The stripper encounter

Back when I was driving a taxi, I picked up a stripper after her club had closed for the night. Big-breasted woman with long brown hair. I asked how she was doing and where she was headed.

She climbed into the cab and, right off the bat, started in with her hard-luck stories.

“I didn’t make that much tonight, and shit for tips,” she said. “I’m staying over in that hotel off (name of street), and I pay by the week to stay there. My boyfriend broke up with me two weeks ago. My mom’s watching my daughter while I work. With tonight’s tips, I still have to buy pull-ups for Victoria. My baby’s daddy doesn’t do much to help, and now I have to pay cab fare just to get home because the damn bus service around here shuts down by six. So getting to work only costs me a dollar and a quarter, but on shitty nights dancing, it sure doesn’t help much. I really don’t have money to pay you for the ride—but there are other ways I can pay in the front seat, if you catch what I’m saying.”

I said, “I understand, but unfortunately, I’ve got to pay rent on my cab every week, and nobody cuts me slack on that. So, front-seat service isn’t going to help me—I really need the money more.”

She let out a heavy sigh and adjusted her really short shorts in the backseat. “Every fucking one of you are just like my dumb-ass boyfriend. You fucker!”

I turned around in my seat, looked straight at her, and said in a firm tone, “Get yourself and your big tits out of my cab—right now.”

She got out, and I left her standing in the parking lot of the strip club as I drove off into the night.