Heartbreak at the Strip Club
Before the DJ gets to the club, customers must feed the jukebox in order to keep the music going. Customers usually pick a mix of 2Pac, Biggie, Luda, Jay-Z, Beyonce, Gucci Mane and Three 6 Mafia with some others thrown in. Today, I guess someone was feeling the pain because their woman left them or something because they definitely selected some slow, dragging, depressing ballad, "What Have I Done With My Life." My manager and I looked at each other and cracked up.
"This is just depressing," I shook my head.
"Turn that mess off!" she hollered over to the doorman.
How are you supposed to enjoy yourself to depressing music? How are the strippers supposed to dance to that? The song was promptly turned off and Gorilla Zoe was promptly turned on.
Lookin' Good Can Get You in Trouble
As I'm engaged in the process of packing for my Big Move, I've got very little of my clothing available to wear, so I had to leave the house in my little red dress I've had since high school. My father looked at me as I was leaving and said, "that's kind of short, isn't it?"
"It's the last red thing I have in my closet," I shrugged.
"You have to wear red?"
I nodded.
"Be careful," he sighed.
Truth. It wasn't my customers who couldn't handle it, though, it was Dallas, the barback. As I sat on the stool behind the bar, texting away on my phone, setting up my plans to move my stuff, he came over to me shaking his head.
"You look so good, I'm gonna have to take you home with me."
Ew. Double Ew. I smiled thinly and shook my head. "No, sir."
"Don't worry, I'll be gentle. I'll treat you like the queen you are."
Ew! EW!!! I shook my head again. Then, later, he actually touched my knee and said, "I'll give those nice legs a good massage."
GET AWAY FROM ME! GROSSGROSSGROSS!!!
What is it with nasty old men? Why do they think young, pretty girls want anything to do with them? Why do they let such nastiness come out of their mouths? Speaking of which...
Nasty Old Man Strikes Again
So, Nasty Old Man came back around today. He had a long conversation with me about my move to New York, asking if I was going to be living with my (imaginary) boyfriend. I told him no, but that we wouldn't be living that far off from one another.
"That's good, you got your own thing going. He has his own thing, you got your own thing. Ooh, you're gonna be somethin' to see in about five, ten years. You're a ripe little peach right now, but New York is gonna turn you out. You'll learn; see, you're loyal to your man now because you're living by the code that's been instilled in you. I'm gonna come find you in a couple of years."
He then asked me my name, which I gave. He told me his full name as well, and coincidentally his last name is an old family name of mine.
"That's a family name," I told him. "My grandmother hails from that family."
He blinked. "Well, there's a lot of us around. Were you trying to tell me something."
"Only that I might be your cousin, so you might not want to mess around with me."
We got on the topic of my family from the South and how prominent they've been in the area since the late 1800s, and he said, "oh. So I've been pickin' with a daughter of the upper crust? I just thought about some of the things I've said to you. I was comin' at you real..."
"Yeah," I said. "I'm a suburban girl. I'm not used to that."
"No, no. It's you suburban girls and Catholic school girls that are the nastiest, 'cause ya'll have been repressed. Once you get on your own, you go wild."
He then advised me to be sexually liberated, but to have safe sex, and to never allow a man to dictate my decisions and to be open-minded about life. All good advice; none of which I needed. He has no idea who he's dealing with. I look innocent.
"I'm gonna find you and come after you," he promised. "You'll have to let me taste it; you owe me."
"I owe you?" I arched an eyebrow.
"Well... not owe... just... for old times' sake."
"I don't owe anyone anything," I gave my half-smile and slid him his Heineken.
A Calling Card I WILL Use
As the next customer came up to the bar, Nasty Old Man passed behind him. "When are you leaving?" he shouted in my direction.
"This is my last day," I replied.
He pantomimed crying and grabbed at his heart.
I rolled my eyes and shooed him away. "He'll live," I told my next customer.
"You'll live," he corrected me. "I don't know about him."
I laughed.
"Where are you moving to?" he asked.
"New York."
"Oh really? My family's from Brooklyn. I'm a Marylander, but that's where my family's from. I'm up there all the time."
"Oh? Know any nice clubs and such? I'll be looking for a job soon."
"I don't, but my cousins probably do. Here's my card, feel free to email me."
"Definitely," I nodded. I think I actually will be using that card. He's a visual artist, for one. I may need his services sometime in the near future, and trust... I need to know which club areas to gravitate towards and stay away from.
After he walked away from the bar he came back a couple of minutes later, shaking his head. "I was so distracted by your beauty I forgot to tip you. I was raised better than that... you are really beautiful, though."
Aw! Smiles =)
Getting Hit On by Women as Opposed to Men
It's been my experience that, typically, women are a lot more direct and aggressive than men when they go after other women. There was this one girl that had class with me that licked her ice cream really suggestively when she saw me in the cafeteria. Awkward. At the bar, this woman asked me for a Raspberry Cosmo, and after I made it (just looking at it I could tell it was good, ya'll) she took a sip and told me, "oooh! Girl, you did the damn thing!" and winked at me.
Then, she said, "but the next time you serve me, I'm gonna need to see some ID."
"Yeah, I know I look like I'm sixteen."
"You really do. How old are you?"
"Twenty one. I guess I'll appreciate my young face when I'm like 35."
"Yeah, you'll look really good then. You're a cutie. And your braces are sexy."
Eep. I don't know how to handle advances from women yet. I generally just pretend like I don't know what they're doing. Men are one thing; even if they're hard-headed, once you say "no," they back off/only go after you jokingly. Women, on the other hand, have to know: 1) I'm not into women, 2) you can't MAKE me into women, and 3) I'm not trying to get picked up at work anyway.
I'm In Love with the Dope Boys
Sorry, but drug dealers tip really well. I'm not trying to work in the hood when I move up to NY because I know the hoods in DC; I'm unfamiliar with the different levels of hoodishness in NY, but... When you do work in the hood, your drug-peddling customers aren't really affected by recessions, and they always buy top shelf liquor and tip well. Anyone who spends $124 on liquor and tips me $25 is good in my books. These Wall Street mofos better be on the same level or higher. They make even bigger, legal money. (Well, bigger money than the lower-level street hustlers, anyway.).
QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:
Me to Nasty Old Man: "I don't owe anyone anything."
Damn straight. I answer to my own personal code and God ONLY.
