You sit there in the parking lot with a box of pads in the passenger seat, checking how much you still had in your wallet. Not a lot. You didn't want to go trying to pay for anything by check or card face to face until you had this sorted out, so it was time to hit the ATM. What then, though? Even if your dick just fell out a window and smacked you in the face, you didn't have a job anymore, and in the long run you'd really prefer to start fresh somewhere looking like the man you really were, not... this. So, what the hell could you even do to get by for however long it took to sort the rest of this out?
Something remote maybe. Call center work? Was that even still a thing, or was everyone just outsourcing it now? Bartending? No no, you'd need an ID for that. Probably true for most entry level stuff these days, really. Nobody wants to hire someone who isn't in the system. Maybe you could find some failing restaurant desperate for someone to wait tables? Of course then you're working for tips at a place with no customers...
You find an ATM and take out as much cash as it'll let you, and wince as you hear a wolf whistle on the way back to your car. Are you really all that right now, walking around in your floppy shoes and oversized dress shirt? Taking a look in your mirror, you sort of are. A thought starts to creep into your head, but you fight it down, at least long enough to hit a drive-through and get something to eat. Halfway through a bag of fries, you do start wondering though. It'd be a way to make a lot of quick cash, in theory, and anywhere with a bunch of drunk horny guys these days, there's a chance someone might just, well, blow his load and have his dick fall out his pant leg or something...
You sleep on it, but in the morning you still haven't talked your way out of it. You take most of the cash you have on hand, spend an afternoon shopping for high heels and some trashy clothes, and try to find work at the nearest strip club. There really isn't much of an interview involved. The guy running the place is real concerned whether you're 18, or on the run. You explain you just really need the money, and you're too embarrassed to let anyone find out you're applying. He tries to press the issue, but really once you pull down the top of the dumb hot pink dress you just got and let him stare at the honestly huge pair of tits you've grown over the past month, he's a lot more open to the idea.
He doesn't put you up on stage the first night. New girls, he explains, start on the floor serving drinks and flirting with the patrons. He warns you you're gonna get your ass slapped and to flag down security if anyone tries to take it much past that, but you've sort of resigned yourself to that much. If you eat cheap garbage and don't go out, this should let you save up enough to keep the lights on, and hopefully let you go hide from the world once you get your dick back, or get hold of some other dick even, and let your manhood build back up, or whatever.