Why the FUCK do guys think it’s ok to shove their fat fucking hand all up in my face and push my glasses up for me?

I have been wearing glasses for the majority of my life, and when you wear something on your face for that long, you get to know what works and what doesn’t.  Which is how I know that wearing my glasses pushed up makes my eyelashes bump against the lenses every time I blink, which is annoying as balls.

  Also, it is really fucking rude to shove your hand all up in someone’s face.  Especially when some drunkass motherfucker with poor coordination does it and pushes way too fucking hard.  On my glasses.  Which are on my fucking face. 

How do I know this?  Because Mr. Shore was in my club last night. 

It was really weird.  Early in the evening one of the dancers, Ruby, walked up to me and said, “HAVE YOU FUCKING SEEN PAULY SHORE?!”  before running off.  I was like, “Huh.  That’s weird.” 

I put it down to Ruby being bored and melodramatic, and thought no more about it.  at least, not until later, when I was standing by the door, waiting for new customers to walk in, cause it’s Sunday and slow as balls, and I see this short dude walk by who looked EXACTLY LIKE PAULY MOTHERFUCKING SHORE.

I was like, “Holy shit, that is actually Pauly motherfucking Shore.”

to which my 20-year-old coworker replied, “Who?”

“Pauly Shore.  He was in Encino Man.  and Biodome.”

This only garnered more blank stares.  I sighed and racked my brain for something, anything, in Mr. Shore’s oeuvre she would be familiar with.

“Okay,” I said, “Have you ever watched A Goofy Movie?”

“Hell yeah.  I loved that shit!”

“He was the voice of the best friend who’s all like, ‘It’s the leaning tower of cheese-a!’.”

My co-workers eyes go very round.  “That guy?!  He looks like a drunken fool!”

Ad he did.  He really, really did. 

I have never heard so many strippers ask “who the hell is Pauly Shore?”  His imdb page got so many fucking hits last night. 

So, i did pretty well for myself last night, all things considered.  It was slow, even for a Sunday, but i still managed to make tip-out and gas money for a week or so.  Towards the end of the night, I’m feeling pretty confident and chipper, cause money!  I’m still asking people if they need drinks, but if they say no, I just smile and walk away happy, cause fuck work. 

I asked this Mexican dude if he needed anything, and he said he was good, so I walk off, except he whistles at me to come back.  i turn around, kind of annoyed, and he pats his lap, as if that’s all it takes for me to just walk over there and let him grope me.  As fucking if. 

I laughed and said no. He was all like, “why not?!”  and I was all like, “Cause I already made my money and i don’t need to flirt with you.”  But, you know, in Spanish. 

And then i straight walked away. 

So i walked up to one of the wells at work to order drinks, and there was a customer making the bartender laugh her ass off.  I asked what was up, and the bartender said, “Listen to this asshole.”

So i turn to the customer and he looks me straight in the eye and says, “I need money.  this place is expensive.”

I said, “Well, yes, it is.  What do you want me to do about it?”

“Give me money, please.”

To which i responded, “Bitch, YOU give ME money.  That is how this shit works.  I am the poor broke-ass college student trying to pay my tuition by serving all you assholes beer and you’re asking me for a motherfucking handout?  Fuck you, where is my god damn tip?!”

He started stammering and did the whole ‘oh, i think my friend is calling me’ bit and took off. 

Here’s how little a fuck i give at work lately:

I was walking the floor, halfheartedly looking for customers and trying not to yawn when a customer points at me and says “I saw you!”

“Saw me what,” i reply.

“Yawning. He says. I shrug and reply, “yes, and?”

“So you’re tired.”

“It is one o’clock in the fucking morning and i’ve been here since seven. No shit, i’m tired.’

And then i straight walked away.

The club is constantly hiring and firing new waitresses, and as one of the few that’s been there longer than a couple of months, i am sometimes asked to show them around and train them.  One of the recent new hires is a really sweet girl, Annie.  She’s come to me with questions about running tabs and all that, but she’s also come to me with questions like, “Hey, two of the dancers just straight tried to rob my customer, and i told the managers, but they didn’t do anything.  Now what do i do?”

The only thing i can say back to her is, “Nothing.  That pair sell too many bottles and make this club too much money.  They aren’t going to fire them.”

One of those girls has been caught fucking customers on the club floor at least twice. 

Everyone has a hustle.  The customers do, the dancers sure as fuck do, and The Club itself is one giant fucking hustle.  The guy who owns it hustles everyone from the club managers down to the sad bastards who walk in the front door. 

Bartenders can be fired for over-pouring on drinks.  If a bartender fucks up an order, or spills a drink, they pay for replacements out of their own pockets.  Same goes for waitresses.   

House fees are so high; dancers have told me about days where they go home in the negative because they didn’t make enough money to cover their fees.  Dancers pay the DJ $20-$40 depending on their shift and what day it is.  House fees also vary, and the girls can expect to pay anywhere from $65-$85 per shift.  If they want to leave early, they pay a certain amount of money per hour they want to leave early. 

Don’t think this is done out of deference to the customer, though.  The Club doesn’t give a shit about them either.  I have heard a manager tell a customer, “Listen, I don’t doubt what you’re saying is true, but my job isn’t to protect you, it’s to protect the girls.  So whatever you say she did, I’m backing her up.”  

One of the managers hinted to me once that I ought to be nice to the two girls I mentioned earlier.  “They sell bottles”, he said.  “They can make you a lot of money.”

  I smiled and made some comment about how I’m nice to everyone, but i knew i wouldn’t cozy up to those girls.  Not because they’re dishonest whores, but because they’re sloppy dishonest whores.

I respect their decision to be thieves and prostitutes, but I refuse to deal with them if they insist on being so fucking bad at it.   I mean, there are plenty of drunk guys to pickpocket, if you insist on flat-out stealing.  But taking a dude’s phone and holding it for ransom is just so fucking stupid.  And is it really that hard to make arrangements to meet a guy later, at a hotel or his place and fuck there?  Do you really have to fuck him in the champagne room? 

There are definitely dancers who put out for money.  Some will go straight up to a guy and ask if they want to fuck.  I have a dancer friend who will accept offers for sex if the guys were ones she would probably sleep with anyway. 

Waitresses aren’t exempt from this anyway.  There are girls who come in and have designer watches or new smartphones that customers have given them.  That’s their hustle.  Some girls sit and party with their customers, get them to buy them drinks or food.  They hang out with them outside of the club.  My hustle is more of the “hit every table in the place, smile and flirt but never settle” kind.  I’ll put my hand on your knee and your shoulder; ask you if I can get you anything, bending over just enough for you to get a nice view of my wonder-bra enhanced cleavage.  If you ask me if I would like a drink, I’ll smile and say yes, but only stay for one or two before I make my excuses. I’ll come back around in a few minutes and have another, but I’ll always leave.  I’ve had offers from guys who want me to come over to their place and hang out after the club closes.  I’ve never been tempted, because all these offers have been strictly of the “i will not tip you” variety.

But if the situation was right and if a guy wanted to pay me a large amount of money for the pleasure of my non-sexual company, then why not?  Because if you walk in here and you are dumb enough to fall for my hustle, then you best believe I will take you for all that I can.

“When it comes to money, you need to underestimate that shit because we are not the fucking national treasury. You’ll be thinking you have all this money and then when you’re done you’re $200 in the hole.”

“It sucks being nice. We would make so much more money if we were bitches. Like, three times as much as we make now.”

I’m really bored and slightly gassy. Anyone who doesn’t tip me is in for a treat.

I just got groped by some guy who looks like he sells insurance and hhas surprisingly gentle hands.

Work has been somehow off lately. 

This may be due to the fact that i am in the middle of a bout of insomnia that started around the time I got a cold on Valentine’s Day.  And a bunch of personal stuff came up that meant I had to take the last couple of Saturdays off, which meant shifting my whole work schedule, which meant working on days I’m not used to. 

Like last Thursday, for instance.  The first Thursday I have worked in at least a month.  I ended up getting to work two hours late for whatever reason, so my day already felt off balance.  I ended up getting a Champagne room sold just as I was trying to close a previous tab, which meant several minutes of frantic running around to several different places to try to get everything done.  Once things settled, I coasted by on my room, knowing I wouldn’t have time trying to go back and hustle the main floor before closing time.  So I banked on the room giving me a good tip and gleaned what I could from the upstairs tables. 

This is a risky tactic.  There have been times where I have devoted all my time to one specific table, either because I hoped they would tip well, or simply because every visit led to an avalanche of requests that kept me tied up, only to have them tip me $20 on a $200 tab.  Do you know how much work you have to put in to serving someone that much alcohol?  How many trips to the bar, or limes shoved into beer necks or perched on the edges of shot glasses?  How many strippers’ shoes I have almost been hit by, while I walk past the side stages, how many careless drunk’s flailing arms I’ve had to avoid while carrying a fucking heavy tray? And that I usually do it with them groping my ass the entire time?  It’s not a whole hell of a fucking lot, let me tell you.  Anyway, this tab tipped out well, so I had around $180 at the end of the night, which was not bad, considering I had missed a large chunk of it.  And just as I am celebrating my good fortune, one of the bartenders says I didn’t turn in the final customer signature on one of my tabs. 

I have never, in all my time working at this club, failed to turn in a tab slip.  I have gone through every fucking time consuming step every single time, gotten the correct signatures to the right places and the right people every time I have a tab.  I have never missed one.  Except for this one, and it meant I now owed the bar the eighty seven dollar total. 

So, there was that highly irregular rain on my fucking parade. 

I had Friday off, but social obligations meant I was out until the wee small hours anyway.  It was really nice to have fun and be comfortable, though, so that’s all right. 

Saturday Involved several of the dancers organizing a Harlem shake video, and a bar patron sexually harassing the fuck out of one of the bartenders so badly enough that she threw not only his drink into his face, but the whole fucking glass.  And then his neighbor’s glass, and then the guy on the other side of him’s glass, and then the bar napkins, and then some dirty glasses.  It was like watching the video of that Russian meteor exploding.  This tiny, sweet, little, blonde girl, who is even shorter than i am, was kneeling on the bar hurling obscenities and glassware alike, and it was the most glorious thing I have ever seen in my life. 

The story I got from one of the other girls later, during our goodbye line-up, when we bid the customers adieu, was that he had shoved either a phone or a phone number down the front of her uniform and then claimed to have permission to do so because she worked in a strip club, never mind the fact that she’s a fucking bartender, you ass, and even if she wasn’t you still have to pay the stripper before she allows you to put your fucking hands on her. 

Anyway, that guy got thrown out and the bartender got a talking to about throwing possible law suits at the customers.  On top of all that drama, it was a fight night, which meant no on earned shit.  My night was only saved from epic failure by a science professor who wanted to sit and talk.   Some of the newer waitresses were cranky and snappish and one in particular was bitching loudly about not being allowed to go home thirty minutes early and skip nightly cleanup.  My boss responded by telling her to go home and not come in for the next two weeks.  This lead to a heated discussion and pouty glares and the entire time, I was glaring dagger and thinking as hard as I could, “Bitch, you are a fucking waitress.  Your job is not that fucking hard.  You show up, you serve beers, you clean the club.  No one gets to go home early.  Shut your fucking face and do your fucking job because I am tired and you are holding up the god damn line.”

Sunday was more argumentative asses, patrons and waitresses alike, and college kids who don’t fucking tip.  Including a table of jackasses who gave me two different credit cards to try because no one had enough cash to pay for two fucking beers.  Who fucking does that?  At a strip club?  How do you reach adulthood not knowing you should take fucking clash to a fucking strip club?  Of course they bashed out club policies and threatening to take their business and I’m biting my tongue and thinking in my head “honey, you can’t scrape together the cash for a $10 bar tab.  You don’t qualify as business.”  Something must have showed on my face though, because they didn’t leave me a tip. 

There was also a rumor going around that there was a WWE wrestler and his referee partying in one of the VIP suites. 

So work has been somewhat trying lately, on top of which I have not been sleeping.  Today, my day off, I spent in bed. All day. Cause fuck you guys, i am god damn tired. 

Nothing better than being on your period while working at a strip club. Then talking to your coworker, who is also on hers only to be overheard by your manager. Awesome.