I'm Going Places

Least of which being my relocation to New York.

I didn't mean that I'm physically going places though; I mean that I've got plans.  I see myself doing some big things... one of which being owning a strip joint.  I started writing a business plan for one a while back and I've recently picked up interest in it again.  Working at the club has really made me realize what's capable.

Strip clubs aren't bad places to hang out and chill, actually.  My father agrees with me.

When I left work last Wednesday because of the hole in one of my organs, I happened to leave my new cellphone charger there.  (Reminder: the initial incident happened while I was looking for my original cellphone charger, which I have since found... in my overnight bag, which is where I thought I put it in the first place.).  My dad went to go get it for me when I was in the hospital on Thursday.  When he came back, he told me:

"That club where you work; it's like a real center of the community.  I see what you mean about it having potential.  It's not a bad place to just go chill out."

And that's what I think Boss Man isn't capitalizing on enough.  The Club has been a part of the community for 30 years.  It's got a homey, relaxed, unpretentious feel to it, and levels of seating that allow you to spend some time laughing with friends or get down by the stage and spend some time throwin dollas.  The club allows you to bring in/order in your own food.  It's got a live DJ/MC that keeps everything interactive and fun.  It's got one of the sweetest, sexiest bartenders in the city (wink).  It's got naked women.  It's got that vibe.

What I like about The Club, and strip clubs in general, are that they allow you to be you without any sugar coating.  They're a place where you can be as out of control or as under control as you want to be.  If people can strut around naked, why can't you just relax?

So yeah... I've got ideas.

Wink wink.

Time On My Hands

Since I'm an invalid for at least another day, I have decided to make myself useful.

As you can probably tell by the new picture... I've had a lot of time on my hands; time I've used to make some strides.

Just like I was a couple of months ago, fresh out of bartending school, I'm going to plunge into another market (NYC) for bartenders with just a little bit of experience and a big smile under my belt.  Everyday something happens that makes me glad I went to business school; yesterday it was this:

If you're short on experience, be as professional and memorable as you can.  

I already have a pretty snazzy bartending resume, a photo selection (I need more current and varied photos though), and apply to jobs with a cover letter already, but I didn't have any business cards, though I've been meaning to make them for THE LONGEST time.  I was supposed to have a stack with me when I bartended my friend's Grown & Sexy party (GREAT party, btw... we did it big w/a chocolate fountain and strawberries, yo!) the day before Valentine's Day...

Anyway.  So, I Googled "bartending business cards" to see what other people were doing.  I already knew I wanted one with my photo on there; this can be a very superficial profession... and if they like your look, that's like 50+ points worth of experience.  I saw this one site that offered to turn your picture into a cartoon and put it behind a bar.  Loved it.  Decided I could do it my damn self on Photoshop (I had to YouTube "How to cartoon yourself using Photoshop"), print them out on card stock and cut them at my local FedExKinkos.  (See my new profile picture of me holding my 2nd favorite whiskey?  Yeah... Jack used to be my man, but I gotta go with Bushmills now.  I LOVE IRISH WHISKEY!).  I'm also going to put one of my specialty recipes on the back with "and plenty more where that came from" at the bottom.  Ooh!  And my card is vertical instead of horizontal.  Subtle creativity =)

So, yeah... I've also started going over more drinks in my bartender books because popular drinks vary from region to region.  Like, you'll probably only hear a Bone Crusher ordered in the DC area because the bartender who came up with it worked here.  I gotta figure out what the most common NY drinks are.  The customers at the bar where I've been working are pretty consistent: Long Island, Long Beach, Bone Crusher, H2O, Apple Martini, Martini, Patron Margarita, Cuervo Margarita, Rusty Nail, Mai Tai, Zombie, Singapore Sling, French Connection, Blue Motorcycle, Sex on the Beach.  

Sometimes I get flirty and tell male customers I'm going to test their manliness by giving them a 3Wise Men (Jose, Jack, Johnny + Gingerale).  Seriously, anyone that can drink that without gagging... you got it.  I don't mind the Jack and Johnny; I'm a whiskey drinker, but tequila... blech!  GAG!

And eventually, I'm going to find someone to PIMP MY BLOG!  (Or do it myself, although I hate doing things that aren't my specialty when it saves more time for someone to do it for me.).  It's 'bout to get interactive up in this piece.

By the way... follow me on Twitter if you aren't already: @MixmasterNikki.  I usually frequently update whatever's going on behind the bar when I'm working.

COMING UP NEXT:

(1)  My big plans.

(2)  My dad's first trip to my job.

(3)  Some character studies: Silly Girl, Accent and Tambourine.

My Life Is Random Wherever I Go

I don't just have drama behind the bar; oh, no!  No, I've got to have a dramatic life no matter the setting.

So, I started feeling a little queasy at work Sunday night, and Monday morning at about 4 am while I was desperately searching for my cell phone charger so I could charge my phone before I hopped on the Boltbus at 7:30 am to go to NY to search for an apartment with my girls, it happened.

Out of nowhere, I suffered a severe, sharp, stabbing pain in my stomach, radiating up my spine, around my ribs and up to my shoulders.  I dropped to the floor, hissing, face screwed up like I would burst into anguished tears any second (except I never see the point of crying because of physical pain, so I always stop myself before the first tear rolls with some deep breathing and streams of curse words best left unsaid).  Thinking I could just rest it away, I curled up on the couch in my family room, knowing I had to wake up in 2 hours to be on the subway in 3 hours to be on that bus at 7:30.  I woke up 3 hours later... still in pain.

However, I'm a determined (delusional) sort, and I'm made of tougher stuff than to just call the doctor at the first sign of trouble!  So, I got online and bought myself an Amtrak ticket for 10:30 so I could meet my friends, as planned, and commence the hunt for the GREATEST APARTMENT EVER (Not to exceed rent payments of $2250 in total)!!!

I've got to give myself credit; I walked around New York on an empty stomach with tightness in my belly and the sensation of a 10-pound weight dragging on each of my shoulders for five hours before I finally said, "Guys.  I can't walk anymore.  I can't make it."

Tuesday hits.  I feel a little better, but not really... I do some reading on the internet.  (All praise be to the internet.).  I come to the conclusion that I might just have really bad gas (ew!) and referred pain in my shoulders.  (Referred pain is when something is wrong in one area of your body, but it hurts in a completely different area.).  Took some Gas-X pills.  

Wednesday: the pills did nothing.  I call my doctor (finally; I'm SO stubborn!).  The good doctor cannot see me until the 18th.  I will probably be dead by then if it's something serious, and if it's not serious, I'll be on a plane to Vegas.  No dice.  I go to work, because even though I'm in pain... I need that money.  Once at work, it becomes clear that I cannot stay there.  I call the nurse hotline on my insurance to ask for advice.  She tells me to take two Aleeve and call my doctor in the morning.  Again: no dice.  ER it is!!

I go to the ER; it is now midnight, Thursday morning.  My community ER is closed until 8 am.  I go home.  8 am arrives and it's off to my community's ER again!  

(Shout out to the great nurses and doctors there... however... Dr. You-Sound-Just-Like-My-Finance-Professor wasn't listening well...).

I told this man all of my symptoms/ailments multiple times and made sure to tell him that although the pain was all in my shoulders, it hurt really badly if I leaned forward more than 45 degrees and if I were to lie down and move positions, I would hear and feel something sloshing around near my stomach, where it definitely shouldn't be.  He then proceeded to order a chest x-ray, CT scan and blood tests.

So... I was shot full of iodine (which puts a metallic taste in your mouth, makes you nauseous, and makes your body feel like it's on fire and you've just peed yourself) and strapped (okay, not strapped... I was there of my own free will) to a table where a laser got to know me pretty well.

At this point, my precious, tiny little veins had been stabbed 3+ times (I say 3+ because one of the nurses couldn't find a good vein in my arm, so she took one from the back of my hand, but still managed to insert the needle crooked and had to wiggle it around.  Pain!).

The chest CT scan shows that everything is normal around my lungs (I could've told you that, Doc!), but I've got a huge bubble of air outside of my stomach, just chillin' under my diaphragm. Gettin jiggy with my liver.  That usually happens when you've ruptured an organ.  Great.

So... I'm off to another hospital where Dr. Uncle (not biological, but he's family all the same) is a member of the system (although his office is offsite).  

When I am first admitted, there is a man in the room with me gushing blood.  His girlfriend has hit him over the head with a glass bowl.

"How that broad gonna do me like this?  Shit.  Ah!  Fuck, my head!  My head!  Man, but let it be me who hit her with a damn glass bowl and had her bleedin all over the place!  Wouldn't be no questions.  I'da been arrested on site, cops woulda beat me up some more.  That broad... they wait for her parents to get there to take the baby and THEN they take me to the hospital.  You see how they do men?  Ah!  Fuck!  My head..."

I get blood drawn... again.  Get more x-rays.  I have to drink like a liter (okay, a pint 1/2) of this nasty ass "Berry Smoothie"...it is NOT a smoothie; it's used to highlight where holes might be when you get a CT scan.  I get an abdominal CT scan and go back to my room where I wait... and wait...

Watch the news.  Watch Celtics v. Magic.  Wonder how much blood I've lost.  Fantasize about bustin outta the joint, finding the cafeteria and stealing some food.  Wait.  Ignore the guy who keeps winking at me from around my curtain.  (I'm in the ER with a catheter stuck in my arm!  I'm ill!  Why are you trying to come on to me!?)

Finally, word comes.  "You've got a perforation in your belly."

I kept trying to clarify whether she meant stomach or intestines, but she kept saying belly.  I AM NOT A FIVE YEAR OLD!

By the time I'm ready to leave, I've been shot up with antibiotics, told I've got a perforation in my intestine, and that I can't work for five days or go to Vegas =(

Peachy.

I called my manager to tell her that I wouldn't be able to work for five days because I've got a freaking HOLE in my intestine and you know what she said, "you're kidding me."  She then gave a sigh and said, "okay, I'll text HNIC."  She's just blown because I was supposed to take her shift on Saturday.  Well EXCUSE ME!  I didn't poke a hole through my own intestine!  I want to go to Vegas!  I've already paid $483 in non-refundable money towards the damn trip!  I'm sorry my health problems are ruining YOUR life!  Bitch.

Grr.

Guess Who's Back?

*Waves sheepishly*

I apologize for the delay in your regularly scheduled programming, however: life's been busy.  I am now a graduate (with honors, in Honors) of Howard University School of Business and I have an absolutely amazing apartment in NY just waiting for me to move into.  I'm all partied and traveled out!  Hopefully I'll be able to handle Vegas next week and then NY again the week after that.  Travel much?  

Anyway, I'm back to give ya'll the run down on the happenings at The Club!

FRIDAY, MAY 1: Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes!

It seems my boss has finally picked up on the fact that the interior of the club needs to be redone.  New floors, new walls, electronic cash registers... the works.  He called all the waitresses and bartenders into the back room to discuss new cleaning habits and practices at the club.  He maintained that no longer would Mumbles and the other men of the cleanup crew be responsible for the bar and the tables because they were too old to do a good job.  And that Grandame would still be welcome at the club, he loved her, but she had to go... "it's been 26 years of Grandame, but she can't handle the work now, it's time to let her go."  

It's been 30 years of the club; it's time to bring it up to date.

Sometimes I think family-owned businesses, black ones in particular, are a little too attached to "The Good Ol' Days."  I hope I never get like that.  I always want to live in the moment, never yearning for the past.  Never getting too comfortable with "the way it is."

SUNDAY, MAY 3:  I Don't Need Your Money That Badly.

Nasty Old Man came back to the bar, still trying to get at me.  I've noticed that he only tips $1.  I'm getting tired of hearing his Nasty Old Man mouth, so I decided to stop being nice.  Your $1 is not going to buy you my patience.  $20 might.

"What can I get for you?" I asked.

"You.  In a glass," he replied.

I rolled my eyes.  "Do you know how many times I've heard that?"

"From me?"

"No.  Just in general.  You need to get a new line," I said with a hard edge to my voice while keeping a sweet smile.

He looked surprised.

"You said I'm probably as baaaad as you are; I'm showing you."

"That's okay, I want it," he winked.

Ugh.  GO AWAY!  He also offered the new waitress $400 to defecate and urinate on him.  That just took him from Nasty Old Man to Triflin-Ass Nasty Old Man.

OLD PEOPLE ARE SO BELLIGERENT!  So, I tried to enforce the new policy that waitresses must pay $5.50 anytime they get a fake drink, but Grandame was not having it.  When I told her, her eyes bugged out and she shook her head, saying in her cigarette-scratched voice: "I'm not paying that!"  and walked away.

How the hell are you supposed to lay down the law on a halfway senile woman old enough to be your grandmother?  

BUT I CAN LAY DOWN THE LAW ON DRUNKEN STRIPPERS!  Halfway through the night, one of the other dancers came up to me shaking her head, "The bar is cut off for Drunkie.  No more."

I gave a knowing, half-smile.  "How many has she had?"

"I don't know, but she can't have anymore."

Later on during the night, Drunkie came up to the bar to ask for a drink.

I shook my head.  "You can have water, soda, or juice."

"But I want liquor," she pouted.

"No liquor."

"But I've been drinking all night!"  

Uh... dur!  Therein lies the problem: you've been drinking all night and you can't handle your liquor.

"I can give you water, soda, or juice," I repeated.

"Nevermind," she pouted again and walked upstairs to the dressing room.

I CAN DRINK, HOWEVER!  BWAHAHA!  Someone ordered an Apple Martini and didn't have enough money to pay for it, so my manager split it with me.  And then she offered me a Cuervo Margarita.  I was definitely buzzed behind the bar, but I, unlike Drunkie, can hold my liquor.  Actually, is it a bad sign that after two drinks you can still do your job (and do it well)?  Doesn't that make me, like, a functional alcoholic or something?  =(

WEDNESDAY, MAY 6:  See No Evil, Hear No Evil

Things I Wish I Hadn't Seen:

1.  One of the dancers diddling herself on stage.  Gross.

2.  Other women's vaginas, period.  Breasts, whatever, I don't care... but I'm really tired of seeing coochie.

3.  This man who comes up to the bar flexing his muscles and dancing in the mirror.  Every time.  It's just really disturbing.

4.  A group of Ques hopping in the club.  Really?  Really.

Things I Wish I Hadn't Heard:

1.  One of the Ques trying to get at me.  I'm too young for you sir, and I don't feel bad about telling a man in his 30s that he's too old for me.  We're on different planes.  And I'm not interested in casual sex... I have a problem with people touching me when I'm not emotionally attached to them... while sober.

2.  More of my manager's issues with her ex.  Talking about what might happen isn't going to make what you want to happen come true.  Stop beating a frickin dead horse!  It's over!  Talking about it every damn day isn't going to do anyone any good, especially not me.  Stop asking other people what he might be thinking, why he did such-and-such, or what he'll end up doing.  No one knows!  He might not even know!  It's over, leave it.

SUNDAY, MAY 10:  It's A Celebration, Bitches!

So, I graduated May 9.  My managers both texted to congratulate me.  And when I went to work, Big Sis let me have a drink on the house.  Can I Holla gave me a hug.  All my customers who knew gave me congrats and advice.

Anyone who says black people, even those without an education, don't value education is deluded.  We do, it's just that some of us don't see it as a viable course of action.  That doesn't mean they don't see the value of it; they just don't see its relevance to their lives (or believe that they can go after it).  And therein lies the problem... why isn't an education relevant for some segment of our population.

*Gets off soapbox*

Four Brits walked in to celebrate their friend graduating from Howard as well.  I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from swooning at the accents.  Nothing sexier than a black man with a British accent.  Hell, all of them weren't even black... there's nothing sexier than a British accent: period.  

"May I have a Co-rooo-na?"  

Yes you may.  Would you like my number as well?  *Bats eyelashes*

Also... I'm going to miss tending bar in DC.  Of course, people aren't as nice here as they are in the south-south, but they're nicer than they are in NY.  Here, even the street thugs say please and thank you.

QUOTE OF THE WEEKEND:

My boss, while explaining the new way things were going to run at the club:

"These are your mangers.  Everyone who works behind the bar is a manager.  You've got Big Sis, Li'l Mama, Cinnamon, and... (he paused when he got to me) Madeline."

Would he stop calling me MADELINE!?!  I know he knows my name!

Don't You Ever Get Too Comfortable

This happens to me with every job I've held.  I get too comfortable in my environment.  I've gotten comfortable joking around with 'hood hustlers, pimps and hoes.  I've gotten comfortable in the ramshackle old building where I work.  Don't get me wrong, I still think it's gross... one day, I'd really like to buy the business and redo it, but... I've gotten way too comfortable there.  I think... I might actually miss it when it's time for me to leave.  (They still don't know I'm leaving yet, and I know they're going to miss me; my boss even asked me if I had any friends that wanted to work as a bartender too because he wants more people like me.).

My top reason why I think I'm getting too comfortable there though, is because I just spent 3 out of the last 4 days at the strip club... no bueno!!!

SUNDAY:  WORK

Is This Really the Appropriate Place?

There's a couple that comes into the strip club together and always ends up arguing.  Now, I've only been in one "serious" relationship, but it seems to me... if you know when you go out to the strip club together and get drunk, you start arguing... just don't go.  The strip club is not the place to handle your relationship issues.  They even attracted the attention of a mediator who tried to talk them both through their problems, but he couldn't even help them.  The woman seemed really immature and complaint-prone.  After she was yelling at her boyfriend, he walked away shaking his head and went to go tip and look at one of the dancers.  

"If he cared about me, then why did he go over to the girl?" she pouted.

You're in a strip club.  You're also being annoying.  There's your reason right there.

The mediator actually did a pretty good job, from what I observed, though.  She was just being stubborn.  She probably wanted him to beg all over her or something so it could be dramatic.  Boo.  The mediator came over to the bar and pegged Big Sis and me for our personality types off the bat.

"I'm not gonna mess with you," he said to Big Sis.  "I know your type."

"Oh really?" she asked.  "So what's my type."

"You are serious.  You like it hard and you like it fast.  You don't play around.  Nope."

She was silent. 

He turned to me, "and you're soft.  You're a softie."

Damn it.  I am.  =(

Daddy?

So, my dad knows I work at a strip club, but even as a bartender with all of my clothes on (I mean, I wore a hoodie on Wednesday), I wouldn't feel right about him coming into my place of work.  One of the strippers had to get her spare car key from her father and he came into the place to give them to her.  She came downstairs in her little costume to get them from him and ran around introducing him to her naked friends.  I'm sorry, I just couldn't do that.  That's SO awkward.

I'm Not Trying to Make a Racist Generalization, But...

White people tip way better than black people.  On average.  The dancers have said sometimes they don't like dancing for white people because they feel like they're animals on display at the zoo/in a freak show (it depends on how the white people in question act).  We had some HILLBILLY lookin' folk come in with one black guy in the group and they were cool as shit.  Then there's some white guys who come in to get their little forbidden taste of "exotic black booty" and they make the dancers uncomfortable.  Most of the white folk that come in are cool though.  So yeah, anyway, on average white people tip way better than black people.  This one guy bought two Bud Lights ($13), paid with a $20 bill and gave me the $7 left over.  One white guy tipped me $20.  

I've noticed also, though, that black people expect you to be rude, so they come in thinking they're not going to tip you because you have an attitude... so even if you don't, they'll just fit your behavior in with "oh she has an attitude."  Usually, the men will begin to put all their change back in their pockets, but then I'll say "you're welcome," after they thank me for their drink, and then they pull their money back out of their pocket to tip me.  A little kindness goes a long way.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

OBVIOUSLY pregnant customer to the doorman, "I'm not pregnant."

So... you've just got a really firm beer belly?  You shouldn't be comfortable perpetrating that lie.

MONDAY: VISITATION

So, my friends and I definitely rolled like 10 - 13 deep (I can't remember who all was there) to go to Amateur Night.  Me and my nearest and dearest definitely spent the whole time critiquing.  There was one dancer we got up from our seats upstairs to tip because she was good, like she actually put on a show (Twinkle).  But the rest of them just kind of smiled and undulated.  And then looked mad when they weren't getting tips.  Being pretty can only get you but so far... Twinkle isn't really all that attractive, but she puts her work in.  Was the stage not COVERED with dollars after she was done?  (I've witnessed "making it rain" in the club... it's actually a hilarious sight.).

WEDNESDAY: WORK... AGAIN

My First... Rat

Yep, I saw my first rat.  Gross.  If I owned that business, there would be no rats.  That's so GROSSSSS!

Am I Alone Here?

My manager definitely took a THREE HOUR break to talk on the phone about her now ex-.  Initially, I felt bad for her the day it happened, because like I said, I've been there.  But again, you cannot ignore the fact that you chose this fool to start a relationship with.  You knew he had problems when you got with him.  You knew he had 7 children.  You knew he had commitment issues.  He was straight up with you.  Stop asking everyone's opinion about whether he's gonna come back around or not, what he's doing running around with his ex-, what he's thinking... yadda yadda.  No one knows.  He doesn't know.  Talking about it isn't going to make things happen any faster/bring you what you want.  I wouldn't be so pissed off about it if this hadn't been a constant thing since I started working there.  All she talks about it The User (that's what I'm calling him from now on).  And honestly, I have sympathy... hell... I'm EMPATHETIC, but really... stop!

Now, I didn't mind that she took that 3 hour break because I definitely pulled in $80 by myself, but then, she came back so for the next 4 hours, we had to split our tips (which also ended up being $80 in total).  She LEFT THE BAR a number of different times to talk to CUSTOMERS about her man problems while I held it down by myself.  I took a little 30 minute break to go nap because I was tired and I was woken abruptly by the doorman because my manager told him that she needed me because the line started getting deep.  I knocked out 3/4 of the line BY MYSELF.  Ugh.  I might as well have worked alone.  At least I would've made $160.

Valuable Advice

Most of my tips came from this one guy who's a regular at the club.  He just chilled by the side, talking to me and various dancers and waitresses.  He said some really relevant things, like...

"Man, this 'Swine Flu' thing is all about fear... people make money off of fear.  That's how they control you.  That's how it is with wars, that Y2K shit that never happened... think about it... You get 50 million people to go out and buy a $4 safety kit: how much money do you make?"

"I don't know what's wrong with black women today.  Don't take offense, but ya'll used to be on it.  Now you keep going out with these losers.  Listen, I'm 34, and I'll tell you: you can't change a man.  If he was broke when you met him, he's gonna be broke.  If he was an asshole when you met him, he's gonna be an asshole.  Ya'll keep complaining about your relationship problems and whatever, but I'll make it simple: don't date no loser."

"Everybody's worrying about what's gonna happen.  There's no point to all that; just do your best and leave the rest to God."  (My personal favorite, because that's my philosophy on life).  "And make the right choices.  The only way is the right way.  Stay in school.  Knowledge is REAL power.  Believe that."

I think it says something that all the hood hustlers and drug dealers I know keep telling me to stay in school and dap me up when I say I'm graduating.

I think his funniest lines of the night, though, were:

QUOTES OF THE NIGHT:

"I used to have a girlfriend, but she was too expensive; now I've gone green."

And, after I told him I was going to fashion school, he goes: "fashion school?  Oh... you're gonna need a sugar daddy.  Take down my number."

(I actually did (LOL), but I said, "even if I don't use it because I need a sugar daddy, I will need business investors.")