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 :-*
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