Dear Diary, (Patreon)

In addition to freelancing as a writer, model, and photographer, I work two jobs. The more lucrative of the two is waitressing/door girling at a strip club.It's not as bad as I think people assume; I make a good deal in tips for minimal effort, most customers are respectful (for the setting), and our bouncers aren't assholes. I've never felt unsafe working there despite my sensitivity to disrespectful behavior. Unfortunately, the club has recently undergone a ownership change and our managers are under a lot of pressure to raise our revenue. As a result, they've become a lot more lax with customer behavior. I was assured this was only in regards to the dancers and respective to each dancer's limits. They turned off the VIP cameras and installed panic buttons in their place. I'm pretty sure this is illegal but figured it had no impact on me and let it go.Then, on Monday, a customer grabbed me by the neck, choking me, and forced a kiss on me. Normally, I would have hit the motherfucker and yelled for a bouncer to kick him out, but I froze. I froze, walked away, found the manager (which happened to be the newest manager and most desperate to keep his job), and started to - this is embarrassing - cry. He insisted the motherfucker was 86ed but he couldn't find him and instead confronted the rest of the party who insisted I was lying and demanded to see the cameras. Normally, my managers would tell them to fuck themselves and drag them out, but he actually went and checked the cameras which weren't helpful because the only angle on the situation faced my back. So, while assuring me he believed me, my manager said he was going to let the guy stay but told them they had to go to the bar for their drinks.I was mortified. I felt terrible my manager didn't have my back, I regretted even going to him for help, I felt pathetic I didn't stand up to the customer myself, and was generally overwhelmed with shame. I'm still overwhelmed with shame.One of the dancers had seen me cry with the manager and asked me at the end of the night what was wrong. I started to say "nothing" but the DJ chimed in "a customer tried to choke her out" and I apparently turned so red the dancer insisted on shoving $20 in my top. (This is why I like strip clubs; it's the only place people acknowledge the absolute truth that money is more valuable than amateur puesdo-psychoanalysis or fake assertions of care. You have a problem? Here's a dollar. Feel shitty? Here's a dollar. Got a cold? Here's a dollar.)Even after 2 days, I still feel awful about it all and hate when people at the club ask me about it.