Sunday, April 5, 2009

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.

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