Missed It By One Day
Part two:
As excited as I was to see Max and Mia, I was quite disenchanted to see Chad. Not that I was surprised, however-- for the last year Chad has become quite the regular in our fine establishment, and has decided that the rules no longer apply to him. I had a clue he would turn out like this the first time I met him.
It was New Years, this year when I first met Chad. He's a large man, stands about 6'4 and to call him robust would be a compliment. He was sitting at a table with "Kismet," one of my dancers on New Years Eve, drinking a Michelob Ultra the first time I laid eyes on him. He was normal, or so I believed, nothing out of the ordinary really, until Kismet had her first dramatic incident in her dancing career.
Kismet had been dancing for maybe a week, total. She was a student at Private University (or PU for short) and needed the extra cash. She had, unfortunately, forgotten the cardinal rule of stripping: get the money up front. Not surprisingly, after a lap dance with random young fraternity boy, she was denied her pay. Fraternity boy said he already gave it to her, Kismit said otherwise; and as usual, there was nothing we could do about it.
When I walked past his table, Chad called me over.
"Hey, did Kismet ever get her money?"
"What are you talking about?" At this point, I hadn't heard of the incident yet.
"That fucker over there," Chad said, pointing to a young man in a white baseball cap turned around backwards. "He owes her money for his lap dance."
"Well, then why doesn't she go get it?" And why the hell are you involved in this? I was thinking to myself.
"She's in the back, upset," Chad said, "but if I have to go over there and kick his ass, I swear I will." He scowled and crossed his arms around his massive chest.
At this point I figured I had this guys number. Heavy guy, alone on New Years, probably deeply insecure. Domineering mother, maybe absent father, "savior" complex, and potential stalker.
"Look darlin," I said, squatting at the table, "if Kismet is going to make it in this business she has to grow a tougher skin about these things." Chad started to interrupt but I barreled on. "Yes it sucks that she's out twenty bucks, and yes, I'm sure she's upset about the whole situation, but these things happen and it's not up to you to go around kicking random guys asses for girls you don't even know."
Chad was quiet, but still pissed; every now and then stealing menacing looks at the offending fraternity boy.
The next weekend Chad was back, and so it was the weekend after that, the weekend after that, and so on and so forth until present time.
Over time Chad had elevated himself from "customer" status to a fixture in the club; rubbing elbows with management and other staff, and beginning to assume that certain rules no longer applied to him. This is a common occurrence in a certain type of man regarding strip clubs.
Three weeks ago Chad came in and decided to take a seat on the side of the bar, where we don't allow customers to sit. The seats on the side of the bar are directly next to the dressing room door, and if you're sitting there you have a perfect view inside the dressing room whenever someone opens the door. Chad knew this, but again, assumed that since he was now a "regular," these rules didn't apply to him.
Raymond was sitting at a table by the front door when he motioned for me to come over.
"Hey," he said, pointing to the bar, "tell Chad to move for me, he's not supposed to be sitting there."
"No problem," I replied, and headed off to complete my task.
"Hey Chad," I said, approaching him, "would you please move to another side of the bar or maybe a table?"
"Why?" He turned to look at me, perplexed.
"Because customers aren't supposed to sit here, you know that."
Chad looked across the bar to where Raymond was sitting, and started to scowl. He got up out of the chair and stalked over to a round table in the corner, plopped down, and crossed his arms across his chest again; exactly the way he did when Kismet had her drama.
He was still looking sour ten minutes later when I decided to find out what was bothering him.
"What's wrong?" I lit a cigarette and sat down at the table.
"Fucking Raymond. He knows I can't sit at these tables and now he's just being an asshole about it!" Chad's face started to turn red, anger radiating off his body.
"Why can't you sit at these tables?" I was curious, maybe it was a comfortability thing.
"Because if I sit out here," ("out here" being the bar, I suppose), "I'll get hit hustled all night long and I can't afford that. Raymond knows that, and he knows that why I have to sit on that side of the bar. I don't come up here because I want to, I come up here to baby-sit the girls!"
Red flag, ladies and gentlemen. Red flag.
"Chad, we have people to baby-sit the girls, they're called 'employees,'" I said, beginning to get annoyed.
"Yeah, well, what the fuck ever."
At this point I left the table. Not long after that one of our dancers, Antonia, was feeling sick. She had drank too much, and apparently was going to die. She was in the dressing room, laid out on the floor, "hyperventilating" and breathing into a plastic bag. Basically, she was drunk.
She came out of the dressing room a little while later to perform her set, but felt too sick to continue and ran off stage and back to the dressing room during the first song. Chad jumped out of his chair, as if to go after her, as I just happened to be walking by.
"Chad," I admonished, "sit down!"
"Oh, shut the fuck up!" He sat back down and resumed his stance of glaring angrily around the bar with his arms crossed around his chest.
He's been on my shit list ever since.
Back to Saturday night. Chad didn't arrive with Max and Mia, but because he "knows" Mia, as well as you can know a dancer without knowing her real name, I suppose, he sat down at their table, along with several other dancers.
They had been drinking for about an hour, and I was at the table, dropping off a fresh round of shots, when the incident occurred.
Eve was sitting in between Max and Chad, and suddenly, Chad grabbed Eve around the head, pulled her face to his, and literally tried to stick his tongue in her mouth. Eve put both of her hands on Chad's forehead and tried to push his face away from hers. After a moment, he relented.
"Don't ever fucking do that, Chad!" Eve pointed her finger in his face. "That is a no-no!"
"Oh, what the fuck ever," Chad replied. "Go the fuck away."
Eve looked up at me, and I motioned for Pierce to come over. I had just filled him in on the drama when I turned and noticed Sandra and Tracy enter the bar.
"Oh great," I said, sighing to Pierce, "here comes more drama."
Pierce shook his head and turned to handle the last incident as I headed off to deal with Sandra and Tracy.
To be continued...
As excited as I was to see Max and Mia, I was quite disenchanted to see Chad. Not that I was surprised, however-- for the last year Chad has become quite the regular in our fine establishment, and has decided that the rules no longer apply to him. I had a clue he would turn out like this the first time I met him.
It was New Years, this year when I first met Chad. He's a large man, stands about 6'4 and to call him robust would be a compliment. He was sitting at a table with "Kismet," one of my dancers on New Years Eve, drinking a Michelob Ultra the first time I laid eyes on him. He was normal, or so I believed, nothing out of the ordinary really, until Kismet had her first dramatic incident in her dancing career.
Kismet had been dancing for maybe a week, total. She was a student at Private University (or PU for short) and needed the extra cash. She had, unfortunately, forgotten the cardinal rule of stripping: get the money up front. Not surprisingly, after a lap dance with random young fraternity boy, she was denied her pay. Fraternity boy said he already gave it to her, Kismit said otherwise; and as usual, there was nothing we could do about it.
When I walked past his table, Chad called me over.
"Hey, did Kismet ever get her money?"
"What are you talking about?" At this point, I hadn't heard of the incident yet.
"That fucker over there," Chad said, pointing to a young man in a white baseball cap turned around backwards. "He owes her money for his lap dance."
"Well, then why doesn't she go get it?" And why the hell are you involved in this? I was thinking to myself.
"She's in the back, upset," Chad said, "but if I have to go over there and kick his ass, I swear I will." He scowled and crossed his arms around his massive chest.
At this point I figured I had this guys number. Heavy guy, alone on New Years, probably deeply insecure. Domineering mother, maybe absent father, "savior" complex, and potential stalker.
"Look darlin," I said, squatting at the table, "if Kismet is going to make it in this business she has to grow a tougher skin about these things." Chad started to interrupt but I barreled on. "Yes it sucks that she's out twenty bucks, and yes, I'm sure she's upset about the whole situation, but these things happen and it's not up to you to go around kicking random guys asses for girls you don't even know."
Chad was quiet, but still pissed; every now and then stealing menacing looks at the offending fraternity boy.
The next weekend Chad was back, and so it was the weekend after that, the weekend after that, and so on and so forth until present time.
Over time Chad had elevated himself from "customer" status to a fixture in the club; rubbing elbows with management and other staff, and beginning to assume that certain rules no longer applied to him. This is a common occurrence in a certain type of man regarding strip clubs.
Three weeks ago Chad came in and decided to take a seat on the side of the bar, where we don't allow customers to sit. The seats on the side of the bar are directly next to the dressing room door, and if you're sitting there you have a perfect view inside the dressing room whenever someone opens the door. Chad knew this, but again, assumed that since he was now a "regular," these rules didn't apply to him.
Raymond was sitting at a table by the front door when he motioned for me to come over.
"Hey," he said, pointing to the bar, "tell Chad to move for me, he's not supposed to be sitting there."
"No problem," I replied, and headed off to complete my task.
"Hey Chad," I said, approaching him, "would you please move to another side of the bar or maybe a table?"
"Why?" He turned to look at me, perplexed.
"Because customers aren't supposed to sit here, you know that."
Chad looked across the bar to where Raymond was sitting, and started to scowl. He got up out of the chair and stalked over to a round table in the corner, plopped down, and crossed his arms across his chest again; exactly the way he did when Kismet had her drama.
He was still looking sour ten minutes later when I decided to find out what was bothering him.
"What's wrong?" I lit a cigarette and sat down at the table.
"Fucking Raymond. He knows I can't sit at these tables and now he's just being an asshole about it!" Chad's face started to turn red, anger radiating off his body.
"Why can't you sit at these tables?" I was curious, maybe it was a comfortability thing.
"Because if I sit out here," ("out here" being the bar, I suppose), "I'll get hit hustled all night long and I can't afford that. Raymond knows that, and he knows that why I have to sit on that side of the bar. I don't come up here because I want to, I come up here to baby-sit the girls!"
Red flag, ladies and gentlemen. Red flag.
"Chad, we have people to baby-sit the girls, they're called 'employees,'" I said, beginning to get annoyed.
"Yeah, well, what the fuck ever."
At this point I left the table. Not long after that one of our dancers, Antonia, was feeling sick. She had drank too much, and apparently was going to die. She was in the dressing room, laid out on the floor, "hyperventilating" and breathing into a plastic bag. Basically, she was drunk.
She came out of the dressing room a little while later to perform her set, but felt too sick to continue and ran off stage and back to the dressing room during the first song. Chad jumped out of his chair, as if to go after her, as I just happened to be walking by.
"Chad," I admonished, "sit down!"
"Oh, shut the fuck up!" He sat back down and resumed his stance of glaring angrily around the bar with his arms crossed around his chest.
He's been on my shit list ever since.
Back to Saturday night. Chad didn't arrive with Max and Mia, but because he "knows" Mia, as well as you can know a dancer without knowing her real name, I suppose, he sat down at their table, along with several other dancers.
They had been drinking for about an hour, and I was at the table, dropping off a fresh round of shots, when the incident occurred.
Eve was sitting in between Max and Chad, and suddenly, Chad grabbed Eve around the head, pulled her face to his, and literally tried to stick his tongue in her mouth. Eve put both of her hands on Chad's forehead and tried to push his face away from hers. After a moment, he relented.
"Don't ever fucking do that, Chad!" Eve pointed her finger in his face. "That is a no-no!"
"Oh, what the fuck ever," Chad replied. "Go the fuck away."
Eve looked up at me, and I motioned for Pierce to come over. I had just filled him in on the drama when I turned and noticed Sandra and Tracy enter the bar.
"Oh great," I said, sighing to Pierce, "here comes more drama."
Pierce shook his head and turned to handle the last incident as I headed off to deal with Sandra and Tracy.
To be continued...
posted by Jennifer at 1:01 PM
10 Comments:
Can we say stalker?????
boobs, I'm surprised that buggs you...i never thought about it like that. I'm usually really good at sweet talking people, i guess that's why.
I have always called them "my dancers," i never really thought about it. I guess it's because they're like my girls, you know? i look after them and listen to their problems and try to take care of them.. i guess!
You seem to have a really good relationship you work with! I suppose that's a must at a strip club, though.
Wow, Chad sounds like the classic stalker dude, who doesn't take no for an answer, until someone makes it a permanent answer, like with a bullet.
What a jerkoff. Sounds like he hangs around the bar because he thinks he can insinuate himself into the girls' lives, and become their knight in tarnished armor.
In reality, he creeps out every other woman he meets, and no one wants to date him because he's a giant jerk, with an entitlement complex.
Yeah, I hate people, does it show?
Damn woman!!!!! You have got to stop leaving us hanging like this.
Still love you though.
Hi Waitress
I recently found your blog and immediatley put it in my favourites folder.
Thanks for the interesting stories and for changing my perception on both the type of people who work and patronise strip clubs.
Looking forward to your next installment.
personally, I'd have had his ass tossed at the first "fuck you" from stalker Chad. he needs therapy, not a lap dance! and bless you Waitress, for not crackin him upside his simple head.
Boobs, when you work with this many girls, it becomes a science experiment of sorts, like all of them align their cycles...PMS w/ a punch. thus we tend to take care of our "sisters" like family. would you preferr Waitress calls them her "stable"??? oy, that sounds bad....lol
GJ
I can't take the suspense! I hate cliffhangers.
I agree with those upthread who would have kicked him out after the first fuck you, but I also know that you walk a fine line. Essentially, part of the job of every strip club employee is putting up with men's shit. Even if that shit is really rude, even if it borders on abusive, you find a way to put up with it until you just can't. If you kick people out at every "fuck you", you don't have much business.
Now THIS is entertainment. I'm flattered to be the subject of a blog post, albeit one rife with exaggeration.
I am indeed "Chad", so flatteringly referred to as "robust". In truth it would be more accurately described as "fat", but I appreciate our Goddess's kindness. Still, kindness doesn't excuse inaccuracy or mean-spiritedness.
As to the first incident, I had no idea that _alerting the staff_ was an inappropriate way to handle somebody getting ripped off in the lap dance area. Kismet told me that she was new at this game, and I could tell she didn't want to make waves. Still, it seemed only decent to press the issue lest this guy get away with stealing more money. I am guilty of saying I was going to kick the guy's ass if he didn't pay up or quit stealing dollars off the stage. Michelob--what can I say?
I find it strange, though, to be described as stalkeresque, since Kismet is now my closest friend on earth. As well, nobody seems to have a problem with me besides the Goddess herself. I suppose they're secretly despising me as they're offering to lend me DVDs and hanging out with me outside the club?
And the "look darlin'" speech? I will allow a little dramatic license and let that slide, along with the copious occurances of the phrase "fuck you". But that isn't the way I remember it.
In truth I am perhaps the least of the "rule breakers", never having hauled my junk out in the lap dance area, and seldom if ever allowing my hands to wander. I can get five dancers to back me up for every one that would even hint at such a thing. I think five is probably a conservative estimate.
The "sitting at the bar" incident is also a little mangled. The reason for my annoyance was that I was being asked to move, but others were clearly not subject to the same restriction. In fact, there's someone sitting there nearly every time I go in.
As well, "babysitting" is a fairly commonly used joking phrase that refers to the situation when one of your "real life" _friends_ calls you in to keep her company. I can't afford to throw hundreds of dollars every night, because I'm not Bill Gates. So sometimes I like to hang out at the bar and stay out of the way. My friend was asking me to come in for three nights a week, and maybe more, during that time. So it's not so sinister a thing as it was made out to be.
As well, when she said "Chad, sit down!" I was not actually trying to follow Antonia. As she stood there with her hand on my chest as if to restrain me, I was holding a fist full of dollar bills that I was trying to use to tip someone. If somebody was hyperventilating, I failed to notice it. I told her to take her hands off me, because it's pretty irritating to be restrained. That goes double when you don't understand why.
As well, the part of the Eve story that you have not been told is that she has also been a friend of mine _outside_ the club. If I were going to "molest her", as the Goddess accused me of to another dancer, there have been times in which that would have been both easier and more tempting than sitting in a bar full of people. Yes, I was inappropriate because in my tipsiness I kissed her. But there was no grasping of her head. It was not violent, just inappropriate. Most of her irritation was that I had done it in front of her customer, because if some guys get the idea that a girl is involved with somebody, they stop tipping her. Odd, but true. Let me be clear, though. I am not saying I am or ever have been romantically involved with Eve. I most certainly have not.
There was no "go the fuck away", either. In actuality, she was trying to tell me she could get fired for doing that. I was embarrassed that it had been taken so seriously, and fairly ashamed, and I couldn't really stand to talk about it right then, so I held up a hand and didn't listen. Later, though, I apologized profusely, and it was good enough for everybody but the Goddess. Eve and I are still friendly today. In repentance, I even told the manager what I had done. I accept responsibility for my screwups.
Now I'm on the "shit list", despite being nice to the Goddess at every turn. Dutifully forking over dollar after dollar every time she wiggled her ass at me, taking interest in her well-being, and trying to be as friendly and supportive as I could. Despite being pegged so early on as a piece of crap, she feigned an awful lot of interest in my own well-being. I salute her acting skills, but for my part, I was sincere.
Beyond that, occasionally I still make an attempt to be friendly to her, but she'll have none of it. If hating me makes her happy, then I suppose it's no skin off my back. But I do think it's kind of sad that anyone would want to reduce a fairly decent human being to an exaggerated cartoon character for someone's amusement.
I shall be interested to see if the Goddess has a sense of honor and fair play to match her zest for exaggeration, and allows this comment to be posted.
Yours,
"Chad"
Whoops. Sorry. I thought the Goddess was the mistress of the blog. That's who I was referring to, lest there be any confusion.
It's not a bad nickname, now that I think of it. It seems somehow appropriate. Certainly more so than "I'll Never Tell". There's a lot of "telling" going on around here to be sure.
Post a Comment
<< Home