Sometime I realize that I lack perspective. My hatred and loathing of the drunk masses blinds me to some very basic truths from time to time and it takes a great effort of will to see beyond them to the underlying reality of the bigger picture.
Which is the primary reason I write this blog-I allow myself to be blinded by trivialities into feeling like I have a shitty job, which I most certainly don't.
The truth is I would hate ANY job I had within a few weeks and that it's probably not the job's fault, it's mine. I'm just plain sick and tired of working for a living. I've had a job almost constantly for nearly 34 years and it grates on me that I haven't used my meager talents to create something better for myself. Instead I've merely lived a life of low standards, happy that I have it better than so many people in the world and allowing myself to be a slave to the instant gratification that Amurrika is so adept at providing.
I wallow in mediocrity, self indulgence and a lack of responsibility, all at the cost of having to work for a living doing something I mostly fucking despise.
In short. I'm Murrikan as fuck.
Now with that being said I often wonder about stuff that I encounter very regularly in the line of my job duties. My innate but somewhat withered sense of curiosity still pokes me in the brain every now and then and I find myself thinking about what's going on in other people's skulls that make them do the things they do.
For instance:
1) How can you not know that your breath is so pungent and malodorous that it stinks up the entirety of a 28' limo bus with seven rows of seating? What the fuck did you eat? How can you not tell? This happened to me twice tonight and I only picked up two groups of people and one lone passenger.
The first time was just one single guy who sat in the very back of the bus. Within a minute I could smell the dumpster-in-Jamaica reek of his breath wafting from the back of the bus, some twenty feet away. In another minute or two the whole interior of the giant vehicle was awash in his stale. rotten mouth fumes and I seriously had to roll a window down and gulp the precious night air. His maw was like a leper colony that lacked even the most basic sanitation in the middle of a god forsaken jungle.
The second time was a group of fuckwit twats and it only took 20 seconds for the hot, fetid breath of one of those dildos to overrun the bus. It smelled like someone had shoved a greasy, day old cheeseburger into a corpse's asshole and then crammed the whole thing into a microwave for 60 seconds before tossing it in ranch dressing.
The stench from the second guy lingered on in the bus for almost twenty minutes after I dropped him at the club, even though I had the windows down. Eventually I stopped at a ghetto gas station and bought one of those green pine tree air fresheners, which I freebased until my sense of smell was gone.
Good fucking Lord people. Eat a goddamn mint every now and then you beer swilling cunts.
2) Why would you go to what is essentially an after hours club and not be willing to pay an outrageous cover charge? If it's the only game in town, it can charge whatever the hell it wants and you either pay it or go home. If money is that much of an issue for you, why are you even fucking out at all, spending it? Why not choose to stay at home and value drink? Or, even better, save the money and do something smart with it. Paying anything more then $3 for a beer is dumb as fuck anyway, so don't bitch about cover charges if all evidence points to the fact that you shouldn't even be out in the first place, you miserable shitcicle.
3) Why do people insist on dropping names at the door? It never works. Only money works and it works every time. On any given Saturday night at least 30% of our post 2 AM crowd will try to drop a name at the door, hoping/expecting that the person will get them in for free. Or they feel that they are clearly important enough to not have to pay a cover.
I don't care who you know and I don't care who you are, pay the cover or walk out the door and back into whatever broke ass life you were leading before you graced my lobby with your presence.
On a personal note, since it's relevant to the topic, I never pay a cover charge, which absolutely makes me a hypocrite. On the incredibly rare occasions I venture out from my lair, I always go to a venue where I know the people who run it and the majority of the staff as well. I do this because I feel comfortable at these establishments and because they never charge me at the door because I won't charge them at my door. Scratch my back sorta thing.
Also I never pay a cover because I NEVER GO TO A PLACE WHERE I GET CHARGED AT THE DOOR FOR THE PRIVILEGE OF PAYING TOO MUCH FOR EVERYTHING. Not saying I've never done it before, but it's not something I relish, even before the service industry ruined going out for me.
I for one resent being gouged for drinks. I know what they cost a bar to make/buy and I know what they pay their bartenders to get it for me. Seeing as how I ALWAYS tip*1, the cost of paying anything over $3 for a drink galls the fuck out of me. I have better things to do with my money.
The answer to all these musings is of course alcohol. Alcohol makes people do insanely stupid things and be able to perfectly justify them in their own heads.
Eat a basket of fried raccoon assholes? Sure.
Pay $20 just to get into a club? OK.
Shell out $6 for bottled water? Why not? Yeah, you just paid for the entire case of water and the owner's third Porsche, but what the hell? You're drunk and thirsty, I get it.
Luckily for me, I've moved past all that. I don't enjoy any part of going out to a bar or restaurant. I end up spending most of my time thinking about what I should be doing with my dough rather than spending it there.
Such is life for the Service-Poisoned among us...
Maybe it's time to hang up the pasties, darlin.
You'r body's still OK to look at but you're face is like clown porn and not in a good way. Or maybe your face is still getting you business, but the body has become a liability. I know strippers who fall into both these categories and they all have one thing in common-it's time to retire, hon or make some serious lifestyle changes.
I got the shit-business from one of our "senior" dancers tonight because I let a guy walk out the door who she says owed her more money. She is one of the more common dancers that this happens with because she stacks stupid amounts of dances on a drunk retard and expects him to understand and honor his debt to her. And if he doesn't then she relies on the Floor Squids to retrieve her money for her but doesn't tip accordingly.
Before I go any further I'd like to point out that on the many occasions I've had the misfortune to be the nearest Floor Pig when she was having a dispute with a customer, I got her money, or most of her money, about 90% of the time. I can be very convincing when I want to be.
She had stacked 15 fucking dances on a guy who was barely operating at a 3rd grade level because of his drunkenness. This amounted to $375 and she received $300 of it without me having to lift a finger. All the time I was overhearing her talking to the guy she kept mentioning the 'agreement' they had, and 'didn't he remember their agreement'.
Your agreement doesn't mean fuck all to me, you slack tittied bird-frightener. He could've agreed to sign over ownership of Google for all I give a shit. What matters to me is how many dances you actually did versus how much money he actually gave you. These crazy bitches act like any drunken promise they secure from a wasted guy is a legally binding contract or something and as a Floor Peon, I'm legally obligated to obtain it for them. Virtually pro bono in most cases.
So I let the guy walk. I'm sick of her 'he owes me for 15 dances' BS and she had already made $300 for 40 minutes of her time. If that's how you have to make a living in this industry, it's time to cash it in baby. Most dudes will fall all over themselves to hand money over to a super hot girl, when you have to start fighting over every dollar, your time is done. Move along. Maybe someone needs a "before" model for a cosmetics line.
She screeched and moaned at me for a few minutes before shuffling off to the dressing room, all beef-curtain hurt at being shorted $75 for her dick-kneading time.
Go die on a cock somewhere you wretched hag.
Old gals can be either very tedious or very good at their jobs, just like younger ones. They tend to be more reliant on scams as their looks fade and their voices start sounding like gravel stuck in a food disposal. They've learned a large number of hustles to fleece the unwary and as their assets wane they're more likely perpetrate them than if they were still a young butterfly rather than an dried up old potato bug past its Sell By date.
And on a final note, we've already hired a new Floor Guy to replace the 2 we've lost and the one additional one we're gonna lose when his new job kicks in. Management told at least one of the Floor Staff that we weren't going to be hiring ANY new hosts, but apparently that turned out to not be true.
Supposedly the new guys is going to be 'one night a week and for fill-ins', but I'd bet good money that within 6 weeks he'll have a better schedule than me.
Faster that a speeding stripper......
But then again I'm a pessimist.
Yours Truly,
-The StripperHerder
*1 Unless the service is super shitty. The trick to this is to tip fat right up front and let the bartender know there's more where that came from if they can just be bothered to remember your face and serve you before some other cheapskates. It's worth it in the end if you happen to be at a busy place.
