Dignity - everybody knows that word.
It is the feeling you get in life when you feel proud of who you are, and what you do. A state of honouring yourself, and respecting yourself enough not to do things that upset you. So, essentially, it is a state of being when you don't allow yourself to be treated like shit.
It is a good word, a positive one.
The only problem was, I didn't have any. Not even a drop.
And the reason for such all pointed back to one crippling reality - I was dressed like a sexy cat.
Yes, a cat.
From the fake kitten ears threaded through my blonde hair; all the way to my tight leather black playsuit - I looked a definition of an inappropriate Halloween costume gone wrong.
And no, in case you're wondering, I wasn't dressed like this for my amusement. I dressed this way for the simple reason that it was a part of my waitressing uniform. A waitressing uniform at a strip club.
Most second-year university students choose to work at their local supermarket, or perhaps even the library, but not me. I was unfortunate enough to work here.
And before you freak out, I'm not a dancer here. I mean, I certainly don't have the dance ability nor guts to swing half-naked on a pole. I simply handed out the drinks. Nobody touched me, and I didn't touch anybody.
So, you may wonder what it might be like to work at a strip club?
And, well, to put it bluntly - it was traumatizing. From going through the uncomfortable experience of watching young boys and girls wiggle their naked arses around in your face, to having crusty old men openly request you give them a lap dance - it was hardly the life I envisioned for myself. I mean, don't get me wrong, there is absolutely nothing wrong with being a stripper or working here, but it definitely was a problem when you hated it. And I most definitely did.
But I had to do it for one reason alone - Money.
Money was the reason I did everything I didn't want to. And by some twisted stroke of fate, this was one of the only part-time jobs that were hiring near my university, and for that reason alone, I took it.
Letting out a long whine of a groan, I pressed my forehead even harder into the storage cupboard wall before me. I couldn't help but wonder if I smashed my head hard enough against the wall if I'd be able to knock myself out.
I mean, I'm pretty sure I would still get paid since it would be an accident at work after all...
When things got too much at this place, I'd lock myself in the storage cupboard and quietly get on with having a mental breakdown. And that was exactly what I was doing right now.
Was this healthy? Definitely not. But it helped me get through the day while suppressing the urge not to strangle the perverted male customers.
Suddenly, I heard a furious tapping sound beat against the door, and I winced.
"Sophie, go see your fucking table, hurry up," I heard my boss's voice snap through the door.
I gave him a dirty look through the door in annoyance.
Why couldn't he leave me in peace to have my hourly mental breakdown...
I willed my body to move, but it refused to move. I could hardly blame it, considering what awaited it.
"Sophie!" he yelled again.
My head struck up. "Fine, yes, I'm coming, sorry," I called back.
With a sigh, I pulled my head away from the wall and made my way over to the door. The second I swung open the door, my boss's hot sweaty face awaited me.
I forced a smile. "Sorry about that; I was just blowing my nose," I lied.
"Hmph," was all he muttered in response as he looked me up and down distastefully. "Well, hurry up and go see your table."
His tone had me biting my lip so hard that I tasted metal. God, did I want to punch him.
I was smart enough not to say anything, not trusting myself not to spit out something sarcastic. With one final glare in his direction, I brushed past him, making sure to give him a little 'accidental' nudge with my elbow.
What, accidents happen?
Marching my way through the dimly lit room of the club, I glanced briefly over at the stage where two girls were in the middle of stripping off each other's bras. I quickly everted my eyes and pulled my gaze to my feet - deciding to focus on my heels. Call me a wuss - but I could never bring myself to watch too much of the show.
As I drew closer to number ten, I felt disappointment eat away at me as I took in the sight of the customers sat around the table. There were about five or so middle-aged men all hooting with laughter as they took pictures of the stage.
I wasn't remotely surprised - these kinds of guys were our typical customers.
Their heads all lifted up as I reached their table, and I plastered my normal rehearsed smile onto my face.
"Are we ready to order?" I called out with a chipper smile. Each one of their eyes seemed to light up in excitement as they drunk me in; their eyes quite unsubtly lingering on the larger part of my thigh peeking out from under my shorts.
A few of them exchanged knowing glances and jabbed each other with their elbows as though they were all sharing one big inside joke. An inside joke that was clearly about me.
The cockiest looking one amongst them - slightly balding and blonde, twisted himself a little bit in his seat so he was fully facing me. Before even saying a word, the crooked face gentleman dropped his eyes from my eyes down to my breasts, the top of which was pushed out a little above the neckline of my playsuit.
He proceeded to stare at them for a full three seconds with a small creepy smile on his face. He knew I was watching, but he didn't care and continued to stare on like they were his property.
Finally, his eyes returned to mine, and his smile grew wider. "Blondie, I'm sorry, I seem to have got a little carried away with my staring," he chuckled, not a slither of regret on his tone. "The outfits they give you here are quite... tempting, aren't they? Especially on a body such as yours," he said as his eyes did another slow rake over my body.
Losing my cool slightly, I narrowed my eyes, hardly able to believe the rude shit that was coming out of this rich bastard's mouth.
Control your anger, Sophie. Don't kill him. He was born an idiot; he can't help it.
I took a deep breath in and dug my nails into my wrist to help subside my anger.
"My name is Sophie, not Blondie," I stated tightly as I gave my nametag a little condescending tap.
"Your order?" I spat as I internally, and well, quite externally simmered with rage.
I knew this wasn't the correct way to talk to customers, but this guy had already overstepped way too many boundaries for me to give a shit.
Was I used to asshole customers? Of course, I was. But none of them dared to be so confrontational with their rudeness - most of them had the decency to talk behind my back.
He raised his eyebrows as a stupid grin worked its way onto his face. "Wow, someone's in quite a mood," he whistled as he nudged his friend beside him.
The other middle-aged men at the table chuckled at his comment as though it was actually funny.
He leaned forward on his elbows, and a scarily cruel light flickered through his eyes. "You know what an uptight girl like you needs?" he asked as a smirk lit his face. "A nice, good fuck. That always sorts your type, right out," he sneered.
There was a moment of silence as I stared at him; my anger just ticking and ticking away. It started getting to the point where I hardly felt like I could breathe. Feeling the last of the professionalism in me slip away, I took the last step that was separating me from the table and brought my face down to his.
My eyes narrowed as I stared at him eye to eye. "And what exactly is my type!"
He jumped a little at my sudden shift in tone, but then his eyes washed over my face, and he relaxed. The idiot probably didn't see my face as a threat.
Then, I watched as he leaned right up to my face and smirked. "Your type?" he laughed. "Well, that's easy, babe. Your type is a worthless, easy slut," he whispered.
He made sure to pronounce each word sharply, so each one felt like a sharp slap in the face. Then suddenly, his hand jolted out and snaked around my waist before giving my ass a firm squeeze.
I ripped myself away from him fast, my blood boiling in a combination of both rage and humiliation.
Then something in me shifted, and before I even knew it, I swiped my hand sharply around the middle-aged man's face.
My hand stung from the intensity of it, but I didn't care. Instead, I looked over his face in satisfaction – loving the harsh red mark I had left across his face. The man stared at me in shock, along with his whole table.
As I did, my eyes darted to the jug of water sat on their table. Without even thinking, I snatched it up and leaned over him before pouring the entire thing over the piece of shit's head. I smirked as I watched the ice cubes bounce comedically off of his head.
Once it was empty, I chucked the whole jug canister roughly at his chest. "Don't you ever touch me again!" I hissed.
Silence deafened the room, and I didn't even have to look to know that all the strippers, customers, and wait staff were likely all looking my way.
Now that the shock of my attack had subsided - the man looked pissed. A deep scowl was etched on his face, and his eyes drew in coldness.
Suddenly, he growled and reached out to snatch my wrist. "You're lucky we're not alone."
I snickered as though he told a funny joke. "Why, what would you do? Fight me?" I taunted.
His eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything. Shrugging, I put a hand to my ear and started to unhook the ends of my tear-dropped earrings free from my ear.
His eyes darted over my face, looking marginally confused. "What are you doing?" he whispered, a tendril of fear dancing through his eyes.
I resisted the urge to laugh; all these men were the same - they couldn't put their money where their mouth was. As a part-time kickbox instructor, I was proud to say I did not suffer from the same problem.
"I'm doing what you want," I shrugged. "I'm fighting you."
The man's eyebrows furrowed in worry - finally coming to the deduction that I wasn't the classiest of people.
Before either of us could utter another word, I heard quick-moving footsteps from behind me. Then they stopped.
"What on earth is going on here?" a voice snapped. I instantly recognized the voice as belonging to my boss. Shit!
Shit, shit, shit!
With a thick swallow, I slowly turned around on my heels. The second I took in the alarmed and horrified look on his face, I visibly winced.
"He...I..er.... he assaulted me," I shouted as I pointed a finger over at the man at the table in accusation.
The pudgy man's face hardened. "She's lying, sir! I could never. I am a perfectly respectable gentleman. She was the one who attacked me. Just look at the state of me," he said as he gestured down to his soaked clothes.
My boss snapped his head towards me. "You threw water at a customer!" he yelled as his face started to color a furious red.
"W-well, yes, but that's because he squeezed my arse," I cried.
My boss's eyes did a quick rake over my body from head to toe. "Who can blame him; when you look like that?" he spat.
I staggered back in shock and momentarily lost the ability to speak from the shock of the statement. "What did you just say?" I whispered, my voice cracking slightly.
"You heard me," he smiled. He walked over to the rude gentleman and patted him on his shoulder. "This man didn't mean any harm, did you mate?" he asked.
The rude man relaxed back into his chair, and a cruel smile crept its way onto his face. "I meant no harm at all; I was just trying to be friendly," he shrugged.
Losing the last of my cool, I let out an exasperated sigh.
"You know what, fuck this job!" I shouted. "Fuck you!" I said as I pointed at the jackass of a male customer. "And fuck you!" I said as I pointed at my boss. "And most importantly - fuck the sexism that's dripping out of all your fucking arses," I yelled as I made a sweeping motion over all the men at the table.
"I quit," I spat.
Ripping off my name tag, I flung it to the floor before jumping up and down on it, to squash it with my heels.
Was this childish? A little, but it didn't matter; I was mad. With one final spiteful glare towards all of them, I spun myself around and marched my way to the backroom. I wasted no time before snatching my backpack off my coat peg and throwing it over my shoulder. I didn't even bother to change into my normal clothes. I didn't want to spend a second longer at this horrible place.
As I walked out, I didn't even dare to look towards their table, not wanting to catch one glimpse of their likely amused and smirking faces. And being the petty nineteen-year-old bitch, that I was, I made a rather rude gesture behind my head as I pushed my way past the doors.
As I stepped out into the street, I was instantly hit with a chill nighttime breeze. Instinctively, I found myself rubbing up and down the length of my arm in an attempt to warm myself up. I still hadn't grown accustomed to the harsher winters of the north of England. It was just that little bit colder than London, where I grew up.
With a heavy breath, I made a left and trudged slowly down the road. With every step, I tugged at the end of my shorts in frustration. For some reason, they kept vigilantly deciding to ride up.
I was vaguely aware that it was probably a bit dodgy of me to be dressed in a mini-leather catsuit in the dead of the night, but I didn't really care too much - I had grown up in worse streets than this.
As I was about to turn a corner, I heard the ringtone of my phone echo into the quiet night street air.
Quickly throwing my bag off my shoulder, I stuffed my hand into my bag and pulled out my phone. As soon as I read the caller ID, I paused. It was my Dad.
God did I love him, but at this moment, there was nothing I dreaded more than answering his call. I had quit my job, for goodness sake.
A job that was my main source of income. A job that he was relying on me for. A job that was keeping everything in my life together. I was fucked, well, and truly fucked.
Deciding to put on my big girl panties, I reluctantly pressed the answer button and held the phone up to my ear.
"Hey, papa smurf. Why are we bothering me again?"
My greeting got the reaction I was hoping for, and I heard his laughter boom out through the phone.
He cleared his throat. "So, anyway, Sophie, how's my eldest daughter? Is everything alright; you haven't been calling much?" he said softly; his voice rippled with concern.
I went quiet. I wasn't exactly too keen to tell him that I'd been too busy crying myself to sleep to give him a call. Let's say the stress of holding two part-time jobs while trying to keep up with a highly demanding economics degree could crumble the strongest of girls.
"Nothing, I'm fine, just busy," I lied. "How are my little twin bros? Are they enjoying big school?" I said quickly, hoping to divert the topic.
"Xavier and Calum are fine. I'm not stupid, Sophie; you are quite clearly trying to change the topic," he sighed heavily.
I noticed how tired he sounded; the poor man worked way too hard. The number of hours he put in at his shop made my situation look like child's play.
I swallowed nervously. "Look, Dad, there's something I need to tell you, and I need you to not freak out," I whispered.
"What is it, honey? Are you okay? Are you in trouble? Has someone hurt you?" my dad started to fire out in rapid succession.
The amount of worry in his tone made me feel that much worse, and my stomach twisted violently into tight knots.
"I...I..." I stuttered nervously.
"You what?" he questioned.
"I got a new job," I blurted out abruptly before I could stop myself.
"Oh," my dad said in surprise. "I thought you liked your new job at that fancy new restaurant. What made you change your mind? And what's this new job?" he asked in confusion.
I wasn't stupid enough to share with my dad the details of my nighttime work. The last thing that he needed to know was that his daughter was parading around in a skimpy waitress uniform.
"I can't tell you, it's a surprise," I said quickly.
"But-"
"Bye Dad, talk to you tomorrow, love you," I interrupted as I made kissy sounds into the phone before hanging it up abruptly.
Before he could ring again, I switched it to silent and hurriedly shoved it into my bag. I closed my eyes with a groan, realizing I had made things worse. Now, not only had I lost my job, but I was a liar too.
But I suppose I didn't have to be...
All I had to do was find a new job or some magical new way of getting money. How hard could that be?
I mean, yes, no other places were hiring, but there were other ways of sorting this out. I could always start my own business...or become a street performer or something. It was all going to be fine; I was going to sort this out.
A great idea was merely just waiting around the corner.