SCHEVELLE’s G-String Chronicles: Getting New Sensations In Alabama
May 5, 2010
We left the Myrtle Beach early Sunday morning to drive towards Birmingham, Alabama and get there a couple of days early to just chill out and catch up on a little bit of work. Since finding out about “Name your own price” on Priceline.com, I was confident we would save money and it would be relaxing after having so many weeklong bookings in a row. And it was a great deal, except for if you are unfamiliar with an area in which case you could end up in the ghetto, which is exactly what happened in Birmingham. It’s never good when the Holiday Inn Express looks like a citadel and police sirens are running constantly.
Everyone had the same reaction when we told them about the hotel. “Oh, you were in Birmingham? Like downtown?” Then they would make a facial expression similar to someone smelling sulfur. “Yeah, that’s bad. I’ve lived here my whole life and I would never go there.” Hence, the downside of “Name your own price.” However, the actual club that we performed in that week was in a nicer part of town more like a suburb towards the country.
The club itself was new, only being opened for six months, but already the crowd was highly responsive and lively with Tony on the mic. There was a broad spectrum of customers, but with the weekend came an abundance of couples. During one show, it was almost exclusively women and all of them wanted to come on stage or loose their top like some sort of rite of passage. Unfortunately they have a law stating, “…anyone on stage has to have a license…” So we brought the dancers on stage because they had licenses and we took off the customer’s tops on the side of the stage instead.
As I sat at the promo table after my show, I realized that every waitress walking by had a round butt. At one point one of them came over to me, “Hi. Would you sign my butt?”
“It’s a permanent marker, but sure,” I said and signed her plump rump. A few minutes later another waitress walked up to me. She looked like she was barely eighteen and very timid, but with a big demanding voice she said, “You signed my friend’s butt. I want mine signed, too.”
“Yes ma’am. Now let’s all take a picture.” They both came back the next night.
“I got mine off,” one said and showed me her sparkling clean rear end.
“I didn’t scrub my butt hard enough. I was in a hurry,” said the other and she lifted her skirt to reveal a lightened version of my signature. Silly round butt waitresses.
The club put us in a hotel in a town called Trussville. It looked just like it sounds with perfectly manicured lawns, white picket fences and red doors (think Doc Hollywood). The town had a great running park, however I did not realize how hilly it was until I began to run and it was either easy downhill or bag over my face breathing up hill.
I took a big risk in this small town and decided to have my hair done. I didn’t realize how high maintenance it is to have your hair highlighted. It was such a small town that the hair salon and the barbershop were the same building, but they were divided in the center, and the barber side was sure to inform us that they were not the same business. Tony frightened everyone, as usual, by answering their questions honestly and I got my hair done by the gossiping group of blonds on the other side.
Friday night was great at the club, with everyone being in a great mood, big crowds and high levels of participation. On the way back to the hotel the semi in front of us was almost run off the road by a little SUV, who came to a complete stop in the middle of the fast lane before exiting. He then turned on his left blinker to go right and pulled into Waffle House.
We got back to the hotel room and put the key in the door and the door opened… with the latch on it. For a minute we just looked at each other thinking, “who the hell is in the room?” After listening and figuring out it was no one, we began to think, “now, how the hell did that happen?” We found a small framed, gay version of MacGuyver at the front desk who calmly claimed, “Happens all the time,” and popped the door open. “There you go,” he said and skipped off.
Saturday night ended and we had to book it to Milwaukee for Tony to host Stripperfest 7 at On The Border the very next night. Thank goodness I am performing there the following week. With show after show, writing, working out, meeting people and driving, it really does feel like the life of a rock star, only our rider is not as good. We only require that our check doesn’t bounce. We don’t ask for white M&M’s or anything like that.
Schevelle is an award-winning feature entertainer and a Private Dancer Magazine cover model for November 2007. She contributes regularly to the Private Dancer Media Network as well as Private Dancer Magazine. You can find more on Schevelle by going to www.Schevelle.com/ or follow her on twitter at www.twitter.com/TheSchevelle.
