Tell 'Em Why You Mad

See, I'm mad 'cause...

On Sundays, my manager usually lets me work by myself unless it's extra busy to allow me to make a little money by myself.  One of the barbacks (we'll call him Dallas 'cause he always wears a Cowboys jersey) helps me out (usually when I don't need it) if the line starts getting a little deep.  He makes drinks and gets tipped by the customers.  He does everything I do, except touch the register.  Yeah.  So as I'm working, completing orders from the customers as well as the waitresses, I have to answer The Shoulder Tap.

The Shoulder Tap means that I have to stop what I'm doing, input his customer's total into the register, take the money and count the change.  This wouldn't be a problem if I weren't being handed money, putting in totals and counting change for two other separate people at the same time.  

I don't understand.  If you can count and are clearly capable of doing my job, why don't you do it in its entirety?  Oh, I get it... so if the drawer aint right at the end of the night, they can only blame me.  And you get to skip off with my $20 tip-out that I owe you, no matter if you've been cutting into my tips the whole night by "helping" me when I DON'T NEED IT.  All you're doing is confusing me.

See, you got me mad, son, you got me mad.

And I was 'bout to be mad again this past Wednesday 'cause I was doing all the damn work and had to split the tips with my manager, who was just sittin' there, writing in her journal.  I understand, she's going through some things right now, so I wasn't too upset, but at the end of the night when it was time to count up the tip jars I made sure to count ours up separately so I could tell exactly how much more productive I had been in comparison.

Her tip jar total: $47

My tip jar total: $141  (ON A SLOW DAY!)

Yeah.  

But then she ended up throwing in $20 she made at the beginning of the day to even it out to $208 so we could each walk away with $104.  So then I wasn't mad anymore.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

After I told this customer who tried to get me on stage that it wasn't gonna happen. 

"Everyone has their price."

Well, yeah... there's nothin' you can really say to that.

The Most Important Debriefing You Will Ever Get. In LIFE.

My bad ya'll... I completely forgot that I hadn't filled you in on some of the most important details about my blog and my life as a bartender.

The Origins of the Title: No Water After 9 PM

So, I was out at a party, doing my usual party girl thing, drinking a little more than I probably should've, dancing with a little harder than I probably should've (in a DRESS that I was told looked more like a nightgown), and someone asked me what I was drinking.

"Jack and Coke," I replied.  "You?"

"Water," he replied.

For whatever reason, I took it personally that he wasn't joining the rest of us in tipsy merriment.  "Water!?" I demanded.  "WATER!?"

He laughed.  "Yeah... water.  It's pretty good, actually."

I shook my head emphatically.  "NO.  WATER.  AFTER.  NINE.  PM."

And thus my trademark statement was born.

My Name

Is not Nikki.  However, my mother wanted to name me Nikki-Dana Vanessa. Gag.  (So glad my dad got his choice).  Sometimes, I like the sound of Nikki-Dana though, and it's the first name that comes to mind when men ask me "ay girl, what yo' name is?" at the club and I don't really want to answer.  So, Nikki is what I named my nighttime personality.  Nikki and I are the same person, she's just that much more.

My Place of Work

Okay, so I'm not using the real names of any of these places or anyone's real name, so every thing's going to be coded.  Got it?

From now on, my place of work is simply: The Club.  Simple, easy to remember.

My Coworkers

(Okay, you're not expected to remember all of these people, but use this list as a reference whenever they pop back up).

• The Waitresses

1. Accent - 'cause she got an accent.  Duh.
2. Sweetness - because she's really sweet
3. Grandame - 'cause she's older than the establishment itself
4. Flip - 'cause her hair is flipped and it looks cool
5. Silly Girl - self-explanatory
6. Twilight - because she was reading it when I started working and COULD NOT put it down.

• The Strippers  (do you know how hard it is to come up with aliases for people that already have them?!)

1. Pretty Jealous - she's really pretty, but she hates on me SO hard.
2. Mamacita - she speaks Spanish fluently
3. You Can't Handle It - she's always talking about how no one can handle her
4. Firecracker - she's very expressive
5. Li'l Bit - she's young, short, and tiny
6. Token - self explanatory
7. Dollface - she looks like a porcelain doll

• The Bar Managers
  

1. Big Sis - she's the big sister to one of the doormen
2. Hey Mama - she's not that much older than me, but she's such a little mom
3. HWIC - Head Woman In Charge (I refuse to refer to her as Bitch 'cause she's SO not).

• The Other Bartenders
  

1. Cinnamon - that's what her hair color reminds me of
2. Bubbles - she's bubbly

• The Owner
  

1. HMIC - Head Man In Charge  (He is NOT a Nigga.)

• The DJ

1. Awww Yeah - 'cause he says it so well

• The Doormen
  

1. Lungs - 'cause he's always loud for no reason
2. Snaggle - snaggle tooth
3. Initial - he only goes by one letter of his name
4. The Girl - self-explanatory
5. Holla - 'cause he's always tryin to get at me

• The Bar Backs
  

1. Dallas - 'cause he always wears a Cowboys jersey
2. Chill - he's really cool, very helpful, does his job without intrusion.  I like him.

• The Cleanup Crew/Drivers
  

1. King - inside joke
2. Tambourine - inside joke I overheard and don't know what it means

• The Food Delivery Men
  

1. Hunan - 'cause that's where he delivers the food from

I Guess You Could Say I'm Somethin' Like A Local Celebrity...

...cause I gets recognition!  But before I get to that, I'll give you the brief rundown of the daily events at the club:

Drama, Drama, Drama!

We had a big blowup last night about waitresses taking customers out of other waitress' sections and interfering with each other's respective hustles.  Tonight, one of them got sent home over that mess.  (In addition to the fact that both the customers and the doorman have repeatedly complained about her lingering at customers' tables waiting on a tip.  It was my impression that she had been told, again, repeatedly, that customers are not obligated to tip you; they do it if they feel like it.)  She thought the bar manager was joking when she told her, "you need to start looking for another job-- no, not a second job; a replacement job."  But she was SO serious.

Is That Cocaine in Your Pocket or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

As I took one customer's order, I noticed a large quantity of little plastic baggies peeking out of his jacket pocket.  Now, they could've been for seed beads or spices or something else of similar graininess sold in quantities suitable to be packaged in small pouches, but... I dunno... I started wondering.

Local Celeb!

So, I'm not even paying attention to the faces of the customers as they come up to me, so I didn't even recognize this dude off the break.

"What can I get for you, babe?" I asked.

"Hey Nikki," he replied.  

My head snapped up and I squinted my eyes at him, trying to place his face.  I recognized him as the guy with whom I'd bonded over speaking in unintelligible accents when drunk last week.

"Hey sweetie, how ya doin?"

"I'm good, I'm good.  Glad it's the weekend."

"I heard that.  What can I get for you?"

"Patron and pineapple, if you would."

One of the waitresses recognized him as a regular as well and tried to chat him up, coax a tip out of him.  And (insert Cheshire grin here), you know what he said?  

"Nah, baby, my tip is for Nikki."

Yeah, I got it like that.

So then, later, another dude whom I didn't automatically recognize comes up to me and asks for one of my specialty drinks, a drink that I modified, a drink that ONLY I make.

"Let me get a Nymphomaniac."

AND he made all his friends that came with him get one too.  MY drink.

Booyah!

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

The bar manager to the waitress who thought she could step in on other people's hustles and stare down customers for tips, after the waitress said, "I have the type of face where I can wear my hair any kind of way, even a ponytail, and still look good.":

(While laughing.)  "You know, I'm glad you feel that way.  I'm glad you have that self-confidence; it all starts from the inside."

2nd QUOTE OF THE NIGHT (because it made me so happy):

"My tip is for Nikki."

HU Night at the Strip Joint!

Apparently tonight was HU night at the club because they were ALL up in there.

1.  Ex-professor who thought he was witty.

Okay, so I understand that part of my job is to talk to people and make them feel valued, but sometimes I'd really prefer that you just ask me for a drink and go on about your merry way once you get it.  We don't have to have a conversation... really.

So, I'm making this man and his friend their drinks and as I'm pouring, he goes, "so... tell me something good!"  (WTF; How ambiguous and asinine!)

I'm like, "...like what?"

"You don't have any good news?"

The first thing that popped in my head was, of course, May 9, 2009, "well... I'll be graduating in a couple of months."

"Oh!  Congratulations.  From where?"

"Howard."

"Oh, I know all about you Howard girls.  You're mean."  

(Damn, bitter much?)  "I'm one of the nice ones," I smiled.  Smiling is my default; I can usually charm the bitter out of anyone with a patented Nikki Smile.

"That's what the mean ones say.  I used to teach at Howard.  'Yeah I'm so sweet- can I get extra credit?'" he mocked the lazy, shiftless, yet entitled attitude of his former students.

Hoping I didn't strike a serious nerve by my mention of Howard, I sought to distance myself as much as possible from his perception of Howard Girls.  "That's not me; I've never asked for extra credit a day in my life.  I don't believe in it.  Both of my parents are professors.  Even when extra credit assignments are given, I don't do them.  You get what you earn; that's my philosophy."

(Okay, so that was a little overkill, but I need my tips!)  He and his friend ended up wishing me well in my studies and future endeavors.  And referring to me as Ms. Howard for the rest of the night.  (I also have another customer who refers to me a CG... short for "College Girl").

2.  Howard student with comprehension problems.

A couple of my friends have come in the club before this, but I'm gonna stop to mention this dude because I just don't understand... how you gonna try to pay with a debit card and I tell you "cash only," once, you pay me, then you come back not 30 minutes later and try to pay with a debit card again?  I patiently repeated, "cash only," and then you try to hand it to the other bartender like I made the shit up because I don't know how to work the machine or something.  No... it's cash only.  All the time.  Gah!  College kids.

3.  Maintenance man who's becoming a bit too much of a familiar face.

So, I've suspected my roommate has been carrying on an inappropriate relationship with one of the maintenance men since like October of last year.  He's always been coming up to the room looking for her, "is she here?" at odd hours of the night (like 11 o'clock), with no maintenance tools, and his shirt untucked.  When he gets here, he usually goes into her room and the door closes.  I have heard her ask him, "did you bring me the candy?" to which he replied, "girl, you 'sposed to give me the candy."  Now, I don't want to jump to any sort of wild conclusions, but I don't think they have the regular resident-maintenance man relationship.

Why, earlier today, he surprised me by informing me that my roommate had gone out of town.  My eyebrows shot up in twin arches, "oh, really?"  The man knows her whereabouts.  Booty GPS?  (Okay, stop.)

The man also happened to find him self around whereabout I work =/  He rolled up in the club in his uniform and a big, bright ass, yellow ass bubble coat... and left about 5 minutes later, after he recognized me behind the bar.  Thank God he left, because it's awkward enough with him winking at me because he knows I know he frequently lays pipe... er... fixes... the pipes... *cough* in my suite.

MY FAVORITE QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

Drunk ass man to me after I tell him I'm holding his drinks hostage if he doesn't give me the money (about 5-7 minutes have passed between his friend yelling at him to pay me and him repeatedly taking out and then putting back money from his wallet):

"You don't really give a fuck about me do you?"

Nope, I really don't.  But if you throw $5 or more in my tip jar, I'll give you a sincere thank you.  

...So Maybe I SHOULD Serve Water After 9.

Tonight was my first experience with customers that walked into the club already twisted. They were also really WEIRD and CRAZY, so it was hard to tell that they were already drunk on top of that.

So, a man and a woman walk up to the bar. (Yep, this is the beginning of a great joke). The man is swaying back and forth a bit, dressed like a 'hood Steve Urkel (+ a chronic blink, - the glasses). The woman is waddling like a pregnant woman, dressed like a bum (+ an extra couple of bumps, - a baby). They start throwing money around, all up in my face, speaking rapid-fire.

"Let me get five 1's. Let me get a Hennessey. Let me get twenty 1's. Here's your tip, 'cause you're so sweet. Let me get another Hennessey. Can I get ten more 1's? Wait, I gotta pay for my drink. Oh, I paid? Where's my drink? And a Heineken!"

At first I thought they were trying to hustle us (the man was throwing money at me; the woman was throwing money at my manager), but then once I saw him literally TOSS quarters up in the air, aiming (and failing HORRIBLY) for my tip jar, I realized... this man is either crazy or drunk off his ass.

As I watched them stuff dollar bills down the shirt of one of the waitresses (whose face bore an expression of barely tolerant annoyance mixed with acute wariness) and one of the strippers who had leaned against the bar to change out some of her singles, I came to a conclusion: drunk off the ass. And damnit, they just wouldn't go away! I appreciated that they kept throwing money in our tip jars with wild abandon, but seriously, they were making me nervous. Drunk people are unpredictable.

"I'ma need them to get away from the bar," I said to my manager as I turned around to fix someone else's drink.

She shook her head. "No; I'ma need her to get her eyes fixed. Did you see that shit?"

"Nah."

"Her eyes are cocked all the way to the side of her head. I don't like that. I can't tell where you're looking or who you're talking to. Uh-uh."

The pair of them wandered off with their drinks in the direction of the stage.

The same waitresses who had been so randomly, yet generously, tipped returned to the bar, shaking her head. "That woman's eyes are cocked like a pistol!"

I watched them spilling drinks and stumbling over themselves. Yeah, but that's not what's wrong with her, I thought to myself.

"It's 'cause they're inbred," my manager nodded her head sagely. "Their mama and daddy are cousins."

They kept coming back to the bar at random over the course of the night to chit chat about how upsetting the price of beer was (yeah, I think it's over-priced too, but you're at a strip club... whadaya want me to do? I'm sorry!), and said something about how...

"I can't get nothin' right now; we gotta wait 'til 2 am 'cause we reached the $500 limit on the ATM..."

(um, the club closes at 2 am...)

"...Hey, can I get twenty more 1's?"

(so... you can't buy a drink with the $20 in your hand? Not that I think you need one; I'm just questioning your logic.)

The last time she finally came up and asked me for a Malibu + pineapple I just had to tell her. "I'm not allowed to mix any drinks until my manager comes back."

I gotta come up with another line to spit to persistent, drunk-assed people, because RIGHT then, my manager came back.

P.S.

I enjoyed... having one of my customers pop his pecs for me. I told him he should get on stage. He said, "I've been trying to, but they aint ready."

I listened... when people gave me good advice (1) take care of your feet, (2) don't cut your hair, and (3) live an easy life- that's how you stay young-looking.

I like... working more than I like school. Class is just so boring and pointless. I'd rather be behind the bar. I'd rather be at the shop designing dresses. Ugh. GIVE ME FREE!

Deuces :-*

Since I've Been Gone

A lot has happened over the past, what?  Two weeks?  In that time period I think I've worked either 7 or 8 days.  Aint that crazy?  Crazier still, I've gotten to know some of my customers' names.  And there are a couple that like to tip me just because I smile.  (Holla!)

And yet I still have an inordinate amount of $$$$ to pay back for bills.  Damn.

Speaking of which, an older gentleman offered to pay my bills today.  His exact words were, "these young men out here will take you out, maybe buy you dinner or lunch.  I'll pay a bill for you."  I told him my bills were pretty extensive, but he still said wanted to connect with me on a spiritual and mental level, and told me, "Ooh!  You don't know what you're doing!"  I laughed (a bit nervously, actually) and said, "but I'm not doing anything."  This was apparently the wrong thing to say, because he came back with, "Mnph!  It's all natural then.  You just got this natural glow.  I'm going after you."  

...Yeah.  

Let me explain how this all started.  So, cat comes up to the bar, and I notice him just staring at me.

"What can I get for you?"  I asked.

He shook his head back and forth slowly.  "You're doing something to me.  You know?" 

I tried again.  "Uh... what can I get you to drink?"

"Heineken.  Maybe it's this environment that's doing it, though.  You know, I could just see you on the street and be Mr. So-and-So and you could be Ms. So-and-So, but in here, this place starts doing strange things to your mind.  You get to wondering.  You know?"

"Um, I guess.  But this is my job, so..."

"Yeah, I get it; I'm not trying to compromise your job or anything, and I'm an older gentleman, coming at you real respectful-like.  And I tell you, respectfully, I'd fuck your brains out.  You're just, ooh!  So tasty!  This is all in respect, though."

I really didn't know what to say, so I just laughed and handed him his change.

"You know back in the old days, older men like Thomas Jefferson had women as young as 13 and 14.  You're what?  21... you're grown enough.  In another life, I guess I could've been your father, but I'm not.  You know, I believe in karma.  And people meet each other for a reason.  Paths cross for a reason, see?"

"Yes, but I'm in a relationship."  (Okay, so I lied, but I don't have a better standard line to deal with older men [men in general, actually] trying to get at me).

And then he schooled me about relationships.  And for me, that's the reason why our paths crossed.  'Cause I needed to hear what he said at that moment; it makes sense for me right now.

He said that relationships were like conversations; they begin and they end.  People come in and out of your life; very few stay, but you should enjoy what experiences you have with them while they're there.  You should never have a moment where you wonder, "what would've happened if I'd..."  Just jump.  Everyone's got something to teach, something to share, something to give.  

I was in what I believed to be a serious relationship for two years before a series of breakups culminating in a final one April 1st (yeah, he was a writer... with a thing for irony) of last year.  I think the reason there were so many breakups was because I had too much trouble letting go.  My mind kept thinking, "But I gave so much!  I'm not ready to stop loving!  This can't end with me sitting here with a broken heart!  This can't be it!"  I hadn't reached the point where I could say, "Okay, so I guess the hourglass ran out on you.  I had a great time.  Peace."  

I ended up telling him, "well, how 'bout this: you stay on that side of the bar and I stay on this side of the bar, I serve you drinks and we have conversations.  That's a relationship."

Of course, he didn't take that as his final answer and probably still thinks I'm going to give in, but... I appreciated the knowledge he dropped on me in the process.

I Have to Count? ...By Myself?!

Sorry I've been gone so long, but I've been on my hustle.  The places I applied to all wanted more experience, but I kept at it and... I finally got a bar job!  Woo hoo!  Now you can expect plenty of alcohol-infused juiciness to come =)

I'm working another strip club; it's located in the 'hood rather than DC's power-district, but the money is still good.  And the dancers are better.  I swear, the girls at the (mostly) white club just sway back and forth and make faces.  The dancers at this strip club put on a show.  ...Not that I see much of it anyway; I pretty much just see the endless line of people in front of me requesting drinks.  And let me tell you, getting behind the bar "forreal" is completely different from bartending school.  I've definitely learned some real life lessons:

1.  How to count.  

It's my not-so-secret shame that I cannot count.  At all.  In fact, numbers tend to make me nervous.  When I walked behind the bar at the club I was confronted with a cash register that must date back to 1975.  There are no electronics involved in that hunk of metal.  You have to know the prices of everything off the top of your head, punch the dollar amount in using typewriter-like buttons in denominations of 10, 1, .10 and .01., and then count out the change yourself.  This presented a serious problem for me.  It's been so bad that the waitresses usually help me out by telling me the correct amount of change to give them.

The first two nights I counted up things incorrectly, but the third night I got it right.  I was so proud of myself when my boss told me, "and by the way, the money's right," after he finished counting down the drawer at the end of the night that I pumped my fist and said, "yessss!  I'm proud of myself when I can count correctly."  At this, one of the strippers replied, "we're proud of you too bitch!"  I smiled and said thank you.

2.  The only thing bartending school really gives you is drink knowledge, and even then... the bar you're working will probably have it's own way of mixing.

Apparently, the way I learned to make Zombies, Mai Tais, Blue Motorcycles, Blue Hawaiians and Apple Martinis no longer applies.  And I can only imagine what else isn't consistent.  It's hard to remember drinks when you can't write them down too, but I've been managing okay.  As well, we don't serve our shots or drinks the way I learned to either.  All of the bottles at the bar have "measured pours", meaning the spout pours out exactly one ounce of liquor and then stops.  Well, I poured it that way and the bar manager informed me that that wasn't a shot.  We fill all of our glasses to the brim; no "lip line" like how I learned in bartending school.  Whatev.

3.  Personal selling skills.

I learned at a very young age that as long as you smile real big and bright, they'll love you.  One of the strippers at work put it best: "God gave me a great smile and a great ass, and I talk so good I'll talk a hole in your pocket."  God didn't give me a great ass, but I did come away with a sparkling personality.  I'm far from innocent, but for some reason, that's how I come off no matter what I do.  And I leverage that.  I can act interested in anyone and they'll believe it.  Okay, so some customers take the "building relationships" thing a little too far (no, I will not have sex with you), but I've been able to smile my way to $12 tips on a $11.50 bill and convince unsuspecting men that they should have a double shot of Ciroc as I get into a conversation with them about its superior, ultra-smooth qualities.  (Upselling!)  And this is only in my first four days; one day I shall be a master at personal selling, coaxing tips even out of the cheapest bottled-water-drinking, no 1's-having cheapskates in the place.

4.  Never let 'em hustle you.

Like I said, I look innocent.  I talk innocent.  I've got angel-light shining from my eyes.  I've had two customers try to hustle me so far.  One tried to act like he didn't have enough to pay for the drink I'd already fixed him.  The bar manager called him on it because she heard him whisper, "watch this," to his friend.  The second one I fixed myself.  This Negro tried to confuse me by talking fast, ordering a drink, not paying for it, requesting that I give him 20 $1 bills, and then trying to walk away.  I was like, "uh... you need to pay for that Heineken."  And then he tried to act clueless, "oh?  I didn't pay for it?"  No.  You didn't.  Cough it up!

5.  The Shakin v. Trickin Asset Turnover Ratio

I'm a business student, so of course, when one of the strippers said, "man, I know this girl who turns tricks and doesn't have a car.  What the hell is that?"  I immediately thought that the 'ho lacked the business sense to price her goods and services correctly.  She went on to say, "I mean, how much are you supposed to sell it for?  Man, if I were to sell my shit, you'd have to give me some permanent money.  Some shit I can use.  You'd better buy me a house, some stock, somethin!"  This I related to the value of assets versus the revenue stream that comes from your business activities.  You can leverage assets, but revenue can only be used to buy assets... and if you aren't making enough to do that, well, you're in a pretty sorry position and you need to reevaluate your business strategy.  She then said, "I don't see why any girl would turn to trickin' any way... I make so much more just shakin' it, shakin' it, shakin' it... and I aint never had to open my legs for no man.  I mean, I guess they make their money faster, but they make less.  And what they go through..."  That's a lesson in asset turnover ratio right there; it's important to get the most out of your assets, making them generate their value as many times over as you can... but if you set the value too low, it doesn't mean anything.  Case-and-point, her last thing to say on the subject was, "and you know, a nigga will talk about you if you let him get it for $200... but let it cost him $2,000.  He aint braggin' to NOBODY!"