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!