only one other customer there, and like three girls. Strip-club customers like giving money to cute girls. You want a cute girl at the front desk collecting the fee. Only if you really need to separate out VIP’s and bachelor parties and undesirables at a big club, or if the door fee is the main revenue in certain clubs, do you need a guy in front. And you would still rather have him standing behind a girl. Cabaret Internationale did always have a girl in front. Except when the angry guy was there. I don’t know if they wouldn’t spend the money to hire a schoolgirl, or if he was just a control freak. I don’t get any social pleasure from getting a lapdance or something. I will pay the girls for their time. But I will do it surreptitiously. If I give a girl $100 and everyone sees, then at the end the night everyone will have their hands out. They don’t need to know she is making money off me. Only if a girl wants to impress people, will I humor her by making it rain on stage or something. When I was younger and richer and better looking, it raised a girl’s status and impressed her manager to see me spend money on her. Especially a new girl. Girls would even ask to give me a dance for free, so that other guys would see and want a dance also. It is hard to believe, but other guys would want to get a dance from a girl just because they saw me getting a dance from her. Don’t ask me why. So one day I went in and there were no new girls. So I waited a while to see if any would come in. And I slipped a couple dollars surreptitiously to some girl I knew, and left. Of course the whole time I am drinking jack and diet cokes to keep the angry well-dressed doorman off my back. So when I left on my motorcycle, I did a few circles around the empty back section of the parking lot, just to make sure I wasn’t too impaired to ride. Next thing I notice, that angry weirdo had come outside the door and was scoping me out. Only he was trying to pretend he wasn’t looking at me. I have ridden my motorcycle all over Florida, and I promise nobody else cared if I rode in a circle in an empty back parking lot. I think it was like 4:30 or 5:00, at least two hours before the end of the shift, so he had no business being out there. Then I rode past him on the way out of the parking lot, and he didn't even turn his head, only his eyes. I just went into a strip club, had a few drinks and left, and now this guy is out in the parking lot staring at me like he is angry about something. Since the angry guy was making me pay a door fee for day shift no matter how early I came, I developed a new strategy. I would come an hour before the end of the day shift, and pay the day rate. Then I would stay until an hour into the night shift. That way for the price of the day fee, I would get to check not only the day-shift girls, but all the girls coming in early on night shift to see if there were any cute ones. And when I left, this guy would still be out in the parking lot staring at me every time. But because it was the shift change, he had some reason to be there. He would stand stiffly outside the door glaring, and staring blankly at nothing. I couldn't tell if he was watching the girls walking to their cars to make sure no guys stalked them, watching for some other guys they might be meeting up with in the parking lot, or stalking me in particular. The last one is what it seemed liked. I have been to some pretty mean strip clubs in Miami - Gold Rush, Showgirls, Tootsie, Madonna - all of them the girls just walked out to their cars alone and nobody bothered them. Maybe because macho aggressive guys reject the strip-club concept from the outset. So it is hard to believe they had a stalking problem in Orlando, especially not when it was light out. This was daylight savings time. 7:00 PM when the shifts changed was broad daylight. It was the angry guy in the suit who was doing the stalking. One night there were no cute girls at any club. I rode my motorcycle to Cabaret Internationale, I rode to Rachel's I rode somewhere else. I had one drink at each and left. It was pouring rain. This was a Thursday night I think in late spring of 2012 (remember to check this). I decided to just go back to Cabaret Internationale. There was a girl there I was fiiendly with. I felt bad for seeing her the first time I went in, and just leaving. Plus I left my house ready to spend money. So I sat down next to the familiar girl, and we agreed that I wanted to buy some kind of premium dance. This meant II-Zl