Don't You Ever Get Too Comfortable

This happens to me with every job I've held.  I get too comfortable in my environment.  I've gotten comfortable joking around with 'hood hustlers, pimps and hoes.  I've gotten comfortable in the ramshackle old building where I work.  Don't get me wrong, I still think it's gross... one day, I'd really like to buy the business and redo it, but... I've gotten way too comfortable there.  I think... I might actually miss it when it's time for me to leave.  (They still don't know I'm leaving yet, and I know they're going to miss me; my boss even asked me if I had any friends that wanted to work as a bartender too because he wants more people like me.).

My top reason why I think I'm getting too comfortable there though, is because I just spent 3 out of the last 4 days at the strip club... no bueno!!!

SUNDAY:  WORK

Is This Really the Appropriate Place?

There's a couple that comes into the strip club together and always ends up arguing.  Now, I've only been in one "serious" relationship, but it seems to me... if you know when you go out to the strip club together and get drunk, you start arguing... just don't go.  The strip club is not the place to handle your relationship issues.  They even attracted the attention of a mediator who tried to talk them both through their problems, but he couldn't even help them.  The woman seemed really immature and complaint-prone.  After she was yelling at her boyfriend, he walked away shaking his head and went to go tip and look at one of the dancers.  

"If he cared about me, then why did he go over to the girl?" she pouted.

You're in a strip club.  You're also being annoying.  There's your reason right there.

The mediator actually did a pretty good job, from what I observed, though.  She was just being stubborn.  She probably wanted him to beg all over her or something so it could be dramatic.  Boo.  The mediator came over to the bar and pegged Big Sis and me for our personality types off the bat.

"I'm not gonna mess with you," he said to Big Sis.  "I know your type."

"Oh really?" she asked.  "So what's my type."

"You are serious.  You like it hard and you like it fast.  You don't play around.  Nope."

She was silent. 

He turned to me, "and you're soft.  You're a softie."

Damn it.  I am.  =(

Daddy?

So, my dad knows I work at a strip club, but even as a bartender with all of my clothes on (I mean, I wore a hoodie on Wednesday), I wouldn't feel right about him coming into my place of work.  One of the strippers had to get her spare car key from her father and he came into the place to give them to her.  She came downstairs in her little costume to get them from him and ran around introducing him to her naked friends.  I'm sorry, I just couldn't do that.  That's SO awkward.

I'm Not Trying to Make a Racist Generalization, But...

White people tip way better than black people.  On average.  The dancers have said sometimes they don't like dancing for white people because they feel like they're animals on display at the zoo/in a freak show (it depends on how the white people in question act).  We had some HILLBILLY lookin' folk come in with one black guy in the group and they were cool as shit.  Then there's some white guys who come in to get their little forbidden taste of "exotic black booty" and they make the dancers uncomfortable.  Most of the white folk that come in are cool though.  So yeah, anyway, on average white people tip way better than black people.  This one guy bought two Bud Lights ($13), paid with a $20 bill and gave me the $7 left over.  One white guy tipped me $20.  

I've noticed also, though, that black people expect you to be rude, so they come in thinking they're not going to tip you because you have an attitude... so even if you don't, they'll just fit your behavior in with "oh she has an attitude."  Usually, the men will begin to put all their change back in their pockets, but then I'll say "you're welcome," after they thank me for their drink, and then they pull their money back out of their pocket to tip me.  A little kindness goes a long way.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

OBVIOUSLY pregnant customer to the doorman, "I'm not pregnant."

So... you've just got a really firm beer belly?  You shouldn't be comfortable perpetrating that lie.

MONDAY: VISITATION

So, my friends and I definitely rolled like 10 - 13 deep (I can't remember who all was there) to go to Amateur Night.  Me and my nearest and dearest definitely spent the whole time critiquing.  There was one dancer we got up from our seats upstairs to tip because she was good, like she actually put on a show (Twinkle).  But the rest of them just kind of smiled and undulated.  And then looked mad when they weren't getting tips.  Being pretty can only get you but so far... Twinkle isn't really all that attractive, but she puts her work in.  Was the stage not COVERED with dollars after she was done?  (I've witnessed "making it rain" in the club... it's actually a hilarious sight.).

WEDNESDAY: WORK... AGAIN

My First... Rat

Yep, I saw my first rat.  Gross.  If I owned that business, there would be no rats.  That's so GROSSSSS!

Am I Alone Here?

My manager definitely took a THREE HOUR break to talk on the phone about her now ex-.  Initially, I felt bad for her the day it happened, because like I said, I've been there.  But again, you cannot ignore the fact that you chose this fool to start a relationship with.  You knew he had problems when you got with him.  You knew he had 7 children.  You knew he had commitment issues.  He was straight up with you.  Stop asking everyone's opinion about whether he's gonna come back around or not, what he's doing running around with his ex-, what he's thinking... yadda yadda.  No one knows.  He doesn't know.  Talking about it isn't going to make things happen any faster/bring you what you want.  I wouldn't be so pissed off about it if this hadn't been a constant thing since I started working there.  All she talks about it The User (that's what I'm calling him from now on).  And honestly, I have sympathy... hell... I'm EMPATHETIC, but really... stop!

Now, I didn't mind that she took that 3 hour break because I definitely pulled in $80 by myself, but then, she came back so for the next 4 hours, we had to split our tips (which also ended up being $80 in total).  She LEFT THE BAR a number of different times to talk to CUSTOMERS about her man problems while I held it down by myself.  I took a little 30 minute break to go nap because I was tired and I was woken abruptly by the doorman because my manager told him that she needed me because the line started getting deep.  I knocked out 3/4 of the line BY MYSELF.  Ugh.  I might as well have worked alone.  At least I would've made $160.

Valuable Advice

Most of my tips came from this one guy who's a regular at the club.  He just chilled by the side, talking to me and various dancers and waitresses.  He said some really relevant things, like...

"Man, this 'Swine Flu' thing is all about fear... people make money off of fear.  That's how they control you.  That's how it is with wars, that Y2K shit that never happened... think about it... You get 50 million people to go out and buy a $4 safety kit: how much money do you make?"

"I don't know what's wrong with black women today.  Don't take offense, but ya'll used to be on it.  Now you keep going out with these losers.  Listen, I'm 34, and I'll tell you: you can't change a man.  If he was broke when you met him, he's gonna be broke.  If he was an asshole when you met him, he's gonna be an asshole.  Ya'll keep complaining about your relationship problems and whatever, but I'll make it simple: don't date no loser."

"Everybody's worrying about what's gonna happen.  There's no point to all that; just do your best and leave the rest to God."  (My personal favorite, because that's my philosophy on life).  "And make the right choices.  The only way is the right way.  Stay in school.  Knowledge is REAL power.  Believe that."

I think it says something that all the hood hustlers and drug dealers I know keep telling me to stay in school and dap me up when I say I'm graduating.

I think his funniest lines of the night, though, were:

QUOTES OF THE NIGHT:

"I used to have a girlfriend, but she was too expensive; now I've gone green."

And, after I told him I was going to fashion school, he goes: "fashion school?  Oh... you're gonna need a sugar daddy.  Take down my number."

(I actually did (LOL), but I said, "even if I don't use it because I need a sugar daddy, I will need business investors.")

The End of an Era

New Rule: if a waitress/bartender gets a customer to buy her a dummy drink, she has to pay the bar $5.50 and they have to take care of the transaction with the customer themselves.  My boss instated this rule after noticing the large number of waitresses abusing their "dummy drink" privilege and getting confused as to why his bartenders kept taking money out of the drawer and throwing it in their tip jars/laying it off to the side.  This marks the end of an era:  the end of the hustle.

Today, I had to work while sick =(  I WENT OUT and WENT HARD last night, celebrating the end of my undergraduate career: 5 drinks, 3 shots.  I went out wearing a teeny little babydoll dress and black "hooker" boots.  I'm now coming down with a cold.

Fortunately, Mumbles was able to buy me some cold pills, but I still wasn't at full Bubbly-Nikki capacity.  That's one thing about being a naturally smiley-happy person; the minute something is even slightly wrong with you, everyone can tell.

I gotta go buy some Zicam.  (That stuff WORKS!).

I know no one cares about me being sick, though, so on to the good stuff:

Sir, You Tweak.

So, my boss called me earlier today and left a voicemail saying to call him as soon as possible.  (And I'm confused as to why he left the voicemail, calling me by my correct name, and then, later on tonight, called me MADELINE!  Madeline is NOWHERE near close to my real name!!).  When I called him back, he started talking about some, "can you work two extra days during the summer?"

Um.  No.

Working two extra days would put me at 5 days a week.  I aint working from 7 pm -2 am five days a week.  I'm not consorting with naked women and hood hustlers five days a week.  I'm not driving out to DC and leaving my silver Honda Accord, THE MOST FREQUENTLY STOLEN CAR IN AMERICA, alone and vulnerable 5 days a week.  We already had a waitress and a doorman get their cars broken into last week.  No.  

And then when I was obviously reluctant, he tried to convince me by saying, "I've got this other girl who says she can work 5 days."

Good for her.  I'm leaving in June/July.  She can work her li'l five days then and be happy.

Customers I LOVE versus Customers I HATE

I LOVE customers who understand what my job is like for me.  One guy came up to the bar and said:

"So how are you doing tonight?"

My honest answer would've been something along the lines of, "I'm fucking miserable.  The A/C is on WAY too high.  I've got a sore throat and a headache.  I can feel pressure building up behind my nose.  I'm tired.  The music is too loud.  And I just don't want to be here," but what I actually said was, "I'm alright."

"So no one's started getting on your nerves yet, then?"

I  laughed.  "No, not yet.  What time is it though?  12:30?  Yeah... let it get between 1 and 2... then my patience starts wearing a little thin."

He laughed along with me.  "It would be all good if people just acted like they had some sense so we could all get along, huh?"

"Exactly!" I nodded emphatically.

On the other hand, I HATE customers who... act like they don't have any sense.

1.  Don't hand me money if you see me counting.

2.  Don't argue with me about the price of your drink.  Sir, you did not pay me $5.50 for your Jack and soda water.  You paid me $8.25.  And that's why I'm charging you $8.25 this time too.

3.  It's NOT FUNNY and I'm NOT AMUSED when you keep changing your mind as to what chaser you want; "Cranberry.  No!  Pineapple.  No!  Grapefruit... Cranberry..." is not the appropriate way to order your drink.

I Don't Blush Easily... So You KNOW You Got It.

So, this guy and his father and (I guess they were his uncles) came in, visiting DC from California.  Oh.  My.  God.  He was FINE!

They had to leave this other snooty strip club downtown because they said the guy's father was drunk, so they came to our club.  Thank GOD because the father definitely tipped me about $26 in total.  And I just liked looking at the son.  Brown skin and blue eyes can either look really weird or really freakin' hot... and... he looked really freakin' hot.

As they were ordering their drinks, the father turned to me and said.  "His mama's a black woman.  My son's fine aint he?"

"She knows," the son winked at me.

Eep.  Blush.  

(Yes, I do blush... I don't get red or anything, but my cheeks get a nice healthy, rosy glow.).

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

After yet another dancer lost her keys, my boss shook his head:

"Losing your keys will drive you crazy.  It's like losing a goddamn best friend or some shit."

Truuuuth!

Top Three Reasons Why I Hate Men

Okay, so I don't hate men.  In fact, I love them.  Sometimes I think I might love men a little too much.  (I'm workin on that.).  But no matter how much I love men, the fact remains that they cause problems.  So sometimes I pretend I hate them.

And here are my TOP 3 Reasons Why I Hate Men:

(All compiled while working behind the bar yesterday)

1.  THEY MAKE ME WANT TO FLIRT WITH THEM WHEN THEY'RE CUTE... AND UNAVAILABLE.

The guys that walked in with their girlfriends yesterday were JUST my type (physically, at least).  It makes me so mad when I want to flirt, but can't.  I'm a natural flirt; I really can't help it, but I know what's appropriate and what's not.  I'm also one of those women that goes into "lioness" mode when there's a man I want and another woman is around.  It's an animal instinct within me that just goes, "he's mine because I want him.  Bitch, begone!"  The rational part of me can control that pretty well, and if I can't control it, it usually just ends with me doing/saying something scene-stealing and over-the-top.  

So yeah, I HATE it when a guy falls into one of my type (yes, I have types: I like them Ralph Lauren Ad-ish with an edge or edgy Sean John model-lookin' with a code of honor and respect) and I can't do anything about it.  I also get lowkey jealous when the cute ones who flirt with me at the bar go look at the strippers.  It's irrational, but whatever.  

The one guy was clean-cut and preppy with edge and the other guy was tatted up with a rough-but-gentlemanly attitude.  And when he opened his mouth, oh-MY-God!, a BRITISH ACCENT popped out.  EVERYONE knows how much I FREAKING LOVE British accents.  Sigh.

Oh well.  It's not like I'm going to meet my next conquest behind the bar anyway.

2.  THEY ARE PARASITIC USERS WHO REMAIN IN A STAGE OF ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT!!!

On a more serious note, my manager essentially broke up with her boyfriend.  She didn't want to, but he was taking too much away from her emotionally.  Going around with his ex (like to the grocery store... and she came to his uncle's funeral), all the while taking advantage of my manager.  She sent him a text saying that he could pick up his stuff from her house and that she couldn't take it anymore and he just said "ok."  After begging her not to leave him a couple of weeks ago.  I hate "confused" men.  Just be straight up.

I watched the pain on her face as she described the situation and found myself fighting back tears myself.  'Cause I've been there.  Not the same situation, of course, but the same emotional position.  Loving a Lost Boy.

"I was there for him to help him through tough situations.  I expected my ex-husband to hurt me; that was constant... but I never expected this from him.  I gave so much; I thought I meant too much to him for him to do this to me.  I never expected this.  If we were only supposed to be friends; if I was only supposed to be there to help him through his confusion over another woman... we should've never gotten into a relationship.  If I was only supposed to be his friend, I've wasted my time.  And I'm sitting here hurt.  I mean, I'm hurting."

And I know what it feels like to have your heart beating in your throat, feeling like you want to jump out of your skin because you have so much pain you don't feel like your body can take it.

"I feel like after two years we've reached a point with each other where we can be honest with each other.  If he wanted to be with her, he could've just said that.  I can't hurt any more than I already do.  If you want to leave, leave, so I can move on... but don't just string me along."

I don't think people realize that if they're doing something that could hurt someone, they can't avoid hurting them by not being explicit about what they're doing.  It hurts more to have someone implicitly lie to you than to have them be brutally honest.  It really does.

And from everything she's told me about her boyfriend, it seems like he's a user.  He uses women to take care of him and his kids, and moves between them, citing "a fear of commitment."  Personally, I think it's a fear of being dropped and deprived of his host once the woman discovers that he's not contributing anything to their lives.  I mean, she PAID BILLS for him.  Fuck that.

I told her, "a man will never grow up as long as he has a woman taking care of him."  I'm only 21 years old, but I've seen that over and over.  From his mama to his girl... if a man has not been forced to take care of himself, he will continue to USE whatever woman is there (because women tend to love to help damaged/childish men... that man is NOT your personal project and you can't save someone who won't save themselves) for as long as he can.

Realizing this, my manager began, "and he'll keep treating me like this..."

"...as long as YOU let him," I finished.

OWN your heart, ladies, and don't just give it away.  Make him work for it.  Treat yourself like you're special.

3.  THEY'RE WAY TOO SEXUALLY MOTIVATED.

Okay, so I'm not really one to talk (Lord, but I get into some schemes), but honestly... sex is not that important.  It shouldn't be the motivating factor behind every decision you make.

Really, men make me laugh and also make me pity them with how easily manipulated they are.  I watch how entranced they are by the dancers, women who are (1) lesbians (90% of the dancers in the club do not like men), (2) not going to have sex with them, and (3) only want their money.  I marvel at how much power men think they have and how little they actually do.

I'm disappointed at how stupid men can be when sex is on the table.  But whatever.  Keep spending your money.  Keep losing people who care about you.  Keep getting used by gold diggers.  Stay ignorant as you get your ego stroked.  Whatever.  

ASIDE: I know it's not ALL men, but it's enough so that this was all relevant.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

One of the dancers had to get a ride home from Tambourine with me because she lost her keys.  With a sigh, she said:

"All I know is Mumbles better not have my keys.  I've heard he does that; it happened to one of the other girls.  He took her keys and rented out her car to people around the neighborhood.  He better not play that shit with me."

(Mumbles is one of the clean up men who work at the club).

Three Day Work Weekend? I'll Take a Pass.

I've actually got to go to work in two hours and I've got limited time available to study for my last final, but I want to write down the latest happenings from Saturday and Sunday before I forget them.  First, let me say that I am never working three days in a row behind the bar again (especially not during Senior Finals Week).  The whole ordeal ended with me having a horrible headache that I just couldn't seem to get rid of, as well as a general apathetic attitude towards everything but sleep.  NEVER again.

Saturday, I ran out of red clothes to wear to work, so I ended up doing a punk rock thing with black short-shorts, black fishnets with holes slashed in them, black Chucks, a white wifebeater and... here's the kicker... a red bra worn on TOP of my 'beater.  Punk-ay!  I really feel like the dress code should be a little more relaxed; how about we can wear any combination of black, white and red?  That works for me.  

Saturday isn't even my usual night to work.  I was just filling in for my manager because she took her boyfriend's kids to a cheerleading competition.  Nothing really happened, either.  I didn't even need to be there.  I mean, I did come away with $135, so that was nice, but I really would've preferred to have my Saturday to myself.  My boss's wife came in to help behind the bar as well.  I like her; she reminds me of my mother.  Very even-tempered and classy.  

Final thoughts on Saturday: why was I there?

QUOTE (CONVERSATION) OF THE NIGHT:

Customer to me: "Hey!  Don't I know you?"

I searched his face, trying to place it.  "I don't think so," I shook my head.

"Yeah, yeah I do.  You ride my bus."

I started to shake my head again; I haven't been on a bus for over a month now.  

"You don't ride the Circulator?" he asked.

"Yeah!  Yeah, I do.  I take it to Georgetown."

"I knew I knew you from somewhere.  You get on my bus every week."

"I'm that memorable?" I asked, shocked.

"You've got really pretty hair and a nice smile," he nodded.

I think that's one of the greatest compliments I've ever gotten; not the words he said, but the fact that he remembered me from out of all the people he picks up, driving his bus, and we hadn't even exchanged any words.  Just a swipe of my SmarTrip card.  

Sunday, I was DEAD tired and I had an optional exam on Monday that would've been beneficial for me to take (however I ended up NOT taking it because, again, I was DEAD tired).  I did not want to be at work at all.  I didn't even make as much as I usually do on Sundays; the weather was nice, so I guess people found better things to do with their time than go to a strip club.  Especially with dancers like Drunkie...

The Perils of Hiring Drunkards

We already have one waitress that sips a little bit too much (to the point where she was banned from the premises for a week); we don't need a dancer who does the same.  On top of the fact that she's not intelligent, she's generally uncoordinated, and she can't dance, she's also a little bit too fond of the liquor.  After having one too many drinks, she came up to the bar to (WAY too loudly) tell me:

"Girl, when the DJ played my song, I was like: ooooh!  I love Gucci Mane!  I don't care if everyone thinks he's ugly, he sexy to me!  GUCCI!"

Womp.

I understand we're in the entertainment business; we sell an escape, a fantasy, and the key selling point is the naked female body... but can that not be the only selling point?  From the way she leaves her mouth hanging open all the time to her crooked weave and lazy, RANDOM, "dance" movements... she looks sloppy.  And while she was on set, she ordered two Blue Motorcycles and a Lemon Drop shot from me.  Natural sloppiness + alcohol is not good.

Can we hire a higher caliber of strippers please?

And while I'm on that topic, can we not have a dancer that looks like a black David Bowie (David with the BLOND! mullet-y/mohawk-y hair)?  I don't know what hair dresser went all Madonna + Edward Scissorhands on her head and had the audacity to tell her she looked fly, but she doesn't.  She really doesn't.  

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

I had retired to the break area to get in a little studying and eat my chicken and broccoli (also, never again), when the doorman, playing a prank, attacked my leg with a crazy-looking, stuffed bat-miniwolf thing.  I jumped about three feet backwards.

"What the hell is that?!" I demanded.

He laughed.  "This is my Baddie.  I sic him on people when they're mean to me."

Getting a Little too Close for Comfort

Yeah...

Sorry I didn't manage to give ya'll an update on Wednesday; it's been the Senior Finals Week (from HELL!) for me... and it's not over yet.  I've got 5 more exams and 1 more project to go.  Let's get it!  (Let me not get pre-excited about being a college graduate yet).  Anyway... Wednesday was rather uneventful in terms of behind-the-bar action, so I'll just give some highlights:

It normally doesn't happen, but apparently you can still make money while you're on break.  I was sitting on the couch in the break area, right above the front door to the club, studying for an exam I had the next day (which I good-as-failed: 74%... oh well.  I have a B in the class; I'm on-track for getting my degree).  As this guy was leaving the club, he just tipped me $10 for no reason.  Holla!

This old man just refuses to take the hint that I WILL NOT SLEEP WITH HIM.  I don't understand how many times and how many different ways I have to say "I'm not interested.  At all."  Before (he's propositioned me at least 3 different times), I lied and told him I had a boyfriend, so when he saw me he asked me, "how's that little boy of yours doing?"  I replied, "he's not a little boy.  And he's doing just fine."  He started asking me all these questions about him, so I had to keep making shit up as I went.  

[So, for future reference (for myself), here's my boyfriend: we've been together for a year and a half, he comes from money (he drives a Mercedes he didn't pay for himself), but he's very idealistic, he's going into Teach for America in Brooklyn, NY, we live in the same dorm at school, we're living together when I move up there, and his life goal is to reform the public education system in America.  He doesn't have a name yet, but I guess I should make one up now... so... his name is Julian.  Julian Rose.  Wait no... we're planning on getting married and "Nikki Rose" doesn't sound right; let's make that Julian Youngblood.  Yeah.]

Anyway, after I finished telling Old Dirty Man about my fictional boyfriend and how happy we are together, he responded with, "but he's not as nasty as I am."  ...Um gross much?

"Go drink your drink!" I shooed him away.

AND NOW FOR THE MAIN EVENT OF THIS POST!  TONIGHT'S EVENTS!

"You Can Get This Here Lapdance for Free"  

(NERD, "Lapdance")

Someone was in the club for a bachelor's party, so my boss stopped the music and got on the mic to announce that there would be a special event to celebrate the man's upcoming nuptials.  We don't do lapdances at The Club because we serve alcohol and the dancers get totally nude, but since it was a special occasion, the guy got a lapdance by two of the club's most skilled and popular dancers (with their costumes on, of course).  His shirt ended up coming off though.

I'm the Bartender Here; You're the Customer.  Got It?

Tip: do not tell your bartender about what's behind the bar or try to classify liquors.  Just don't do it.  Nine times out of ten you're wrong, however nine times out of ten your bartender won't correct you because it's not appropriate protocol for providing excellent customer service.  We ARE thinking to ourselves: "this idiot," though.  Hint:

Bacardi 151 is NOT whiskey; it's overproof RUM.  BACARDI MAKES RUM.  If you ask me to make a "Whiskey Sour with 151," I will assume you mean "make a 151 Sour."  If you tell me "I want both whiskey and 151," what you will get is either (a) equal shots of Jack and 151 or (b) 1 1/2 shots of Jack and 1/2 a shot of 151.  And after you WATCH me make it, giving me directions the whole time, DO NOT tell me "you didn't put any 151 in there."  Also, if you hand me a $100 bill + 25 cents when your bill is $20.25, I will give you back $20 in singles and $60 in twenties.  That's $80.  That's your correct change.  DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME ABOUT THAT EITHER.

Crown Royal is Canadian whiskey.  IT IS NOT BOURBON.  And if you're still confused, it says "CANADIAN WHISKEY" on the damn bottle itself.  No one seems to know what bourbon is, so I'm going to help them out: BOURBON IS AMERICAN WHISKEY MADE PRIMARILY FROM CORN.  Popular brands include (but are not limited to): Jim Beam, Maker's Mark, Mark Twain, Old Crow, Old Grand-Dad, and Wild Turkey.  There are strict requirements for a whiskey to qualify as a bourbon, but one of the easiest to remember is that it must be MADE IN AMERICA.  CROWN ROYAL IS MADE IN FRIGGIN' CANADA!!!!

We... Are... Family?

So, I think my boss is getting a little too attached to me.  First, he was doing his whole cheeky older man thing where he was complimenting my legs (I wore a minidress to work today) and showing me how to flip shot glasses and bottles and then asking me if I wanted to learn.  I replied "yeah, but my hands are so small, though."  He said, "that just means you make everything else look bigger."

Then, later on that night, he told me he needed to stop looking at me like a nasty old man, that he was going to hook me up with his eldest son, and that we should get married so he could retire and pass the business on.  (I actually would enjoy owning a strip club, and I've been toying with writing a business plan for the restructuring of his club.).  I think my boss has gotten a little bit too attached to me.  I don't know how he's going to take it when I leave.

I'd still keep in contact though; I would.  I like the club and I think it's got great potential.  Not sure I want to be part of the family though; that's a major emotional investment.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

My boss on the mic:

"I'm fuckin' somebody's daughter tonight."

Oh... You Really Thought I Was Playin. Nope.

Mama might've raised me to be polite and respectful, but mama aint raise no fool.  And grandmama told me, "if you aint worried about your money, then you don't have any."  I do not fool with my money.  I'm going to need the people I work with on Sundays to get the memo.

I Owe You Nothing

So, tonight, Dallas THE BARBACK stepped up again, only this time, he didn't end up taking that much from me.  It still slows the whole process down when I have to input his totals, but I've gotten better at judging when to speed up and slow down my personal movements so I can control the flow of cash at the bar.  Tonight though, he started getting mad.  He made one customer a drink that she had originally asked me for and she tried to tip me instead of him anyway. 

As she handed the money to him he said, "my jar is over here."

She rolled her eyes and said, "I'm trying to tip her."

He got all indignant and she split the tips about 70/30 in my favor.

Then, there was another customer, who gave me a $10 earlier on in the night and said, "just take care of me and my boys whenever we come up here."  (And he was cute, so I was happy to do so.).  There came a point in time where I was really busy, though, and he tried to wait for me but Dallas got to him first.  After he paid for his drink, he went to my bucket to tip me.

I wasn't trying to hear Dallas's mouth, so before the customer put anything in my bucket, I told him, "you can tip him over there."

He shook his head and motioned to my bucket.  He dropped about $3-$4 in there.

Being nice, I gave $1 to Dallas, who then said, "he dropped more than $1 in there."

"I told him to tip you, but he said he wanted to tip me."

Negro, I owe you NOTHING.  I was being NICE giving you a dollar.  It's the CUSTOMER'S choice if they tip, how much they tip, and who they tip.  If a customer doesn't tip me I can get mad all I want to, but it remains THEIR money to do with what THEY want.  Once that man dropped the money in MY bucket because that's where he WANTED to drop it, it became MY money to do with as I so choose.  I OWE YOU NOTHING.

I saw him gettin mad over in his little corner throughout the whole night because customers kept tipping me for conversation/no real reason.  Yeah, that's right.  Be mad about it.  He got petty and told our manager that I broke a glass (something that happens regularly behind the bar no matter who's back there) in retaliation.  Whatever.

Is This Really A Matter of Dire Importance?  Really?

Big Sis, my Sunday manager, can be really OD.  Even when we have $1,300 in singles behind the bar with NO ONE in the club, she sends me or Dallas upstairs to get more.  Tonight, at 9:30, after I was only able to reclaim $20 in singles,  she even said, "if [the dancers] don't start turning 'em in, I'm gonna stop givin 'em out."

Lady!  We are not about to run out of singles any time soon... chill.

After Dallas told her that I broke a glass (he went upstairs without my knowledge when she was on break, specifically to tell her this [breaking a glass usually doesn't require an announcement]; what a bitchassed move), without a preface she came up to me and asked me, "you went to bartending school, right?"

"Yes," I replied.

"So you know not to scoop out the ice with the glass, right?  Use the scoop.  Don't do that."

OMG!  Everyone behind the bar does it at one point or another, especially when they're making two drinks at once, because we only have one ice scoop.  There's plenty of shit I learned in bartending school that isn't applied at The Club, including some shit SHE does.  She just likes to give people directions.

Oh!  And there was a mixup with one of the dancers turning in her singles.  She had $120 in total, but Dallas confused me as he handed it to me, such that I thought it was $140.  When I let my manager know, she said, "you'd better go get that money."

The dancer was on stage!  How the hell am I gonna go get money from her while she's dancing?  Besides, it's not like I'm about to let her leave without paying it back.  And in the time she told me to go get the money, I was supposed to be "ringing up" a fake drink a customer "bought" me worth $13.50.  Trick!  You just cost me $13.50 worth of tip money.  I should've made $153.50 tonight instead of the $143 that I counted up.  

Her complete and utter unchillness cost me actual money.  BOO!  A pox on your attitude, ma'am.

I'm Tempted, Really, But...

So, a regular customer who's been trying to get my number and take me out since I started working at The Club invited me down to Miami (all expenses paid) with him for the weekend.  From his 2 phones to his fat stack of cash composed of old $20s and $50s from the '90s, he screamed "DEALER!" but he's sooooo cute.  I was really kind-of tempted to be like "okay, when's our plane leave?"  But... (1) I don't want to get caught in some drug scheme, and (2) I don't know him from Adam and sex is NOT a glimmer of a possibility.  So yeah... no.  But I was REALLY tempted.  He's cuuuuute!

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

Customer to me: 

"I'm gonna call you Bohemian Mami."

LOL!  I love it!

Oh I Think They LOVE Me

I was just feelin' the love today; it made work enjoyable, even though I didn't really feel like going when it was time to leave my dorm at 7pm today.  From my friends dropping by to see me to the men who asked to marry them to the woman who sold me some DELICIOUSLY scented perfume... I felt the love!

HU In the Building!

My girlie from my former dance team (I only say former because I definitely fell off; I'm trying to graduate and pay some bills, ya'll... my bad!) and her boyfriend came by to see me and chat for a little bit.  I definitely appreciated it because I never have time to really go out anymore (Thursday nights and Saturday nights only... and I'm filling in for my manager next Saturday!), so whenever I see people, it's great!

Then, a little bit later, in a completely unexpected surprise, part of the crew I roll with came through.  I saw them in line and ran down to them and almost jumped over the bar giving hugs.  I love my friends.  If I could hook them up with free drinks, I would.  Unfortunately, I don't get an allowance.

Willlll Youuuu Marryyyy Meeeeee?

This fool asked me to marry him when I asked how I could help him.  I laughed, took his drink order, fixed it and rang him up.  As he was leaving, he said:

"I'll have the ring for you next time.  Just let me know what you like."

I smiled and decided to play along.  "Okay, well in that case: my ring size is 6, I'd like it VVS, it doesn't have to be too big or showy... I like them understated, and I like emerald-cut diamonds."

(I actually prefer them to be either round or marquis-cut.).

He winked and gave a nod.  "Okay; next time."

...He better stop playin' around because the gold digger in me is getting her hopes up, thinking he might be serious.  I aint tryna marry nobody, but I will take your ring and admire the way the light bounces off of it so nicely.

No, Not You.

I did not, however, appreciate this guy who kept coming back to the bar to talk to me, being real aggressive.

I've been taught to make eye contact when speaking with people, however, I've learned working at the bar that some people take eye contact and think it means "I'm studying you."  No sir; I'm just waiting for you to tell me what you want to drink.  I complained to my manager that he was getting on my nerves and she gave me some valuable advice.

"Girl, just tell him you're in an arranged marriage.  Tell him your husband is in Zimbabwe.  He'll leave you alone."

I Don't Like Living Under Your Spotlight

No matter what, I always seem to call attention to myself.  When the boss man, HMIC, came in tonight, he signaled me over to him.

"You make a little bit of money on Sunday?"

I shrugged.  "Li'l bit."

"I heard you made a good bit of money even though it wasn't nobody in here."

"Yeah," I nodded.

"How much you make?"

I tried to remember off the top of my head; I recalled it was something between $120 and $130, but I just said, "oh, I don't remember."

...I hate it when this happens.  It's inevitable, though.  I always perform better on the job than people expect/than my coworkers and I call attention to myself.  Now they're going to be wonder how this new girl pulls in so many tips.  Damn it.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

(Because it shocked me so much)

Both a customer and Silly Girl asked me for a glass of water around the same time.  I had prepared one and turned my back to grab another glass for the second one when I heard Silly Girl screech, "heeey-uh!  That's miiiine-uh!"

The customer withdrew his hand, "oh.  My bad."

What?  If I were a customer somewhere, I'd be damned if I let the person who's supposed to giving me great customer service YELL at me!  And what kind of common/social sense is she missing?  You don't yell at a customer over a glass of water!  (1) They're a customer!  (2)  It's free!  (3) Waiting for the 6 seconds it takes for the bartender to make another one is not going to kill you!  

She really has ISSUES.

Darn These Moral Hang-Ups

...because I'd be a perfect "Suga Baby."  I could probably start a Rolodex (don't fake, ya'll know you remember those jonts) with all the cards I've gotten working behind the bar.  I keep them, just incase I need marketing, accounting, theosophy (er?) or air force pilot services one day, but I really have no reason to call these men.  It would be so easy though.  Sugar Daddy pays my way through fashion school (or just my credit card bills), and I make him feel like Hugh Hefner.  Even exchange; money for ego boost.  However, I'm not that good of an actress... I can't act like I like someone; primarily because I think it's wrong, secondarily because I REALLY hate when people I don't like/am not comfortable with touch me.  Like, my gut reaction is to throw a right hook-type uncomfortable.  So yeah... I'll be paying my bills myself.  Although it would be easy; I can't be a Sugar Baby (or a gold digger of any type, really).

A Mystery I'd Like to Solve

I'm still learning the different characters that frequent the strip club.  As it's been open since 1979, there are a good number of people who have seen The Club through a lot.  One woman that came in, looking like a prostitute (I mean her nipple was hanging out, for goodness sake!), said she was there to collect the rent money.  I called the manager to handle it.

The manager pulled out a rent/receipt book, jotted down the transaction, and gave the 'ho lookin woman $700.

I was confused.  I thought HMIC owned the building, not just the business.  Why was this woman collecting "rent," especially in the amount of only $700?  We're located in the 'hood, but it's a slowly gentrifying 'hood.  I paid $700 a month as half of the rent for an apartment; $700 for a whole building?  

I'd like to get to the bottom of this.  I asked an innocent question about it today, but my manager kinda skipped over the answer.  She just told me the woman's name, not whether or not HMIC actually owned the building or what the "rent" money was for.  Mysteries, mysteries.  Anyone have any thoughts?

Signs You're NOT A Functional Alcoholic

If you go to work and spend all you make on drinks for yourself, you're probably an alcoholic.  If you are banished from your workplace for a week due to your drunken antics and inability to serve your customers, you're probably not a functional alcoholic.  That's pretty much the only sign you need.  

I was wondering what had happened to Model Type Chick.  It was like she breezed in and breezed right back out, but it's just that (a) she doesn't work on any of my days now, and (2) she was suspended for drinking too much on the job.  Everyone is allowed to drink as much as they want, as long as it doesn't interfere with their ability to do their job.  The bartenders are strongly discouraged from drinking, though, because we're handling the cash register.

"I don't know if she can keep working here," my manager said, "she's got a drinking problem and she can't help it.  Plus, she's WAY too turned on to women.  She'll be up at the stage staring harder than the men do.  Just mesmerized by the pussy.  She's way too young to be that turnt out."

But I feel like my manager is one to talk, because...

Is There A Reason Why You Keep Touching Me?

As stated before, I have a serious problem with people breaking through my personal bubble and/or touching me when I don't want them to.  99% of the time, I don't want anyone touching me.  As a result of this personality quirk, I'm really sensitive to touch.  You can't tell me you didn't bump into me, because trust me, I've spent .5 seconds convincing myself that you're harmless and that I shouldn't go into fight-or-flight mode.  My manager is always touching my back or my waist when she has to move around me, accidentally bumping into me with her (large) breasts, playing with my hair, telling me how flexible she is, or showing me (on my body) the muscles her workout targets.  You be the judge.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

A couple comes in and they're being a little lovey-dovey; not sickeningly though.  (He kissed her on the nose once and they were whispering with each other).  As I take their drink orders and begin to fix them, I notice, using my PER-I-PHER-ALS (40-Year-Old Virgin... love it), the man keeps staring at me.

"Stop looking at her!" his girlfriend all but screeched.

...Trick, you're in a strip club.  WTF?

Okay, So Sundays Might Not Be That Bad

On the surface, tonight could've been a bad night.  Only 4 or 5 (I really don't pay that much attention to the stage) girls were dancing tonight, and there wasn't a real crowd either.  However, either people were feeling generous because it was Sunday or I'm getting pretty good at this wink-and-make-small-talk business, because I came away with $130.  (Well, $110 after I gave Dallas his tip out, but still...).  Holla!  Oh!  And my "game plan" is working.  There have been, and will be no more, Dallas-makes-$35-while-I-make-$70-and-still-have-to-give-him-$20 nights.  No more!

Aside:  I keep expecting to have a totally boring day at work, but something random always manages to happen.  I wonder when I'm just going to get used to the goings-on, when all of this stuff is going to become "normal."  Hopefully I'll maintain some sense of perspective/reality and will still be able to comment on my life behind the bar as if it's crazy.  Because, really, this stuff is NOT normal:

Who You Think You Lookin' At, 'Ho?

So... a pimp walked in with his lady tonight.  Okay, I don't really know that he was a pimp, but he definitely had her on "Jump/How high?" status.  And who knows, she might not have been a 'ho, but I mean, really... who randomly walks around on Sunday evening in 5" black and gold stilettos, a blue spandex minidress and a gold faux leather bomber jacket?  Exactly.  No one.  No one but pro hoes and their imitators.  

So anyway, I'm making him his drink and she goes to sit down, and as I'm pouring, she gets up to dance around a little bit.  This other dude walks up behind her and starts spittin' game or something.  She begins to flirt back.  The pimp dude whips his head around towards her (I guess he had a 6th sense for telling when his womens are about to step out of line) and gives her a look.  In the middle of smiling at the other dude, she tried to fake like she was trying to get pimp dude's attention and starts laughing (albeit a little nervously) and crooking her finger towards him playfully like, "c'mere!"  Other dude wisely fades out.

I watched the whole exchange like, "damn... if you're gonna sell your body, the least you could do is own it."

The Boomerang Effect

If you're a good bartender, the customers will show their appreciation.

These two women ordered Blue Motorcycles (also known as AMFs [Adios Motherfucker], Blue Jonts, Blue Things, or Blue Motherfuckers), and either thought I was taking too long or that the prices were too high.  Either way, they walked away without tipping me.  (Every time you do that, best believe your bartender is probably calling you every derogatory name in the book... in their head, of course).  

Not 30 seconds later did one of the women come back and throw $5-6 in my bucket.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed.

I smiled knowingly.  "It's good, aint it?"

"Yes!!!"

Yep, I call it the boomerang effect.  My drinks are so good they'll have you coming back to the bar for (a) more, or to (b) donate to my bank account.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

After I explained to a customer that I could not slip more alcohol into his drink, regardless of the fact that he'd been, "messin' with [me] all night," because my manager was standing right beside me and I also had no less than four cameras trained on my every move:

"Yeah.  I feel that.  Don't fuck your job up for nobody."

That's right, man!  Your extra tip in my bucket for hookin' you up under the table is worth absolutely NOTHING if I lose my job, which guarantees I make between $350 and $450 a week.  Extra $4 vs. $350-450?  Forgive me if it's not exactly a tough decision.

If I Ruled The World

Okay, well, not necessarily the world.  Just the bar.

I see so much that could be better, if only I ran things.  The club where I work has so much potential to be even more of a gold mine than it is now.  The bar could be turning over even more money, if only... (1) we took credit as well as cash.  People tend not to realize how much they're spending when they're able to run up a tab.  (2)  We had an ATM.  (3)  The other bartenders worked at my pace.  I'm not even trying to say that I'm the gold standard by which they should measure their speed, but really... I move twice as fast as they do and know more drinks as well.  If they worked at my speed, the line could move faster and we could make more money.  When you're able to manage the pace of the line you have more time to smile, chat people up and charm them into dropping some dollar signs on you.

It's really frustrating for me to be working at a nonstop pace and having my coworkers moving as though they haven't a care in the world.  Um... do you see the line of 15 people in front of you?  Oh, you do?  Then why aren't you acting like it?!  Why are you engaged in a conversation with each other, or worse, on your Blackberry?  Make some damn drinks!

More Silliness from Silly Girl

I don't know why she thinks we all care about her life.  And you know, maybe I would be more sympathetic to her plight (she dropped her phone, which she uses while taking extra long breaks in the bathroom to talk to her boyfriend) if she weren't so annoying.  I wish she would get the memo we all keep trying to give her: (1) do NOT yell your orders at the bartender, (2) do NOT interrupt anyone else's order, (3) do NOT yell and whine at the same time, (4) do not ask to go home for some stupid reason or another, and (5) stop being so... STUPID.

She asked me for 3 shots of Jose Cuervo, but we were out, so I said, "I can't.  We're out of Cuervo."

This silly girl goes, "why-eee?"

I gave a patient smile.  "Because we don't have any more."

Tips for Interacting with Your Bartender

Apparently some people don't know how to act when they go out to the bar, so I'm going to give a few pointers:

1. If you see that I'm handling another order (or 2 or 3), don't start getting visibly, dramatically, irritated.  It only makes we want to prolong the time it takes me to get to you because I'm dreading the experience.  Or I want to wait for someone else to handle your order.  When you're working at as fast a pace as you can humanly manage, it's super annoying for someone to be up in your face huffing and puffing because they don't have a Corona in their hand when they want it.
2. Do not wave money in front of my face.  I AM NOT ONE OF PAVLOV'S DOGS.  I HAVE NOT BEEN CONDITIONED TO RESPOND TO THE SIGHT OF WAVING MONEY WITH IMMEDIATELY DOING YOUR BIDDING.  Do not put money in my hand when I'm not talking to/looking at you.  YOU ARE CONFUSING ME AND THAT'S ONLY GOING TO MAKE ME ANGRY.  Do not put money on the bar without telling me what it's there for.  YOU ARE CONFUSING ME AND THAT'S ONLY GOING TO MAKE ME ANGRY.
3. If you don't know what you want, it's okay to ask, "do you have a special drink you make?" or "I want something sweet/sour/strong."  However, saying, "make me something nice," is just going to get you a Long Island, so you'd better be happy with that, because I don't know what the hell "something nice," is supposed to be.

News Alert: Li'l Bit's New Bits

Li'l Bit came in after close to show off her new breast implants (she proudly pulled her shirt up, just beaming like she'd won the lottery).  The surgeon did a good job.  I was kind-of disappointed though.  Plastic surgery just makes me sad.  *Shrug*

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

"Are you gonna buy me a drink?" I asked one of my customers coyly.

"I don't see why not.  I mean, I'm already throwin' like fifty ones at these stripper bitches and half of 'em are lesbians and the other half are bi-curious.  I've bought myself 2 beers and I plan on gettin' DRUNK tonight.  Why can't I show you some love too?  You're the one hookin' me up."

Thank you!  You get it, sir!  You get it!

Completely Inappropriate

Tonight was just the night for inappropriate behavior, apparently.

If You Like Her, You Should TIP (Not Touch) Her

So, one of the dancers tonight had a problem with a customer who kept trying to touch her inappropriately while tipping her (you're not allowed to touch at all in DC strip clubs.  No touching, no lapdances).  Instead of getting off of the stage or actually saying something to the DJ/security, she just gave them looks and expected that they would do something/say something to the man.

It's been my experience that subtlety just doesn't work with most (read: all) men.  If you want a man to do something, you can't drop hints... you have to say, "I want you to get this drunk fool who keeps cursing at me and trying to touch me away from me!"  So after the DJ finally noticed that she might've been in distress (the 3rd time ol' dude came by her stage acting belligerent), she jumped off stage in a huff, yelling about how she was disrespected and the DJ/security wasn't worth the money they were paid.  

Then, later, the same dancer had another instance where a different customer tried to tip her by placing a dollar bill on top of her "sorta like another way to call a cat a kitten" (OPP - Naughty By Nature) and pressing down on a very sensitive spot.  Instead of getting huffy and indignant, she turned around and gave a coy smile, wagging her finger, all "ah-ah-ah!" like.  Hmm.  =/

Look Around.  Where Are You?  A Strip Club... So Be Prepared to Spend Money.

I understand that our liquor prices are ridiculous, but I mean, really.  If you come in here asking for $40 in ones, clearly you're prepared to drop forty singles on a naked woman that's not going home with you.  Why are you about to be a cheapskate when it comes to buying liquor?

This man asked me the prices for every damn thing behind the bar.

"How much is plain gin?" 

"How much is Tanqueray?"

"Bacardi?"

"How much is a shot?"

"How much is Grand Marnier?"

"Henny?"

"Beer?"

"A drink?"

I don't think people realize how bloody annoying they are when they do that.  Just GET WHAT YOU WANT and stop being such a MISER in the CLUB.  I don't know, maybe it's a personal thing, but I get REALLY annoyed at people who are extra concerned over price when they go out.  Like... you went out to enjoy yourself, so do what you want!  Being hung up over dollar signs is pretty much the most annoying thing you can do when/if you go out with me.  Tell me... what sense does it make when:

-You really want Bacardi and Coke ($8.25), but you decide it's too expensive, so you ask what the cheaper rum is...

-The cheaper rum is Ronrigo Rum (who the hell is Ronrigo?) and it costs $7... you HATE the taste of Ronrigo, so....

-You settle for a Heineken (also $7), but one beer doesn't give you the same buzz as one shot, so you...

-COME BACK, for another beer (also $7)

Well damn, if you cared about price THAT much, for 2 beers and tipping me twice ($18) you could've had 2 Bacardi and Cokes, 2 whiskey sours, a rocks drink or a tall mixed drink (and doubled your buzz).  Nonsensical.  

We Are Not Friends.

If I had to name a waitress that's my least favorite to work with, it would hands-down be Silly Girl.  She's just so... silly.

Even though I'm both new and younger than her in age, I had to snap, "WAIT!" at her as I was taking an order from another waitress.  She likes to interrupt you as you're taking orders for people in front of her, or shout, "and I need 2 Miller Lites and a margarita for me!" at you while your back is turned, making a Long Island Iced Tea.  But if you're handling 2 waitresses at the same time and  take money from, or finish an order for, another waitress before you get to her, she'll cry out, "heeeey-uh!  I was fiiiiirst-uh!"  She also spends ample time talking to her boyfriend on her cellphone in the bathroom.

Today, after Silly Girl related her latest drama to HWIC, HWIC turned to Li'l Mama and said, "she must think I'm her friend."

Fried.

QUOTES OF THE NIGHT (Yeah, I have two):

1.  After surveying the scant scenery inside the club (there were only 5 girls on set; 3 in one set and 2 in another), a customer appealed to me:

"We need you up there."

That's some real Uncle Sam "I want YOU!" shit right there.  Be all you can be!  Take off your clothes!

2.  After telling me it was her birthday and asking me to hook her up with some real strong Zombies, a customer told me she would hook up my tip jar in return.  (Side note: bartenders DO NOT hook you up by putting extra alcohol in your drink.  We can get fired for that.  We just fiddle with the ratio of mixer-to-liquor and fill it up with more ice.)

"Ay!" she called out to me, making sure I saw her drop the money in my bucket.  "I'm hookin you up."

$2 fell into my bucket.

Two dollars?  Who the HELL do you think you're hookin up with that?