HAPPY NEW YEAR: She's Ba-aack!

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!

No, this is not a joke. Yes, I am actually updating my bartending blog. Amazing, right?

It all started, as do a lot of things these days with a tweet (Chris Brown, Raz B... I'm looking at you). A friend of mine from college announced he was throwing a New Year's Eve party and needed a bartender. Never one to look past an opportunity, I replied (essentially), "I be dat." No hesitation.

Mind you, I haven't stepped behind a bar since July 2009. I've never served 150 people at once. And the private parties I'd done before this one have been considerably smaller. Honestly, I was a little nervous as the day approached, but being a bartender is part of who I am. You don't forget what comes naturally. And I aint neva scared of savage crowds banging their cups on the bar demanding, "WE WANT DRINK! WE WANT DRINK!"

The key to being a good bartender, I think, isn't in how you mix the drinks. I mean, that's definitely important, but I think the key to it all is entertaining people. Everybody just wants to have a good time, man. You gotta, you know, bedazzle them with choreographed routines of bottle flipping and twirling and shit! ...Okay I lied. I can't actually do this:

...But a little witty banter, eye winking, sparkly smiling, and dancing goes a long way. I do my best to keep customers very well entertained whenever I'm back there, and I have a great time doing it.

Since I was a child, I've enjoyed performing, and the way I see it: the bar is my stage, the customers are my audience, and the drinks come secondary. I'm no mixologist, but I am a damn good bartender. And I love that.

I mean, I love it so much my customers love that I love it.

So yeah! Yeah... all that being said: Deena Behind the Bar is BACK IN FULL EFFECT!

Since I just can't seem to stay away from the liquor, I'm going on the hunt for a bar gig... again. I like large nightclubs, strip clubs, and concert venues. If you hear of anything let me know. I also do private parties. Hit me on Twitter at @ohDeena!

PS: I know I usually have very candid stories about the crazy things that happen to me behind the bar, but if you want specifics on NYE, you're just going to have to ask me directly, lol.

PPS: My other blog, http://marginalwisdom.wordpress.com/ is still active, I promise. You should dig around on there too.

Growl. I'm Hunting Again.

So, I'm on the job hunt again.

Going on open calls, hitting up random bars, calling places, etc.

I'm realistic, yet optimistic.

Just went to another bikini-themed restaurant/club. I really hope I get this one; it's not as much money per week, but I really, really liked the atmosphere. All of the employees seemed to like each other, the managers I spoke with were nice and completely un-hood. The entire vibe of the place was relaxed and friendly. Me likey.

I'm getting tired of running around, but that's the hustle.

School starts in two weeks, as well. Eep! Orientation next week. Eep! I'm SO scared/excited. Can't wait.

So... I Got (Another) Job...

That's right.  Only Nikki could find a job after looking for two weeks, quit that job after one night, and find another a week later.

This one is a little further out, but you know what, I can deal with that because my payout (tips + commission) adds up to about $750 a week.  That's rent made in one week.  That's bills paid in two weeks.  That's savings and spending money while I'm in school.  Hell, I can even pay some of my tuition outright.  That's having my days completely free.  (That's having absolutely no weekends what-so-ever.).

Okay, so it's a bikini bar, but it's not sleazy.  It was a critic's choice star winner in NY Magazine.  Though... I do think working in the strip club was good preparation for this jont.  It's not located in the hood; the area was relatively clean and it's a short, well-lit walk past well-kept apartment buildings to the subway stop.  The manager was professional, thorough, and straight-forward.  The only issue I have is that he wants my hair straight =(

Apparently, I got the interview due to chance.

I sent my resume and picture in on Craigslist; they were hot pictures: me in my bikini, my curly hair rioting wild all around my face.  At the end of my interview the bar owner said, "usually if a girl sends me her picture and her hair's not done, I just delete it, but-- and I'm sure you've heard this before-- you're a very attractive young woman, and I could tell from your picture you've got this magnetic personality."

So he took a second chance on a curly-headed black girl from DC and sent me an email requesting an interview and I hopped on the train and made my way to his bar.  The interview went well; he explained all of the rules to me and then got on me about the hair thing... Sigh.

The Loud Black Girl in me wanted to roll my neck and say, "my hair does look good; it is done.  Forgive me if I don't follow the European standard of beauty in that regard!"  However... $750 a week and my rent won't disappear like the interest from my trust fund will.

So, I agree to straighten my hair or wear a wig and he asks me to change into my bikini and do the walk-and-turn for him, which I do.  ...You know I had to Catwalk It Out, right?  Yeah, buddy.

(Now I know you must be thinking "but wait... didn't you just walk out of another bar where you were wearing actual clothes and not just a bikini?"  This is true, however, you've got to add context.  This bar is a themed bar where I'm not just the only one half-naked and it's more professional and the customers speak English, which adds to my whole comfort level... and I'm making $750 a week... not $25 a night.).  

So, I got the job... and I would've worked tonight except that I wanted one last night of peace and I needed time to get my hair "done".

I also like that the owner has no illusions about his bar.  He said, "it's tough to make a buck, you know?  This is a place to work and build up some experience before you move on to bigger and better."  And that's my plan.  I can't sustain earning a fashion degree with working five nights a week from 8 pm - 5 am.  But during the summer, I can definitely sustain for that $750 a week.  Definitely.

I think I'll bartend at this place under the name Nikki Danes (from Nikki Dana), or Nikki D.  Likey?  =)

I feel really blessed.  There's a non-profit DIRECTLY across the street from me where I'm getting discounted sewing lessons and the owner offered to be my "secret weapon" and "safe haven" while I'm at Parsons.  I've got my family.  I've got great friends back home and here in New York.  I've got... the usual distractions a girl's just got to have ;-)  I'm in one of the best damn fashion programs in the world!  (Though, I still don't have cable, internet, or phone service for the third day in a row... damn Cablevision.).

I feel great!  Now... to straighten my hair =/

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?  

Why Women Dance (And Other Fables)

It's been a long week and Friday and Sunday weren't really that interesting, so I'm combining it all.  On the up side, Friday we only had to split our tips 3 ways, and Sunday Dallas didn't get to interfere with my tips that much at all.  I also found out that he's only 39... he looks like he's 60 and sounds like he's 80.  If that's not enough of a reason right there, then I don't know what else to tell you... DON'T DO DRUGS and DON'T DRINK TO EXCESS.  

Alright, so now that I've got my public service announcement out of the way... on to the fables.

Why Women Dance

Okay, so everyone has their own personal reason for getting up on that stage and strutting around without their clothes on and taking money for it.  But two of the most common are:

"I like the finer things." - Li'l Bit

and:

"I get high off the attention." - Twinkle

If I were to get up on someone's pole/stage (and I will not no matter how many of my customers try to persuade me into it), my reason would be a mix of the two.  I do, indeed, like the finer things.  And considering that the dancers where I work make between $500 - $1,000 a night (depending on the day of the week and how much effort they actually put into dancing), I could afford a lot of very fine things, indeed (including this pair of Prada stilettos that I want SO very much.  Sigh.  Reminder to self: you are supposed to be saving your money).  In addition, I really do thrive off of attention.  I love being center stage with the spotlight on me.  I enjoy putting on a show.  So yes, if I decided to strip, my reason would be a mix of the two.  But you also have to have some other career lined up... you can't sell your body forever: eventually not enough people are going to want it.  Everything has a shelf life.

So... That's What You're Saving For?

Li'l Bit, the one who said she strips because she likes the finer things, was late to work on Wednesday.  When dancers are late, there's a $50 fee; when they don't come in without finding a replacement, there's an $80 absence fee.  Now, Li'l Bit was 8 minutes late, but late is late and time is money.  When she was called on her lateness by Li'l Mama and HWIC she first, threw a tantrum, but then when she saw that wasn't working, she began crying.

"You don't understand," she mourned tearfully, "I'm saving up to get my breast implants and I need all the money I can get!"

HWIC looked at her blankly for about a second.  "I really don't need to hear about your breast implants.  I really don't."

And really, how are you gonna cry and expect people to feel sympathy because you're saving for breast implants, of all things?  Not college tuition.  Not helping your family.  Not even paying back an insane amount of debt.  BREAST IMPLANTS.  No one gives a damn about your personal "improvements" to your body.  No one.

And for that matter, she doesn't even need breast implants!  I can see getting them as an "investment" when your body is you business, and yeah, she's an A-cup, but she makes her money regardless.  I really don't think the customers really care about breast size as long as you've got them.  And judging by the number of customers that come by the bar and ask "is Li'l Bit workin' tonight?" she's one of the highest tipped dancers in the place.  She's cute, and that works for her, so she needs to learn to work with what she's got and not try to be something else.  Personally, I think implants would look rather ridiculous on her.  Oh well.

More Tales From (Read: "Only Heard In") the 'Hood

So, there's a guy that comes and gets the dancers' food orders and brings them food from Olive Garden, Ruby Tuesday's, etc.  He just got back from jail.  So, he leaves with their orders and not 2 minutes later does Initial, one of the doormen, come by the bar like, "yo, I think Delivery Man just got locked up."

"What?" Li'l Mama asked.  "Didn't he just get home?"

"I'on know," Initial shook his head, "but I think the cops just stopped him on the corner for sellin drugs."

"Call Mumbles and see if it's true.  Damn.  That's Elle's boyfriend."

In a few short minutes, the news that Delivery Man had possibly just gotten locked up again had spread up to the dressing room.  You Can't Handle It came downstairs indignantly, "uh-uh!  I know he better give me my $20 back before he goes to jail!"

But it turned out that Delivery Man hadn't actually gotten arrested.  He returned with the food.   And I was glad.  I hadn't ordered anything, but it's a damn shame to just get home from jail and be locked up again for selling drugs on the corner where I work.  Mainly because the corner where I work is crawling with cops.  There are literally at least 10 squad cars and 3 vans within a 2 block radius at all times.  It would be really effing dumb to sell drugs out in the open like that in that type of environment (unless of course, the cops are crooked/don't care... but then you never know what kind of a mood they'll be in).  

(Allow me to make clear: I do not advocate the sale or use of drugs.  I've seen the havoc the drug trade wreaks on individuals, families and communities.  I'm just saying... if you're going to sell your soul and sell drugs to kids, etc. ...the least you could do is not be an idiot on top of that.)

Other Side Notes

So, some guy finally got the message about the tipping scale.  He was just talking to me, asking me if I could write down the address of The Club so he could put it in his GPS (I HATE GPS systems.  I think they're possibly the most crippling device, ever.) and he suddenly told me, "you look good," and put some money in my jar.  Thank you!  You get it!

I work at a strip club... what kind of a girl do you think I am?  Clearly I'm quite comfortable with sex, fake sex and money.  And if I don't want to have sex with you (which, I can guarantee you, is the case 100% of the time), then CLEARLY all I want from you is money.  Duh.

QUOTE OF THE WEEK:

(The strip club has aided my comfortable descent into raunch.) 

"Do your braces get in the way of your relationship?" a customer asked me.

I was a bit shocked at how forthright he was, but I recovered quickly.  "Nah," I said, with a wink, "I got skills."

Eep!!  I can't believe I said that to a total stranger!  But then he laughed and tipped me, so I felt better about my dirty mouth.  Blame the club!  

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.

 

A Bit of Strip Club Etiquette

What NOT to Wear

There is no dress code at the club, HOWEVER, this does not mean people won't laugh at you if you come in looking crazy.  If there's ever a question about what you should and should not wear to the club (hell, out of your house for that matter), just remember:

MEN: It's not okay to wear an entire plaid outfit, and it's DEFINITELY not okay for the top half to be orange and the bottom half to be blue.  And on top of it all, it's beyond foolish to pair your mismatched lumberjack-clown-in-pajamas outfit with brown church shoes.  NOT OKAY, SIR, NOT OKAY!!

WOMEN: It's not okay to mix more than one bad trend at a time.  There is absolutely no reason why you should go out looking like a ranch fabulous cowgirl.  Cowgirl hat + gold leather (or "leather") jacket + deconstructed jeans + bejeweled cowboy boots?  NOT OKAY, MADAM, NOT OKAY!!

The Tipping Scale

Working at the club has definitely desensitized me to getting compliments on my looks.  I mean, honestly, honestly: even though I know I'm attractive, and you'll never catch me suffering from low self-esteem based on how I feel about how I look, I still don't see myself as being pretty.  Other people seem to, however, so that works.

Don't get me wrong, I still appreciate genuine compliments and sometimes I'm still surprised when someone says, "wow, you're really pretty."  On the other hand, I've heard it so much that it's just like "okay, and?"  I got so cynical about it today that I thought to myself: man, we're in a strip club, you aint about to sit here and stare and smile at me for free.  Every time you pay me a compliment, you better PAY me.  Gimme the dollas!

Consequently, I've come up with a scale for what these compliments/"compliments" (all of which I've actually heard) should be accompanied by in tip money:

"You real cute/pretty." - $2 (I've heard it so much that it means next to nothing.)

"You're beautiful." - $4 (Okay, you got a little more emphatic.)

"You's a bad mothafucka!" - $6  (Aight, I feel some emotion coming from you and you've started looking a little intense.  That makes me a little wary, so I'm going to need a little more of a tip to ease my nerves.)

"Ay.  Where's your boyfriend/husband at?/Let me take you out." - $10 (You really think I'm going to THINK about hooking up with you?  I need some extra money to play into your delusions for a minute before I shatter them.)

"Does your boyfriend need a new car?"  - $12  (Are you serious?  You've got to pay me to keep my laughter to myself.)

"I got my own place/Mnph.  Mnph.  Mnph./*Staring at me and licking your lips.*/I'll fuck your brains out."  - $20 - $50  (It's a sliding scale depending upon (1) how attractive the person is, (1A) how many teeth they have, (2) how creepy the statement is, (2A) how creepy the delivery is, and (3) how long they actually try to talk me into fulfilling their nasty fantasies.

I think my scale is fair.

Aint No Recession Over Here

The upside to working in the nighttime entertainment business is that no matter what the economy is doing, people will be there.  When times are good, they're celebrating; when times are bad, they're trying to escape from reality and drown their sorrows away.  And, because I work at a strip club in THE TRAP (aka... where drug money is made), I'd say about 50-75% of my customers are drug dealers.

How do I know this?  Well, you just watch for the signs:  Flashily dressed?  Huge bankroll?  Despite this do they have the most HORRIBLE looking teeth ever?  Do they have damn near black fingertips?  Do they, in general, look like that much cash does not belong on their person?  Were the $100s and $50s minted in 1994 (indicating a lack of a bank account)?  Not-quite-concealed plastic baggies falling out of the pocket?  Does his nickname include the word "cocaine"?

The majority of my customers don't operate in the legal economy, so they're pretty much not affected by the recession.  In fact, they might even make more money in the bad times.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

Drunken customer, leaving the club at the end of the night to one of the dancers:

"Pretty lady!  Hey, pretty lady?  You got milk!  Yummm yummm!"

...WTF?

This Is Birthday Money!

I was highly disappointed when I looked at the clock at about 10:30/11, looked around The Club and noticed that there was NO ONE friggin' there.  I mean, people were there, but this wasn't a normal Friday.  Usually, Fridays POP HARD starting at like 9:30; this Friday didn't start jumpin until about 12/12:30.  It was like bartending in the Twilight Zone.  At a certain point, I got worried that the most remarkable thing I would have to write about would be that absolutely nothing remarkable happened.  

But then...

Someone started feeling that LIQUid Courage kick in.  (Ya'll know what I'm talkin about).  You know, when that liquor hits your system and you start feeling invincible, unconquerable; unstoppable?  You start feeling like doing something crazy, something you've always wanted to do, but never quite had the guts for.  ...You start feeling like getting up on stage at the strip club and taking your clothes off!  

...Yeah.

This chick was out celebrating her birthday with her friends and after drinking Patron Margaritas and Blue Motorcycles (also known as Blue Motherfuckers, Blue Things, or "That Blue Jo'nt"), two of them got a li'l bold.  They decided that they no longer wanted to tip the strippers; they wanted to be the strippers.  So they hopped their happy selves on stage and, well, amateur night came a second time this week.  (But as happy as they were to jump on stage, when it came to actually getting naked, they needed a little coaxing from the owner, who took over as DJ for a while).  

I turned to Li'l Mama, shaking my head and laughing, "everybody's trying to be a stripper."  And it's true.  From the stripper workout classes targeted at soccer moms bored with their lives to Beyonce's choreography in her videos, the stripper has become a symbol for the woman who is completely free with, and revels in, the power of her sexuality.  She's carefree, confident, sassy-yet-laid back.  The stripper is not a woman to be scorned and looked down upon for "disrespecting/cheapening" herself, she's a woman to be admired for her cool confidence.  Somewhere, deep down (maybe not even that deep), every woman wants to take the stage (literally or not) and command the attention of the entire room with pure, raw sexual power.  Her power.  It's intoxicating.

One of the dancers (one of the ones who works at The Club officially) actually admitted, "yeah, I dance because I get off on all the attention.  I love it.  It's getting kind of boring, but I do it for the kicks."

And actually, yeah, I have thought about getting on stage a couple of times (not seriously, although the prospect of making $1,000 a night is tempting), and actually, yeah, if I did... I'd have to say the reason would be, "I love attention."  I'll be the first person to call myself on it: Nikki, you are an attention whore.  And you know what?  I don't see anything wrong with it.  If you're can do something, do it: if you can put on show, baby, put it on!  (Er, take it off?)

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

The owner of The Club, in DJ mode told one of the Birthday Strippers that he would tip her $100 for her birthday if she got completely naked.  The alcohol took a while to get her inhibitions low enough for it, but eventually she did.  True to his word, he told her:

"Come on up here and get your prize for that birthday pussy!"

The Most Important Debriefing You Will Ever Get. In LIFE.

My bad ya'll... I completely forgot that I hadn't filled you in on some of the most important details about my blog and my life as a bartender.

The Origins of the Title: No Water After 9 PM

So, I was out at a party, doing my usual party girl thing, drinking a little more than I probably should've, dancing with a little harder than I probably should've (in a DRESS that I was told looked more like a nightgown), and someone asked me what I was drinking.

"Jack and Coke," I replied.  "You?"

"Water," he replied.

For whatever reason, I took it personally that he wasn't joining the rest of us in tipsy merriment.  "Water!?" I demanded.  "WATER!?"

He laughed.  "Yeah... water.  It's pretty good, actually."

I shook my head emphatically.  "NO.  WATER.  AFTER.  NINE.  PM."

And thus my trademark statement was born.

My Name

Is not Nikki.  However, my mother wanted to name me Nikki-Dana Vanessa. Gag.  (So glad my dad got his choice).  Sometimes, I like the sound of Nikki-Dana though, and it's the first name that comes to mind when men ask me "ay girl, what yo' name is?" at the club and I don't really want to answer.  So, Nikki is what I named my nighttime personality.  Nikki and I are the same person, she's just that much more.

My Place of Work

Okay, so I'm not using the real names of any of these places or anyone's real name, so every thing's going to be coded.  Got it?

From now on, my place of work is simply: The Club.  Simple, easy to remember.

My Coworkers

(Okay, you're not expected to remember all of these people, but use this list as a reference whenever they pop back up).

• The Waitresses

1. Accent - 'cause she got an accent.  Duh.
2. Sweetness - because she's really sweet
3. Grandame - 'cause she's older than the establishment itself
4. Flip - 'cause her hair is flipped and it looks cool
5. Silly Girl - self-explanatory
6. Twilight - because she was reading it when I started working and COULD NOT put it down.

• The Strippers  (do you know how hard it is to come up with aliases for people that already have them?!)

1. Pretty Jealous - she's really pretty, but she hates on me SO hard.
2. Mamacita - she speaks Spanish fluently
3. You Can't Handle It - she's always talking about how no one can handle her
4. Firecracker - she's very expressive
5. Li'l Bit - she's young, short, and tiny
6. Token - self explanatory
7. Dollface - she looks like a porcelain doll

• The Bar Managers
  

1. Big Sis - she's the big sister to one of the doormen
2. Hey Mama - she's not that much older than me, but she's such a little mom
3. HWIC - Head Woman In Charge (I refuse to refer to her as Bitch 'cause she's SO not).

• The Other Bartenders
  

1. Cinnamon - that's what her hair color reminds me of
2. Bubbles - she's bubbly

• The Owner
  

1. HMIC - Head Man In Charge  (He is NOT a Nigga.)

• The DJ

1. Awww Yeah - 'cause he says it so well

• The Doormen
  

1. Lungs - 'cause he's always loud for no reason
2. Snaggle - snaggle tooth
3. Initial - he only goes by one letter of his name
4. The Girl - self-explanatory
5. Holla - 'cause he's always tryin to get at me

• The Bar Backs
  

1. Dallas - 'cause he always wears a Cowboys jersey
2. Chill - he's really cool, very helpful, does his job without intrusion.  I like him.

• The Cleanup Crew/Drivers
  

1. King - inside joke
2. Tambourine - inside joke I overheard and don't know what it means

• The Food Delivery Men
  

1. Hunan - 'cause that's where he delivers the food from

HU Night at the Strip Joint!

Apparently tonight was HU night at the club because they were ALL up in there.

1.  Ex-professor who thought he was witty.

Okay, so I understand that part of my job is to talk to people and make them feel valued, but sometimes I'd really prefer that you just ask me for a drink and go on about your merry way once you get it.  We don't have to have a conversation... really.

So, I'm making this man and his friend their drinks and as I'm pouring, he goes, "so... tell me something good!"  (WTF; How ambiguous and asinine!)

I'm like, "...like what?"

"You don't have any good news?"

The first thing that popped in my head was, of course, May 9, 2009, "well... I'll be graduating in a couple of months."

"Oh!  Congratulations.  From where?"

"Howard."

"Oh, I know all about you Howard girls.  You're mean."  

(Damn, bitter much?)  "I'm one of the nice ones," I smiled.  Smiling is my default; I can usually charm the bitter out of anyone with a patented Nikki Smile.

"That's what the mean ones say.  I used to teach at Howard.  'Yeah I'm so sweet- can I get extra credit?'" he mocked the lazy, shiftless, yet entitled attitude of his former students.

Hoping I didn't strike a serious nerve by my mention of Howard, I sought to distance myself as much as possible from his perception of Howard Girls.  "That's not me; I've never asked for extra credit a day in my life.  I don't believe in it.  Both of my parents are professors.  Even when extra credit assignments are given, I don't do them.  You get what you earn; that's my philosophy."

(Okay, so that was a little overkill, but I need my tips!)  He and his friend ended up wishing me well in my studies and future endeavors.  And referring to me as Ms. Howard for the rest of the night.  (I also have another customer who refers to me a CG... short for "College Girl").

2.  Howard student with comprehension problems.

A couple of my friends have come in the club before this, but I'm gonna stop to mention this dude because I just don't understand... how you gonna try to pay with a debit card and I tell you "cash only," once, you pay me, then you come back not 30 minutes later and try to pay with a debit card again?  I patiently repeated, "cash only," and then you try to hand it to the other bartender like I made the shit up because I don't know how to work the machine or something.  No... it's cash only.  All the time.  Gah!  College kids.

3.  Maintenance man who's becoming a bit too much of a familiar face.

So, I've suspected my roommate has been carrying on an inappropriate relationship with one of the maintenance men since like October of last year.  He's always been coming up to the room looking for her, "is she here?" at odd hours of the night (like 11 o'clock), with no maintenance tools, and his shirt untucked.  When he gets here, he usually goes into her room and the door closes.  I have heard her ask him, "did you bring me the candy?" to which he replied, "girl, you 'sposed to give me the candy."  Now, I don't want to jump to any sort of wild conclusions, but I don't think they have the regular resident-maintenance man relationship.

Why, earlier today, he surprised me by informing me that my roommate had gone out of town.  My eyebrows shot up in twin arches, "oh, really?"  The man knows her whereabouts.  Booty GPS?  (Okay, stop.)

The man also happened to find him self around whereabout I work =/  He rolled up in the club in his uniform and a big, bright ass, yellow ass bubble coat... and left about 5 minutes later, after he recognized me behind the bar.  Thank God he left, because it's awkward enough with him winking at me because he knows I know he frequently lays pipe... er... fixes... the pipes... *cough* in my suite.

MY FAVORITE QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

Drunk ass man to me after I tell him I'm holding his drinks hostage if he doesn't give me the money (about 5-7 minutes have passed between his friend yelling at him to pay me and him repeatedly taking out and then putting back money from his wallet):

"You don't really give a fuck about me do you?"

Nope, I really don't.  But if you throw $5 or more in my tip jar, I'll give you a sincere thank you.  

...So Maybe I SHOULD Serve Water After 9.

Tonight was my first experience with customers that walked into the club already twisted. They were also really WEIRD and CRAZY, so it was hard to tell that they were already drunk on top of that.

So, a man and a woman walk up to the bar. (Yep, this is the beginning of a great joke). The man is swaying back and forth a bit, dressed like a 'hood Steve Urkel (+ a chronic blink, - the glasses). The woman is waddling like a pregnant woman, dressed like a bum (+ an extra couple of bumps, - a baby). They start throwing money around, all up in my face, speaking rapid-fire.

"Let me get five 1's. Let me get a Hennessey. Let me get twenty 1's. Here's your tip, 'cause you're so sweet. Let me get another Hennessey. Can I get ten more 1's? Wait, I gotta pay for my drink. Oh, I paid? Where's my drink? And a Heineken!"

At first I thought they were trying to hustle us (the man was throwing money at me; the woman was throwing money at my manager), but then once I saw him literally TOSS quarters up in the air, aiming (and failing HORRIBLY) for my tip jar, I realized... this man is either crazy or drunk off his ass.

As I watched them stuff dollar bills down the shirt of one of the waitresses (whose face bore an expression of barely tolerant annoyance mixed with acute wariness) and one of the strippers who had leaned against the bar to change out some of her singles, I came to a conclusion: drunk off the ass. And damnit, they just wouldn't go away! I appreciated that they kept throwing money in our tip jars with wild abandon, but seriously, they were making me nervous. Drunk people are unpredictable.

"I'ma need them to get away from the bar," I said to my manager as I turned around to fix someone else's drink.

She shook her head. "No; I'ma need her to get her eyes fixed. Did you see that shit?"

"Nah."

"Her eyes are cocked all the way to the side of her head. I don't like that. I can't tell where you're looking or who you're talking to. Uh-uh."

The pair of them wandered off with their drinks in the direction of the stage.

The same waitresses who had been so randomly, yet generously, tipped returned to the bar, shaking her head. "That woman's eyes are cocked like a pistol!"

I watched them spilling drinks and stumbling over themselves. Yeah, but that's not what's wrong with her, I thought to myself.

"It's 'cause they're inbred," my manager nodded her head sagely. "Their mama and daddy are cousins."

They kept coming back to the bar at random over the course of the night to chit chat about how upsetting the price of beer was (yeah, I think it's over-priced too, but you're at a strip club... whadaya want me to do? I'm sorry!), and said something about how...

"I can't get nothin' right now; we gotta wait 'til 2 am 'cause we reached the $500 limit on the ATM..."

(um, the club closes at 2 am...)

"...Hey, can I get twenty more 1's?"

(so... you can't buy a drink with the $20 in your hand? Not that I think you need one; I'm just questioning your logic.)

The last time she finally came up and asked me for a Malibu + pineapple I just had to tell her. "I'm not allowed to mix any drinks until my manager comes back."

I gotta come up with another line to spit to persistent, drunk-assed people, because RIGHT then, my manager came back.

P.S.

I enjoyed... having one of my customers pop his pecs for me. I told him he should get on stage. He said, "I've been trying to, but they aint ready."

I listened... when people gave me good advice (1) take care of your feet, (2) don't cut your hair, and (3) live an easy life- that's how you stay young-looking.

I like... working more than I like school. Class is just so boring and pointless. I'd rather be behind the bar. I'd rather be at the shop designing dresses. Ugh. GIVE ME FREE!

Deuces :-*

Mixing Drinks Is Secondary

I took a deep, steadying breath as I walked through the door.  Here goes nothin, I thought to myself.  As soon as the door closed behind me, my eyes swept the room, but focused on the doorman; the first fully clothed person I saw.

"Hi, I'd like to apply at a bartender here," I tried to adopt a deeper, more sultry voice than my usual bright, perky chirp.  It came out a little more Britney than Beyonce, but no matter what I did, I supposed I'd always look younger than my age.

"You're looking for Joe, right?  Does he know you're here?" he asked me, looking slightly worried.

I assumed he was referring to the owner or the manager... someone with the authority to hire me.  "Er..." I replied, "I didn't know I was supposed to call beforehand."

"Nah, nah, it's my fault.  Here, take this application; you can fill that out.  I'll go get him."

He handed me the sheet and I sat at the bar, reading over it before filling it out carefully.

Though I tried to project an aura of cool relaxation, I'm sure I looked slightly out of place.  For one, I must've been the only person in the place not looking at the stage.  Not even once.  It didn't matter though; once you walk into a strip club, unless you close your eyes, you're going to see naked women twirling, bouncing and winking.

I bit back a smirk; after the usual "first, middle, last" name prompt there was a line where you could fill in your stage name.  The lyrics to "Circus" by Britney Spears played through my head, I'm a put-on-a-show kinda girl.  If anyone ever asked me, I would probably say I did it for the money, but the real truth was more along the lines of, "I like to play dress up."

When Joe, the owner/manager, came out a while later, he led me upstairs where it was quieter and he could actually tell me about the duties and responsibilities of the job.  We talked for about ten minutes or so, but a few things stood out to me:

1. Unlike the ones you see on TV, real, upstanding gentleman's clubs do not allow touching.  I'm not allowed to sit on anyone's lap either.  
2. Job interviews can include the statement, "your butt and nipples must be covered at all times."
3. Mixing drinks is secondary; your primary duty as a bartender is to build a relationship with your customers.  Play into their fantasies.  Flirt.  (Of course, I told him I had theater training as well).

I really hope I get this job; yeah, the pay is $200 on a BAD night, which is tres attractive, but it also gives me the outlet I need to get that Naughty Nikki energy out in a setting that's appropriate for it.  I need to be in an environment where I can be an actress because that's my job, not because I have to to keep my sanity.  

There's only so much Nikki that the "real world" can handle. 

PS: I'm keeping my drink knowledge up, though!

On The Eve of My Graduation

I graduate tomorrow.  Hopefully, at least.  

It's been an interesting past two weeks at bartending school.  I've met really cool people and learned more than I thought I would going into the process.  If you're contemplating going to bartending school, know this: it's harder than it looks.  I honestly don't know where I'd be without this photographic memory that keeps coming in handy.  I don't know how to spin any bottles yet, but I can get you sauced 81 different ways.  

Now comes the hard part... actually going out there and getting a job.  Hope to have one by New Years and/or the Inauguration.  Do you know how much money there is to be made floating around in January?  Superbowl in February?  Is it sad that I'm more excited about picking up cash rather than partying?  *Shrug*  In any case, I'm inviting you along on my journey to save $5,000 by June 1. 

Knowing me, we'll probably get sidetracked along the way, talk to strangers we definitely shouldn't be talking to, and get involved in some ridiculously random schemes, but it'll be fun, I promise!