Oh I Think They LOVE Me

I was just feelin' the love today; it made work enjoyable, even though I didn't really feel like going when it was time to leave my dorm at 7pm today.  From my friends dropping by to see me to the men who asked to marry them to the woman who sold me some DELICIOUSLY scented perfume... I felt the love!

HU In the Building!

My girlie from my former dance team (I only say former because I definitely fell off; I'm trying to graduate and pay some bills, ya'll... my bad!) and her boyfriend came by to see me and chat for a little bit.  I definitely appreciated it because I never have time to really go out anymore (Thursday nights and Saturday nights only... and I'm filling in for my manager next Saturday!), so whenever I see people, it's great!

Then, a little bit later, in a completely unexpected surprise, part of the crew I roll with came through.  I saw them in line and ran down to them and almost jumped over the bar giving hugs.  I love my friends.  If I could hook them up with free drinks, I would.  Unfortunately, I don't get an allowance.

Willlll Youuuu Marryyyy Meeeeee?

This fool asked me to marry him when I asked how I could help him.  I laughed, took his drink order, fixed it and rang him up.  As he was leaving, he said:

"I'll have the ring for you next time.  Just let me know what you like."

I smiled and decided to play along.  "Okay, well in that case: my ring size is 6, I'd like it VVS, it doesn't have to be too big or showy... I like them understated, and I like emerald-cut diamonds."

(I actually prefer them to be either round or marquis-cut.).

He winked and gave a nod.  "Okay; next time."

...He better stop playin' around because the gold digger in me is getting her hopes up, thinking he might be serious.  I aint tryna marry nobody, but I will take your ring and admire the way the light bounces off of it so nicely.

No, Not You.

I did not, however, appreciate this guy who kept coming back to the bar to talk to me, being real aggressive.

I've been taught to make eye contact when speaking with people, however, I've learned working at the bar that some people take eye contact and think it means "I'm studying you."  No sir; I'm just waiting for you to tell me what you want to drink.  I complained to my manager that he was getting on my nerves and she gave me some valuable advice.

"Girl, just tell him you're in an arranged marriage.  Tell him your husband is in Zimbabwe.  He'll leave you alone."

I Don't Like Living Under Your Spotlight

No matter what, I always seem to call attention to myself.  When the boss man, HMIC, came in tonight, he signaled me over to him.

"You make a little bit of money on Sunday?"

I shrugged.  "Li'l bit."

"I heard you made a good bit of money even though it wasn't nobody in here."

"Yeah," I nodded.

"How much you make?"

I tried to remember off the top of my head; I recalled it was something between $120 and $130, but I just said, "oh, I don't remember."

...I hate it when this happens.  It's inevitable, though.  I always perform better on the job than people expect/than my coworkers and I call attention to myself.  Now they're going to be wonder how this new girl pulls in so many tips.  Damn it.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

(Because it shocked me so much)

Both a customer and Silly Girl asked me for a glass of water around the same time.  I had prepared one and turned my back to grab another glass for the second one when I heard Silly Girl screech, "heeey-uh!  That's miiiine-uh!"

The customer withdrew his hand, "oh.  My bad."

What?  If I were a customer somewhere, I'd be damned if I let the person who's supposed to giving me great customer service YELL at me!  And what kind of common/social sense is she missing?  You don't yell at a customer over a glass of water!  (1) They're a customer!  (2)  It's free!  (3) Waiting for the 6 seconds it takes for the bartender to make another one is not going to kill you!  

She really has ISSUES.

Darn These Moral Hang-Ups

...because I'd be a perfect "Suga Baby."  I could probably start a Rolodex (don't fake, ya'll know you remember those jonts) with all the cards I've gotten working behind the bar.  I keep them, just incase I need marketing, accounting, theosophy (er?) or air force pilot services one day, but I really have no reason to call these men.  It would be so easy though.  Sugar Daddy pays my way through fashion school (or just my credit card bills), and I make him feel like Hugh Hefner.  Even exchange; money for ego boost.  However, I'm not that good of an actress... I can't act like I like someone; primarily because I think it's wrong, secondarily because I REALLY hate when people I don't like/am not comfortable with touch me.  Like, my gut reaction is to throw a right hook-type uncomfortable.  So yeah... I'll be paying my bills myself.  Although it would be easy; I can't be a Sugar Baby (or a gold digger of any type, really).

A Mystery I'd Like to Solve

I'm still learning the different characters that frequent the strip club.  As it's been open since 1979, there are a good number of people who have seen The Club through a lot.  One woman that came in, looking like a prostitute (I mean her nipple was hanging out, for goodness sake!), said she was there to collect the rent money.  I called the manager to handle it.

The manager pulled out a rent/receipt book, jotted down the transaction, and gave the 'ho lookin woman $700.

I was confused.  I thought HMIC owned the building, not just the business.  Why was this woman collecting "rent," especially in the amount of only $700?  We're located in the 'hood, but it's a slowly gentrifying 'hood.  I paid $700 a month as half of the rent for an apartment; $700 for a whole building?  

I'd like to get to the bottom of this.  I asked an innocent question about it today, but my manager kinda skipped over the answer.  She just told me the woman's name, not whether or not HMIC actually owned the building or what the "rent" money was for.  Mysteries, mysteries.  Anyone have any thoughts?

Signs You're NOT A Functional Alcoholic

If you go to work and spend all you make on drinks for yourself, you're probably an alcoholic.  If you are banished from your workplace for a week due to your drunken antics and inability to serve your customers, you're probably not a functional alcoholic.  That's pretty much the only sign you need.  

I was wondering what had happened to Model Type Chick.  It was like she breezed in and breezed right back out, but it's just that (a) she doesn't work on any of my days now, and (2) she was suspended for drinking too much on the job.  Everyone is allowed to drink as much as they want, as long as it doesn't interfere with their ability to do their job.  The bartenders are strongly discouraged from drinking, though, because we're handling the cash register.

"I don't know if she can keep working here," my manager said, "she's got a drinking problem and she can't help it.  Plus, she's WAY too turned on to women.  She'll be up at the stage staring harder than the men do.  Just mesmerized by the pussy.  She's way too young to be that turnt out."

But I feel like my manager is one to talk, because...

Is There A Reason Why You Keep Touching Me?

As stated before, I have a serious problem with people breaking through my personal bubble and/or touching me when I don't want them to.  99% of the time, I don't want anyone touching me.  As a result of this personality quirk, I'm really sensitive to touch.  You can't tell me you didn't bump into me, because trust me, I've spent .5 seconds convincing myself that you're harmless and that I shouldn't go into fight-or-flight mode.  My manager is always touching my back or my waist when she has to move around me, accidentally bumping into me with her (large) breasts, playing with my hair, telling me how flexible she is, or showing me (on my body) the muscles her workout targets.  You be the judge.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

A couple comes in and they're being a little lovey-dovey; not sickeningly though.  (He kissed her on the nose once and they were whispering with each other).  As I take their drink orders and begin to fix them, I notice, using my PER-I-PHER-ALS (40-Year-Old Virgin... love it), the man keeps staring at me.

"Stop looking at her!" his girlfriend all but screeched.

...Trick, you're in a strip club.  WTF?

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.

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?