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Famous people came into Mitchell Brothers every weekend in the 90’s. The buzz would make its way upstairs to the dressing rooms, but it was the customers that would silently go bonkers. On a couple occasions, the famous client(s) would deter the attention from us, but that was rare. The Dream Team came in, and all the men turned into thirteen-year-old girls. Generally, once these famous clients walked through our magic, history-filled gold framed doors, we were the ones revered and in the spotlight. We were the stars. The entertainers. And they treated us as such. Nine times out ten, anyway. Sometimes they were hammered (a few come to mind), and sloppy. I held up a super fucked up Nicolas Cage once, in nothing but heels (I bet every stripper on Earth has a drunken Nic Cage story from the nineties). A well-known female singer came in one night and was a super cunt to everyone, throwing attitude everywhere. No one was forcing her to be there, it pissed me off. I never liked her music, and the way she behaved only solidified it.

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