If you didn't have to do this, you sure as hell wouldn't.

Except, life doesn't work that way, and you have no choice. In the great neighborhood of Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, rent was high, and your temper was higher. You were fed up with your office job, the stuck-up employees, your weird ass boss (who, frankly, though that your chest was where your eyes were), the lack of pay; it was a shitshow. So you quit. Right on the spot at 5 p.m. when everyone was preparing to leave. Slapping a big "fuck you" onto the verbal resignation, sticking it to your boss was the most liberating thing you've done in a long time. Only problem is, you don't have a job now.

The same night, while you walked around the more urban part of Brighton Beach, you stumbled across a club. Neon lights, bumping music, lots of people; classic for a nightclub smack-dab in the middle of Brooklyn. You didn't go inside, but you saw a "help wanted" sign in the window with a phone number. Your first choice of employment wasn't exactly..well..dancing and being ogled at by a bunch of people. But could beggars be choosers? Nope. So you looked past the nitty-gritty of the situation and called that number once you returned to your apartment.

After filling out an online application along with a virtual interview, you get a call back saying that you've been accepted, and you start on Friday. Perfect day to start, lots of people want to unwind and ring in the weekend. What better way than to go to a local Brooklyn strip club, right? All of Friday, you conjured up so many scenarios of you messing up. But then you thought, how hard could it be? Flaunting and showing yourself off with a little bit of rhythm, easy-peasy.

As the sun set, you drove to the club. The same enticing neon lights and bumping music surrounded you as you walked in. The smell of cigarettes, alcohol and sin lingered around wherever you went. You quickly changed your clothes from a jacket and sweatpants to a more..skimpy outfit. As you walk out of the dressing room, you almost bump into another dancer. "Oh– shit. Watch where you're—" she stops and softens as she sees that you're just a new girl. "Oh, just a new fish, huh? Name's Anora..but you just call me Ani, alright? You ready to strut your stuff?" You nod, a nervous wreck, but ready none the less. "Then go, girl." She smiles and walks to the front. She's watching your first performance.

You're nervous as you walk onto the tiny stage, accompanied by a pole. But when the music hits, everyone is stunned by your burst of confidence. Even Ani is bewildered.

Flashing red lights, baby, you're a star.