The End of an Era

New Rule: if a waitress/bartender gets a customer to buy her a dummy drink, she has to pay the bar $5.50 and they have to take care of the transaction with the customer themselves.  My boss instated this rule after noticing the large number of waitresses abusing their "dummy drink" privilege and getting confused as to why his bartenders kept taking money out of the drawer and throwing it in their tip jars/laying it off to the side.  This marks the end of an era:  the end of the hustle.

Today, I had to work while sick =(  I WENT OUT and WENT HARD last night, celebrating the end of my undergraduate career: 5 drinks, 3 shots.  I went out wearing a teeny little babydoll dress and black "hooker" boots.  I'm now coming down with a cold.

Fortunately, Mumbles was able to buy me some cold pills, but I still wasn't at full Bubbly-Nikki capacity.  That's one thing about being a naturally smiley-happy person; the minute something is even slightly wrong with you, everyone can tell.

I gotta go buy some Zicam.  (That stuff WORKS!).

I know no one cares about me being sick, though, so on to the good stuff:

Sir, You Tweak.

So, my boss called me earlier today and left a voicemail saying to call him as soon as possible.  (And I'm confused as to why he left the voicemail, calling me by my correct name, and then, later on tonight, called me MADELINE!  Madeline is NOWHERE near close to my real name!!).  When I called him back, he started talking about some, "can you work two extra days during the summer?"

Um.  No.

Working two extra days would put me at 5 days a week.  I aint working from 7 pm -2 am five days a week.  I'm not consorting with naked women and hood hustlers five days a week.  I'm not driving out to DC and leaving my silver Honda Accord, THE MOST FREQUENTLY STOLEN CAR IN AMERICA, alone and vulnerable 5 days a week.  We already had a waitress and a doorman get their cars broken into last week.  No.  

And then when I was obviously reluctant, he tried to convince me by saying, "I've got this other girl who says she can work 5 days."

Good for her.  I'm leaving in June/July.  She can work her li'l five days then and be happy.

Customers I LOVE versus Customers I HATE

I LOVE customers who understand what my job is like for me.  One guy came up to the bar and said:

"So how are you doing tonight?"

My honest answer would've been something along the lines of, "I'm fucking miserable.  The A/C is on WAY too high.  I've got a sore throat and a headache.  I can feel pressure building up behind my nose.  I'm tired.  The music is too loud.  And I just don't want to be here," but what I actually said was, "I'm alright."

"So no one's started getting on your nerves yet, then?"

I  laughed.  "No, not yet.  What time is it though?  12:30?  Yeah... let it get between 1 and 2... then my patience starts wearing a little thin."

He laughed along with me.  "It would be all good if people just acted like they had some sense so we could all get along, huh?"

"Exactly!" I nodded emphatically.

On the other hand, I HATE customers who... act like they don't have any sense.

1.  Don't hand me money if you see me counting.

2.  Don't argue with me about the price of your drink.  Sir, you did not pay me $5.50 for your Jack and soda water.  You paid me $8.25.  And that's why I'm charging you $8.25 this time too.

3.  It's NOT FUNNY and I'm NOT AMUSED when you keep changing your mind as to what chaser you want; "Cranberry.  No!  Pineapple.  No!  Grapefruit... Cranberry..." is not the appropriate way to order your drink.

I Don't Blush Easily... So You KNOW You Got It.

So, this guy and his father and (I guess they were his uncles) came in, visiting DC from California.  Oh.  My.  God.  He was FINE!

They had to leave this other snooty strip club downtown because they said the guy's father was drunk, so they came to our club.  Thank GOD because the father definitely tipped me about $26 in total.  And I just liked looking at the son.  Brown skin and blue eyes can either look really weird or really freakin' hot... and... he looked really freakin' hot.

As they were ordering their drinks, the father turned to me and said.  "His mama's a black woman.  My son's fine aint he?"

"She knows," the son winked at me.

Eep.  Blush.  

(Yes, I do blush... I don't get red or anything, but my cheeks get a nice healthy, rosy glow.).

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

After yet another dancer lost her keys, my boss shook his head:

"Losing your keys will drive you crazy.  It's like losing a goddamn best friend or some shit."

Truuuuth!

Top Three Reasons Why I Hate Men

Okay, so I don't hate men.  In fact, I love them.  Sometimes I think I might love men a little too much.  (I'm workin on that.).  But no matter how much I love men, the fact remains that they cause problems.  So sometimes I pretend I hate them.

And here are my TOP 3 Reasons Why I Hate Men:

(All compiled while working behind the bar yesterday)

1.  THEY MAKE ME WANT TO FLIRT WITH THEM WHEN THEY'RE CUTE... AND UNAVAILABLE.

The guys that walked in with their girlfriends yesterday were JUST my type (physically, at least).  It makes me so mad when I want to flirt, but can't.  I'm a natural flirt; I really can't help it, but I know what's appropriate and what's not.  I'm also one of those women that goes into "lioness" mode when there's a man I want and another woman is around.  It's an animal instinct within me that just goes, "he's mine because I want him.  Bitch, begone!"  The rational part of me can control that pretty well, and if I can't control it, it usually just ends with me doing/saying something scene-stealing and over-the-top.  

So yeah, I HATE it when a guy falls into one of my type (yes, I have types: I like them Ralph Lauren Ad-ish with an edge or edgy Sean John model-lookin' with a code of honor and respect) and I can't do anything about it.  I also get lowkey jealous when the cute ones who flirt with me at the bar go look at the strippers.  It's irrational, but whatever.  

The one guy was clean-cut and preppy with edge and the other guy was tatted up with a rough-but-gentlemanly attitude.  And when he opened his mouth, oh-MY-God!, a BRITISH ACCENT popped out.  EVERYONE knows how much I FREAKING LOVE British accents.  Sigh.

Oh well.  It's not like I'm going to meet my next conquest behind the bar anyway.

2.  THEY ARE PARASITIC USERS WHO REMAIN IN A STAGE OF ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT!!!

On a more serious note, my manager essentially broke up with her boyfriend.  She didn't want to, but he was taking too much away from her emotionally.  Going around with his ex (like to the grocery store... and she came to his uncle's funeral), all the while taking advantage of my manager.  She sent him a text saying that he could pick up his stuff from her house and that she couldn't take it anymore and he just said "ok."  After begging her not to leave him a couple of weeks ago.  I hate "confused" men.  Just be straight up.

I watched the pain on her face as she described the situation and found myself fighting back tears myself.  'Cause I've been there.  Not the same situation, of course, but the same emotional position.  Loving a Lost Boy.

"I was there for him to help him through tough situations.  I expected my ex-husband to hurt me; that was constant... but I never expected this from him.  I gave so much; I thought I meant too much to him for him to do this to me.  I never expected this.  If we were only supposed to be friends; if I was only supposed to be there to help him through his confusion over another woman... we should've never gotten into a relationship.  If I was only supposed to be his friend, I've wasted my time.  And I'm sitting here hurt.  I mean, I'm hurting."

And I know what it feels like to have your heart beating in your throat, feeling like you want to jump out of your skin because you have so much pain you don't feel like your body can take it.

"I feel like after two years we've reached a point with each other where we can be honest with each other.  If he wanted to be with her, he could've just said that.  I can't hurt any more than I already do.  If you want to leave, leave, so I can move on... but don't just string me along."

I don't think people realize that if they're doing something that could hurt someone, they can't avoid hurting them by not being explicit about what they're doing.  It hurts more to have someone implicitly lie to you than to have them be brutally honest.  It really does.

And from everything she's told me about her boyfriend, it seems like he's a user.  He uses women to take care of him and his kids, and moves between them, citing "a fear of commitment."  Personally, I think it's a fear of being dropped and deprived of his host once the woman discovers that he's not contributing anything to their lives.  I mean, she PAID BILLS for him.  Fuck that.

I told her, "a man will never grow up as long as he has a woman taking care of him."  I'm only 21 years old, but I've seen that over and over.  From his mama to his girl... if a man has not been forced to take care of himself, he will continue to USE whatever woman is there (because women tend to love to help damaged/childish men... that man is NOT your personal project and you can't save someone who won't save themselves) for as long as he can.

Realizing this, my manager began, "and he'll keep treating me like this..."

"...as long as YOU let him," I finished.

OWN your heart, ladies, and don't just give it away.  Make him work for it.  Treat yourself like you're special.

3.  THEY'RE WAY TOO SEXUALLY MOTIVATED.

Okay, so I'm not really one to talk (Lord, but I get into some schemes), but honestly... sex is not that important.  It shouldn't be the motivating factor behind every decision you make.

Really, men make me laugh and also make me pity them with how easily manipulated they are.  I watch how entranced they are by the dancers, women who are (1) lesbians (90% of the dancers in the club do not like men), (2) not going to have sex with them, and (3) only want their money.  I marvel at how much power men think they have and how little they actually do.

I'm disappointed at how stupid men can be when sex is on the table.  But whatever.  Keep spending your money.  Keep losing people who care about you.  Keep getting used by gold diggers.  Stay ignorant as you get your ego stroked.  Whatever.  

ASIDE: I know it's not ALL men, but it's enough so that this was all relevant.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

One of the dancers had to get a ride home from Tambourine with me because she lost her keys.  With a sigh, she said:

"All I know is Mumbles better not have my keys.  I've heard he does that; it happened to one of the other girls.  He took her keys and rented out her car to people around the neighborhood.  He better not play that shit with me."

(Mumbles is one of the clean up men who work at the club).

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."

Getting a Little too Close for Comfort

Yeah...

Sorry I didn't manage to give ya'll an update on Wednesday; it's been the Senior Finals Week (from HELL!) for me... and it's not over yet.  I've got 5 more exams and 1 more project to go.  Let's get it!  (Let me not get pre-excited about being a college graduate yet).  Anyway... Wednesday was rather uneventful in terms of behind-the-bar action, so I'll just give some highlights:

It normally doesn't happen, but apparently you can still make money while you're on break.  I was sitting on the couch in the break area, right above the front door to the club, studying for an exam I had the next day (which I good-as-failed: 74%... oh well.  I have a B in the class; I'm on-track for getting my degree).  As this guy was leaving the club, he just tipped me $10 for no reason.  Holla!

This old man just refuses to take the hint that I WILL NOT SLEEP WITH HIM.  I don't understand how many times and how many different ways I have to say "I'm not interested.  At all."  Before (he's propositioned me at least 3 different times), I lied and told him I had a boyfriend, so when he saw me he asked me, "how's that little boy of yours doing?"  I replied, "he's not a little boy.  And he's doing just fine."  He started asking me all these questions about him, so I had to keep making shit up as I went.  

[So, for future reference (for myself), here's my boyfriend: we've been together for a year and a half, he comes from money (he drives a Mercedes he didn't pay for himself), but he's very idealistic, he's going into Teach for America in Brooklyn, NY, we live in the same dorm at school, we're living together when I move up there, and his life goal is to reform the public education system in America.  He doesn't have a name yet, but I guess I should make one up now... so... his name is Julian.  Julian Rose.  Wait no... we're planning on getting married and "Nikki Rose" doesn't sound right; let's make that Julian Youngblood.  Yeah.]

Anyway, after I finished telling Old Dirty Man about my fictional boyfriend and how happy we are together, he responded with, "but he's not as nasty as I am."  ...Um gross much?

"Go drink your drink!" I shooed him away.

AND NOW FOR THE MAIN EVENT OF THIS POST!  TONIGHT'S EVENTS!

"You Can Get This Here Lapdance for Free"  

(NERD, "Lapdance")

Someone was in the club for a bachelor's party, so my boss stopped the music and got on the mic to announce that there would be a special event to celebrate the man's upcoming nuptials.  We don't do lapdances at The Club because we serve alcohol and the dancers get totally nude, but since it was a special occasion, the guy got a lapdance by two of the club's most skilled and popular dancers (with their costumes on, of course).  His shirt ended up coming off though.

I'm the Bartender Here; You're the Customer.  Got It?

Tip: do not tell your bartender about what's behind the bar or try to classify liquors.  Just don't do it.  Nine times out of ten you're wrong, however nine times out of ten your bartender won't correct you because it's not appropriate protocol for providing excellent customer service.  We ARE thinking to ourselves: "this idiot," though.  Hint:

Bacardi 151 is NOT whiskey; it's overproof RUM.  BACARDI MAKES RUM.  If you ask me to make a "Whiskey Sour with 151," I will assume you mean "make a 151 Sour."  If you tell me "I want both whiskey and 151," what you will get is either (a) equal shots of Jack and 151 or (b) 1 1/2 shots of Jack and 1/2 a shot of 151.  And after you WATCH me make it, giving me directions the whole time, DO NOT tell me "you didn't put any 151 in there."  Also, if you hand me a $100 bill + 25 cents when your bill is $20.25, I will give you back $20 in singles and $60 in twenties.  That's $80.  That's your correct change.  DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME ABOUT THAT EITHER.

Crown Royal is Canadian whiskey.  IT IS NOT BOURBON.  And if you're still confused, it says "CANADIAN WHISKEY" on the damn bottle itself.  No one seems to know what bourbon is, so I'm going to help them out: BOURBON IS AMERICAN WHISKEY MADE PRIMARILY FROM CORN.  Popular brands include (but are not limited to): Jim Beam, Maker's Mark, Mark Twain, Old Crow, Old Grand-Dad, and Wild Turkey.  There are strict requirements for a whiskey to qualify as a bourbon, but one of the easiest to remember is that it must be MADE IN AMERICA.  CROWN ROYAL IS MADE IN FRIGGIN' CANADA!!!!

We... Are... Family?

So, I think my boss is getting a little too attached to me.  First, he was doing his whole cheeky older man thing where he was complimenting my legs (I wore a minidress to work today) and showing me how to flip shot glasses and bottles and then asking me if I wanted to learn.  I replied "yeah, but my hands are so small, though."  He said, "that just means you make everything else look bigger."

Then, later on that night, he told me he needed to stop looking at me like a nasty old man, that he was going to hook me up with his eldest son, and that we should get married so he could retire and pass the business on.  (I actually would enjoy owning a strip club, and I've been toying with writing a business plan for the restructuring of his club.).  I think my boss has gotten a little bit too attached to me.  I don't know how he's going to take it when I leave.

I'd still keep in contact though; I would.  I like the club and I think it's got great potential.  Not sure I want to be part of the family though; that's a major emotional investment.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

My boss on the mic:

"I'm fuckin' somebody's daughter tonight."

Oh... You Really Thought I Was Playin. Nope.

Mama might've raised me to be polite and respectful, but mama aint raise no fool.  And grandmama told me, "if you aint worried about your money, then you don't have any."  I do not fool with my money.  I'm going to need the people I work with on Sundays to get the memo.

I Owe You Nothing

So, tonight, Dallas THE BARBACK stepped up again, only this time, he didn't end up taking that much from me.  It still slows the whole process down when I have to input his totals, but I've gotten better at judging when to speed up and slow down my personal movements so I can control the flow of cash at the bar.  Tonight though, he started getting mad.  He made one customer a drink that she had originally asked me for and she tried to tip me instead of him anyway. 

As she handed the money to him he said, "my jar is over here."

She rolled her eyes and said, "I'm trying to tip her."

He got all indignant and she split the tips about 70/30 in my favor.

Then, there was another customer, who gave me a $10 earlier on in the night and said, "just take care of me and my boys whenever we come up here."  (And he was cute, so I was happy to do so.).  There came a point in time where I was really busy, though, and he tried to wait for me but Dallas got to him first.  After he paid for his drink, he went to my bucket to tip me.

I wasn't trying to hear Dallas's mouth, so before the customer put anything in my bucket, I told him, "you can tip him over there."

He shook his head and motioned to my bucket.  He dropped about $3-$4 in there.

Being nice, I gave $1 to Dallas, who then said, "he dropped more than $1 in there."

"I told him to tip you, but he said he wanted to tip me."

Negro, I owe you NOTHING.  I was being NICE giving you a dollar.  It's the CUSTOMER'S choice if they tip, how much they tip, and who they tip.  If a customer doesn't tip me I can get mad all I want to, but it remains THEIR money to do with what THEY want.  Once that man dropped the money in MY bucket because that's where he WANTED to drop it, it became MY money to do with as I so choose.  I OWE YOU NOTHING.

I saw him gettin mad over in his little corner throughout the whole night because customers kept tipping me for conversation/no real reason.  Yeah, that's right.  Be mad about it.  He got petty and told our manager that I broke a glass (something that happens regularly behind the bar no matter who's back there) in retaliation.  Whatever.

Is This Really A Matter of Dire Importance?  Really?

Big Sis, my Sunday manager, can be really OD.  Even when we have $1,300 in singles behind the bar with NO ONE in the club, she sends me or Dallas upstairs to get more.  Tonight, at 9:30, after I was only able to reclaim $20 in singles,  she even said, "if [the dancers] don't start turning 'em in, I'm gonna stop givin 'em out."

Lady!  We are not about to run out of singles any time soon... chill.

After Dallas told her that I broke a glass (he went upstairs without my knowledge when she was on break, specifically to tell her this [breaking a glass usually doesn't require an announcement]; what a bitchassed move), without a preface she came up to me and asked me, "you went to bartending school, right?"

"Yes," I replied.

"So you know not to scoop out the ice with the glass, right?  Use the scoop.  Don't do that."

OMG!  Everyone behind the bar does it at one point or another, especially when they're making two drinks at once, because we only have one ice scoop.  There's plenty of shit I learned in bartending school that isn't applied at The Club, including some shit SHE does.  She just likes to give people directions.

Oh!  And there was a mixup with one of the dancers turning in her singles.  She had $120 in total, but Dallas confused me as he handed it to me, such that I thought it was $140.  When I let my manager know, she said, "you'd better go get that money."

The dancer was on stage!  How the hell am I gonna go get money from her while she's dancing?  Besides, it's not like I'm about to let her leave without paying it back.  And in the time she told me to go get the money, I was supposed to be "ringing up" a fake drink a customer "bought" me worth $13.50.  Trick!  You just cost me $13.50 worth of tip money.  I should've made $153.50 tonight instead of the $143 that I counted up.  

Her complete and utter unchillness cost me actual money.  BOO!  A pox on your attitude, ma'am.

I'm Tempted, Really, But...

So, a regular customer who's been trying to get my number and take me out since I started working at The Club invited me down to Miami (all expenses paid) with him for the weekend.  From his 2 phones to his fat stack of cash composed of old $20s and $50s from the '90s, he screamed "DEALER!" but he's sooooo cute.  I was really kind-of tempted to be like "okay, when's our plane leave?"  But... (1) I don't want to get caught in some drug scheme, and (2) I don't know him from Adam and sex is NOT a glimmer of a possibility.  So yeah... no.  But I was REALLY tempted.  He's cuuuuute!

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

Customer to me: 

"I'm gonna call you Bohemian Mami."

LOL!  I love it!