, then held out a hand and hauled me up. I was astonished at her strength and wondered if she and Jim worked out together. From nowhere, the image of them both hot and sweaty together popped into my head, and it wasn't from using gym equipment.
Forcing the image from my mind, I tried to focus on being professional for the interview. During school and university, I tended to daydream. Which was good for creative writing classes. Not good for anything that needed a solid focus. Especially if I was daydreaming about sex.
Peeing in the cup without spilling down the sides was tricky. And I felt weird handing over the warm container to Jim, even if it was inside a sealed plastic bag.
"OK, we'll get that tested, but you should be aware we do random drug and alcohol tests on all staff periodically. Oh, and you will need to have a medical, including STD testing." He said,
"Why? I mean, why the STDs?" I asked, and Gina replied.
"It's a standard thing and part of our medical insurance policy stipulations. Even though this is a legitimate business, city ordinances claim it is sex work. Even though nothing like that happens on the premises."
I nodded, but it sounded a little strange. An unhelpful voice piped up to ask if things happened 'off premises'. A dancer might meet a client for more than a private dance at a local motel. Damn it, I was daydreaming again.
"I'm afraid this part of the interview is a little invasive. But we need to put you on a lie detector to check the answers you've given are truthful. Don't worry, the answers stay with us, and Gina will perform the test."
I'd seen these in films, so I had a vague idea what was needed, but not all of it. She wheeled over the machine on a low trolley.
"However, before we get into that, I want to tell you why it's worth it."
The money and benefits were generous, and even sharing 25% of my tips with the bar staff seemed ok. I couldn't do my job without them. Part of my mind was wondering how quickly this job could sort out my debts. When I arrived here and found it was a strip club, I'd had doubts if I wanted the job. Now, I'd do whatever it took to get it. Jim sat back in his chair, and I realised I'd let my mind wander again.
"First, we need to put the chest monitor on you." She said and held up some weird strap, which appeared to have springs built in. "It's an old machine. The springs are connected to solenoids that measure chest expansion, like from a change in your breathing. It also measures heart rate."
She looked at me and then over to Jim. "I think it would be best if you fit it under your blouse." I looked over at Jim.
"It's ok, just face the other way as Gina puts it on you." He said.
I glanced around for mirrors or the like and saw nothing, then faced away from Jim, and unbuttoned my blouse.
I was a little embarrassed showing my bra off to a stranger, let alone a potential colleague. But Gina just gave me a wink and quickly set the strap up around my ribs just below my breasts. She turned the machine on, and the paper tape moved like in the movies. She told me to take deep breaths and one needle tracked my breathing with a red line of ink on the paper. After a few seconds, she turned off the machine.
She attached two electrodes on either side of my chest to check my heart and one in my armpit that tested if I was sweating. Which I was sure I would, as this was becoming a little intense. With the sensors in place and the wires hanging out, I couldn't refasten my blouse. So, I held the front closed and turned to sit on the sofa, careful not to disconnect anything.
