How Did YOU Get HERE? and Random Words of Wisdom

Okay, so again, let me reiterate: I am not 'hood-born.  Although I have not been sheltered, I'm suburban, upper middle-class bred.  I'm not naive and I'm not ignorant of the harsh realities of life, however, there's something about me that just screams:

"Aw man, she looks like she was raised by the Huxtables!"  (As stated by one of my customers).

I can't get rid of that and I don't want to; it's something that makes me... me.  That always-smiling, positive, shiny-eyed bubbliness is too much a part of me to be stripped away by working behind the bar in a "den of iniquity."  Consequently, I get that, "damn, what's a girl like you doing here?" look/question a lot.  Some people are going to think I'm playing at slummin' it; and some people tend to treat me like an exotic luxury from a land far, far away.  

This past Sunday, this "who are you and what are you doing in here?" (like there's a type of female one would expect to find in a strip club versus the kind that's too good for such a place) sentiment came at me a couple of times.

Smiling and looking at me a bit doubtfully a customer asked me, "are you HMIC's daughter?"

"Nope," I replied, shaking my head.

"How'd you get in here?  Whose daughter are you?" he was convinced that I had to have gotten the gig some kind of family-connection kind of way.

I shrugged.  "I'm just some girl from Bowie."

He laughed heartily, "Just some girl from Bowie, huh?  I can dig that."  He threw a few dollars in my bucket and walked away still chortling.

Some Random Words of Wisdom

Then, this woman, one who refers to me as "CG" (for College Girl), told me that I hadn't smiled at all the whole night (um, smiling is my M.O., lady!) and said that it was people like me that made people not want to come to the club anymore (really?  I think I've been a boost to business, judging by the number of customers that said they'd rather sit and look at/talk to me with all of my clothes on than spend their money on the strippers), and that I needed to be more smiley and flirty.

But then, she also gave me some great advice, which I'll take with me.  I always listen when someone drops wisdom by age and/or experience on me.  It may make sense to me, it may apply to my life; it may not, regardless, they're free words, given earnestly... so I listen.  When someone speaks their truth... you respect it and you listen.

She told me:

1.  If you aint gettin your money, you deserve to be broke.  (This goes along with my own personal belief: if you don't have a hustle, you better get one.)

2.  Keep smiling-- no matter what.

And also told me about the founder of the club who had been a prostitute, but saved up to buy the building and start the club.  When she got sick, she trusted the business over to her best friend and manager-- not her husband.  "Never let a man own your shit," she said.

Sunday must have been the night for words of inspiration/life advice because yet another customer told me:

"My English isn't good, but I'm a very educated man.  Get as much education as you can."  (He spoke French).

"I will," I nodded.

He shook his head.  "You don't have to say it; just do."

Who Ya Gonna Call?  Um... THE EXTERMINATOR, PLEASE!!!

Okay, so we're located in a relatively dense city.  This means there are rats.  Rats sometimes come inside the club.  I have not seen one yet, thank goodness, but I have seen other people's reactions to them.  It's only a matter of time.  *Shudder*  I don't do roaches or rodents.  I don't do anything that crawls/flies and carries disease, actually.

So when I saw Dallas jump back, exclaiming, "aw shit!"; Mumbles, one of the clean up men, come around the corner with a bottle of bleach and a flashlight; and Big Sis run all the way to the storage end of the bar saying, "you can make as much money as you want!" I had to seriously resist the urge to jump over the bar and run out with my tip jar and never come back.

I Don't Speak, I Make Death Threats

For some reason, real street-hardened people can't seem to turn it off, even when making small talk.  Everything this man said to me sounded savage; he spoke in a staccato, yet nearly guttural, voice, punctuating his sentences with a viper-like strike of his head.

When he asked, "how much is a drink?" I was almost to afraid to answer.

"Let me get a Coke!" he said, and I made sure to fill it all the way up, hoping he wouldn't complain.

To this date, this has been the only time: "You real cute!  What's your number!" has sounded more like a death threat.  *Shiver*.  I'm sure he was actually a charming man though, a real upstanding member of his community.  I was just a little off-put by the unbridled overflow of aggression.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

I was being really smiley and friendly with one of my customers and then shared the same smile and good humor with one of the dancers who came up to the bar to turn in her $1s and commented on my new haircut.

"That's what's up," my customer said.  "I like you.  You show the same love to everybody."

He promptly threw more money in my tip bucket.  "You're cool, man."

I love it when people appreciate me.