This is yet another hodgepodge frankenstein of an installment, stuck together from handy parts I had laying around and jolted into life by an infusion of fresh material brought on by recent club events. It knows both goodness and evil, pride and shame, rejoice and resignation.
Therefore you may find it a bit more patchwork than my standard semi-coherent and uncompromising style, but don't let that fool you. A whole bunch of emotional fizz went into this installment, it just didn't do it all in one night.
Let's begin on a high note. You know, for something different than the norm.
Fare Thee Well, Evil Penis Gobblin
God doesn't completely hate Floor Guys. Mostly he does, that much is obvious to any rational human being. But every now and then, and probably just to keep a tiny flicker of hope guttering away in our hearts, he does something nice for us.
Like tonight when He allowed an annoying mule-mouthed skeeve to be fired and she took her best friend and weeble buddy, StubbleGut*1 with her. It was like Christmas, your birthday and the best head you've ever had all rolled into one and served in a free Bentley.
It was, quite simply, the best thing that has ever happened to me at this club. I felt what I have heard described as 'happiness' and I enjoyed it. It was a state of being where I didn't want to be a dick to anything at all. In fact I wanted to pet some kittens and give Jordans to homeless kids. I wanted to hug the whole world and reassure it that that evil goddamn braysnatch*2 could never hurt it again. At least not my small portion of it.
It was a good night and those are rarer than the albino alligators that I enjoy making jerky out of.
I Am A Dissatisfied Customer I'll Have You Know.
In this industry we have a pretty fair number of what would refer to themselves as 'dissatisfied' if we actually cared to poll our customer base on their thoughts and feelings as they were exiting the club. This can happen for any number of reasons, the majority of which are the patron's fault and may include:
-Unrealistic expectations
-Failure to receive head in a champagne room
-Getting ripped off by a dancer
-Our ATM's are too difficult/too expensive to use
-You didn't want to pay a cover charge
-You didn't like your drink
-You lost something
-It turned out the stripper you had a 'connection' with was a soulless cunt
-You weren't allowed to do whatever the hell you want
-Our state's laws differ from the ones you're used to
-We didn't allow you to sit in a VIP section without purchasing something that might actually qualify you as a VIP
-Our dancers weren't hot/numerous enough for you
-You couldn't buy coke from anyone in the club
-We didn't have an Asian stripper
-We were out of shrimp
-You got thrown out of the club for doing meth in the bathroom
-A hammered stripper said inappropriate things to you
-Your hat looks different after you get it back from coat check
-You feel like we should give you free passes to come back to a place you clearly didn't enjoy
-You were WAY too drunk to be roaming around free with a credit card
The list is practically endless. The bottom line is you didn't enjoy your titty-club experience. What separates you from the animals, or those about to get beaten/go to jail is how you handle the situation. I've based all the correct answers on the assumption you were sober/smart enough to make reasonably intelligent decisions, so don't disappoint me.
1) A dancer has just done one and a half private dances for you and says she did three. She demands money and when you try to explain that she is mistaken about the amount of cash owed she gets all wild eyed and angry and uses her thrice-a-day power to Summon A Bouncer. You:
A) Curse her out vehemently as you pull a knife and start slashing wildly at anything within reach.
B) Elaborate calmly and without being a dick what just happened and hope the bouncer will work with you. Explain that you were even willing to pay full price for the half song that she did, but there was no third song. Hope as you do this that there's some sort of system in place to protect the likes of you from stripper depredation and that the stripper in question isn't a good tipper.
C) Explain to the bouncer/manager WHO you are, let them know in no uncertain terms that you are an Important Person and a Very Good Friend of the Owner and that if the situation progresses any further down this unacceptable path that you will be forced to call the owner and have everyone fired immediately.
D) Call the cops and tell them a stripper ripped you off. They like it when you use 9-1-1 for this purpose.
2) Because you're an idiot, you lost your cellphone at a strip club. You:
A) Look for it yourself, carefully retracing your movements through the club ecosystem and checking every possible crevice you may have lost it or set it down in.
B) Accuse the bitch you've been hanging out with of stealing it and make a huge fucking scene, yo.
C) Enlist a Floor Host's help locating your lost item, and tip him something when he finds it for you. Doesn't have to be anything big, even a fiver says "Thank you Godlike Giant. I am a drunk, mongloid wastrel of a man but even in the depths of my own booze fueled stupidity, I can still spare a little something for someone who saved me a boatload of anguish."
D) Call the cops to report a stolen phone. See how that works out for ya.
3) Your wasted friend just racked up $300 in dance fees because you left him unsupervised long enough to do so. Your next move is:
A) Deny any knowledge of your friend's existence and pretend you don't know him when the bouncers drag him before you, piss stained and wailing. Wrinkle your brow in confusion convincingly; calmly exit club.
B) Sigh to yourself for having retarded friends and pay his dance tab, making sure to include a little something-something for the put upon bouncer who had to haul your worthless, vomit scented friend in front of you and offer you the unique opportunity to keep your stewed buddy from going to jail.
C) Say that you need to go out to your car to get some cash. When the club staff expresses their doubt about this plan, offer your driver's license as ransom to hold until you get back, it'll only take a moment. You have to sell it or you'll have a bouncer on you like ironic work boots on a thug.
When you reach your car, leave. Fuck your friend. A new license will set you back $15.
D) Call the cops. They will be very sympathetic to your friend's situation. Maybe use the word 'kidnap' or 'extortion'.
4) Your food took 93 minutes to arrive and when it did it tasted like something unfortunate that had died in a chimney and then got scraped onto your plate. You can already feel it sowing discord and anarchy in your bowels. You:
A) Curse your decision to eat food from a titty club, what were you thinking? Head for the men's room to execute an emergency evacuation, dreading the shame and noise/stench that is likely to occur. Hobble from the club a broken man and pray for a life of anonymity.
B) Refuse to accept the dried out remains of what you ordered and complain to the Manager. If you're polite and non-twatty about, he'll likely comp it or take it off your tab.
C) Be a complete and total asshole to the waitress and anyone else who comes to talk to you about your dissatisfaction with the bland, uninteresting and potentially deadly food you've been served.
D) Call the cops. They relish the thought of helping you in a dispute over a subpar $12 quesadilla.
"I am appalled that the guy you pay $8 an hour can't make sushi."
5) In an altercation that began over a Long Island Iced Tea, you end up sustaining serious facial injuries from a South American stripper's fearsome stiletto heel. You:
A) Wait until you're released from the hospital and then immediately go get a dance from that same fiery Latino gal who maimed you. She's so fuckin hot...
B) Threaten to sue the club but never actually do it because lawyers want cash up front to take on the club's intimidating legal team and you've spent all your money on strippers.
C) Sue the club and settle out of court for your medical bills plus $30,000 in the club's funny money and a VIP card good for 7 1/2 months.
D) Marry the stripper who disfigured you and care for her children, happy in the knowledge that she lets you stick your nose in her hoo-ha every couple of weeks for your trouble.
Meet the team, part two.
Consuela-Another fun thing that happened was when one of our Puerto Rican employees got her thong all in a knot because because I called one of her friends 'Mexican'. I legitimately thought the girl was Mexican. It was a reprehensible, horrible mistake on my part and I have no idea how I made it. She continued to bitch and moan and make disparaging remarks about people from Mexico until I started getting aggravated and eventually screamed at her:
"I can't tell the fucking difference!"
Man, if I thought she was upset before, I was wrong.
She went critical. Starts screeching at me rapid fire in at least two languages. I thought I caught some Peruvian in there too but couldn't be sure because I don't know what Peruvian sounds like. I let her run down while I drank six beers. A Puerto Rican complaining about stuff while they're upset can take a long time...
Finally she said her piece or simply ran out of breath and I took the opportunity to ask her "So if one of them's NOT wearing a kilt, could you tell the difference between an Irishman and a Scot? What about a Korean and someone from Hong Kong? South African and Dutch?"
Didn't think so, Suzy. Shut your fucking blowjob hole.
Sir Grendel Berserkerheim Von CrushaHo VI-A Manager with teeth. Sir Grendel doesn't put up with much shit from dancers and has, in fact, fired more of them in his time there than any other manager. The fact that the owner forces us to hire most of the worthless twats back notwithstanding, Mr. CrushaHo is like a breath of fresh air in the middle of a dysentery outbreak. He's fearless.
A fight in the club? No problem, Sir Grendel relishes hurting douchebags. Cater to pretentious high rollers? He's got you covered. He's not afraid to comp a $50 bottle to someone about to drop $5,000 at the club.
He's everyone's favorite manager and as a result I only get to work with him maybe once in every ten shifts or so. Fucking typical...
Delores Bleedalot-Useless. Unmotivated. Waitress. These are words which describe Delores, a girl who has about the same level of aptitude as a waitress that I would have if I was to be thrust into the role of a ballet dancer or a theoretical physicist. To say that Ms. Bleedalot is not good at cocktail waitressing would be missing the opportunity to say that she is only slightly better at it than a belligerent, myopic walrus would be, and I'm not going to do that.
I call her 'Bleedalot' because if you were to believe her every work related excuse concerning her monthly cycle, you'd be forced to believe she menstruated 22 days a month and that her uterus occasionally prolapses. In addition to this she seems to possess a magical talent for cutting herself at work. If there is a broken glass anywhere in the building, which is pretty much every night, her body will apparently give itself a sympathy wound. Kinda like drunk stigmata.
It's fucking weird. Happily for me I won't have to put up with her much longer because she will be fired any day now. I personally can't believe she's lasted this long...
Eternica-A dancer who is rumored to be 314 years old. I estimate her true age is much closer to 600 or 700 based on some conversations I've had with her, but I'm not an anthropologist so I'm just guessing. She appears, with the benefit of extensive makeup, dim lighting and alcohol diffused perception to be somewhere in her late 40's or early 50's, but no one of that age should know as much about the Thirty Years War or Renaissance Europe as she does without a Master's in history.
I choose to believe that she knows all of this information because she lived through it. It may or may not be the case but it amuses me to think about her interacting with Michangelo, giving a lap dance to Gustavus Adolphus or possibly even groping the crotch of Isaac Newton for four pence and a farthing.
*1 She's called StubbleGut because her bush comes up to her bellybutton and encircles it like a besieging horde surrounding a neolithic hill fort.
*2 It means exactly what it sounds like it means.**
** But if you insist on thinking of a braysnatch as a mythological beast that you may encounter in a role playing game (which I know many of you are already doing, you fucking geeks), then be aware that it is stunningly resilient, wildly hard to kill and that its many Special Attacks include:
Painful Frequency (unlimited per day)-Stripper unleashes a scream that threatens to go subsonic and destroy larger mammals' nerve centers. Extremely painful for Large Class humans and other species such as dolphins, bats and wendigos.
Brass Tears (unlimited per day)-Uncontrolled sobbing saps the will of beings with low Wisdom, Intelligence or Constitution, making saves vs crying chick highly unlikely.
Badger of Misery (once per day)-Enables the stripper to become a whirlwind of raking claws, gnashing teeth, flailing spike heels and often, a rocks glass. Unbelievably dangerous, like trying to tackle and subdue a threshing combine.
Summon Hood Rats (once per shift)-Stripper calls upon her clan mates to rebel against the local authority.**
**And authority always wins.
