Wednesday, April 22, 2009

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."

No comments:

Post a Comment