All this for ten bucks!?!?
It never ceases to amaze me what people will fight over. Sometimes I just sit back and go "wow, are you kidding me?" Last weekend was like that.
We had a dancer come back to work last weekend, for the first time in about three months. The reason for her extended hiatus is neither here nor there, it will just suffice to say that she had quite the flair for dramatics. Regardless, I welcomed her back and committed myself to running drinks for the night.
About two hours into my shift I'm waiting on Dancer V's table when she supplies me with this wonderful tidbit of information.
"I'm going to get fired tonight," she said, no real emotion in her voice.
"Why is that honey?"
"Because I'm going to kick N's ass. Bitch owes me ten dollars."
I'm not too concerned at this point, remembering that V does like to "write checks her mouth can't cash" or some other tired cliche about talking more shit than you're willing to show.
"Look, V, make sure you're not bringing this drama to the front of the house. If you have a problem, deal with it in the back."
I continue on as usual, the rhythm of waiting tables synchronizing with the heavy beat emitting from the DJ booth. A few hours later I'm at the front door translating for some Hispanic patron's when N comes in.
"Where's [manager]? I want to talk to him," she says, while slapping her fist into an open palm.
"Honey, he's outside right now dealing with something, can I help you with anything?"
"Yeah, you can get that bitch V away from my fucking customers! Every time I get up to go onstage she's running over there taking them to the lap dance room and fucking with my money!" N is angry at this point, and whether or not I feel she has the right to be, the situation needs to be diffused.
"Look," I say, putting my hands on her shoulders, "why are you here tonight?"
"To make some fucking money," she replies.
"Right, and how much money are you making while you're standing in here with me?"
"None, but I'm not making any fucking money out there with her hustling all my fucking customers either." She has a point.
"Ok, N, do you know why God gave us shoulders?"
"Why?"
"To let shit roll off them. Now, go out there, make your money, and deal with whatever needs to be dealt with after work."
My impromptu speech seems to have some effect and N goes back inside and back to work. I stick my head outside and tell B (manager) that I've done my best to calm N down for the time being.
A little while later they decide to send V home, apparently for bringing too much drama into the front of the house. If you don't understand, let me explain:
People, mostly men, come to strip clubs for various reasons, but one of the more prevalent being to get away from the bitching and drama that they have at home. They like the fantasy and the women who will sit and listen to their stories--be it for a fee, but regardless, they enjoy the break from monotony. When dancers have their own interpersonal drama (which is quite frequent) bringing it to the customer's attention loses business for the club. Lost business for the club means less money for everyone. V wouldn't keep her problems in the back, so they deemed in necessary to send her home.
Apparently V wasn't too happy with this news, and after she walked out the front door, she turned right around and came back in.
Door guy motions for me and tells me to go find V and tell her she needs to leave. As I'm looking around for her, I see her making an infuriated b-line to the table directly in front of the front door--the table where N is sitting.
Now, N is no dummy, and although it may appear she is talking to her customer, she is actually watching V approach from the corner of her eye. When V is approximately four steps from her chair, she tells her customer "hang on one second for me." Fabulous. Absolutely fabulous.
Before I can get to her, V swings at N, misses, and pulls off her wig instead. N kicks off her shoes, flies out of her chair, over the back, and tackles V to the ground--all in one fluid movement. I arrive at about this time, and attempt to get N in some version of a full nelson to get her off of V. The struggle ensues for half a minute before other people realize what's going on and one of our floor guys manages to help me pull the two women apart.
Now I am sitting on the ground with N in front of me, attempting to catch my breath. (I really should quit smoking.) DJ is screaming into the microphone for me to get N into the dressing room, but we can't seem to find N's shoes. *Walking on the floor without shoes on is a big no-no. The chances of you stepping on broken glass are very high, regardless of how many times we may vacuum the carpet* So, while the search is on for N's shoes, random customers keep coming over to check on us, and offer to help us up.
Finally the shoes are found and we make our way into the dressing room. I pick N's wig up from off the floor and stick it on her head. It was rather comical. While I'm in the dressing room, three of the dancers who had just left come flying into the door, plying N with the usual "what the hell happened" questions.
As N is recounting her story I walk out of the dressing room, smiling and shaking my head.
Ten dollars. All this for ten dollars.
Wow.
We had a dancer come back to work last weekend, for the first time in about three months. The reason for her extended hiatus is neither here nor there, it will just suffice to say that she had quite the flair for dramatics. Regardless, I welcomed her back and committed myself to running drinks for the night.
About two hours into my shift I'm waiting on Dancer V's table when she supplies me with this wonderful tidbit of information.
"I'm going to get fired tonight," she said, no real emotion in her voice.
"Why is that honey?"
"Because I'm going to kick N's ass. Bitch owes me ten dollars."
I'm not too concerned at this point, remembering that V does like to "write checks her mouth can't cash" or some other tired cliche about talking more shit than you're willing to show.
"Look, V, make sure you're not bringing this drama to the front of the house. If you have a problem, deal with it in the back."
I continue on as usual, the rhythm of waiting tables synchronizing with the heavy beat emitting from the DJ booth. A few hours later I'm at the front door translating for some Hispanic patron's when N comes in.
"Where's [manager]? I want to talk to him," she says, while slapping her fist into an open palm.
"Honey, he's outside right now dealing with something, can I help you with anything?"
"Yeah, you can get that bitch V away from my fucking customers! Every time I get up to go onstage she's running over there taking them to the lap dance room and fucking with my money!" N is angry at this point, and whether or not I feel she has the right to be, the situation needs to be diffused.
"Look," I say, putting my hands on her shoulders, "why are you here tonight?"
"To make some fucking money," she replies.
"Right, and how much money are you making while you're standing in here with me?"
"None, but I'm not making any fucking money out there with her hustling all my fucking customers either." She has a point.
"Ok, N, do you know why God gave us shoulders?"
"Why?"
"To let shit roll off them. Now, go out there, make your money, and deal with whatever needs to be dealt with after work."
My impromptu speech seems to have some effect and N goes back inside and back to work. I stick my head outside and tell B (manager) that I've done my best to calm N down for the time being.
A little while later they decide to send V home, apparently for bringing too much drama into the front of the house. If you don't understand, let me explain:
People, mostly men, come to strip clubs for various reasons, but one of the more prevalent being to get away from the bitching and drama that they have at home. They like the fantasy and the women who will sit and listen to their stories--be it for a fee, but regardless, they enjoy the break from monotony. When dancers have their own interpersonal drama (which is quite frequent) bringing it to the customer's attention loses business for the club. Lost business for the club means less money for everyone. V wouldn't keep her problems in the back, so they deemed in necessary to send her home.
Apparently V wasn't too happy with this news, and after she walked out the front door, she turned right around and came back in.
Door guy motions for me and tells me to go find V and tell her she needs to leave. As I'm looking around for her, I see her making an infuriated b-line to the table directly in front of the front door--the table where N is sitting.
Now, N is no dummy, and although it may appear she is talking to her customer, she is actually watching V approach from the corner of her eye. When V is approximately four steps from her chair, she tells her customer "hang on one second for me." Fabulous. Absolutely fabulous.
Before I can get to her, V swings at N, misses, and pulls off her wig instead. N kicks off her shoes, flies out of her chair, over the back, and tackles V to the ground--all in one fluid movement. I arrive at about this time, and attempt to get N in some version of a full nelson to get her off of V. The struggle ensues for half a minute before other people realize what's going on and one of our floor guys manages to help me pull the two women apart.
Now I am sitting on the ground with N in front of me, attempting to catch my breath. (I really should quit smoking.) DJ is screaming into the microphone for me to get N into the dressing room, but we can't seem to find N's shoes. *Walking on the floor without shoes on is a big no-no. The chances of you stepping on broken glass are very high, regardless of how many times we may vacuum the carpet* So, while the search is on for N's shoes, random customers keep coming over to check on us, and offer to help us up.
Finally the shoes are found and we make our way into the dressing room. I pick N's wig up from off the floor and stick it on her head. It was rather comical. While I'm in the dressing room, three of the dancers who had just left come flying into the door, plying N with the usual "what the hell happened" questions.
As N is recounting her story I walk out of the dressing room, smiling and shaking my head.
Ten dollars. All this for ten dollars.
Wow.
posted by Jennifer at 8:49 AM
9 Comments:
I'd pay ten dollars to see that.
that so wasn`t for just 10 dollars
Well, in essence, anon, it was. V was hustling N's tables to make a point about money, considering N owed V ten dollars. So, cause and effect occurs, but the root scenario was the discrepancy over the ten bucks.
Waitresss
Ummm i respectfully dissagree...
If was about only 10 bucks the gal would just let it go.. but if you let it go once, then second, soon you might need another place to work.. so was more about her work then anything else. Oh well add maybe some pride to that.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
hey anon, are you who I think you are?
Regardless, the girl hadn't been back to work in close to three months, for reasons that had nothing to do with the ten dollars. Unless you have some insider information, I would say trust me on my observations
Hey there:)
I am not who you think i am, i live at over 10000 miles from your place;) But i should have the right of my opinion. Right?
everyone has the right to their own opinon. question: how do you know how far you are from me if it doesn't say where i am?
Remember something darling. NO matter how small you make a pankake there's always two sides. The why's and why not's were of no importance to the story. Any more comments attempting to "explain" things will be deleted. There will be no back and forth drama started on this blog. Be aware of that fact.
Waitress.
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