Show Me the Pussy

There's a psychological effect that happens to a man's body when his home team wins. A long, long, time ago, when men used to go out and do battle, when they would win it would cause a raise in testosterone levels. Now a days, since we no longer "get out and do battle" as we used to in warrior times, men have placed those same emotions and triggers into their respective football teams. So, naturally, when a man's team wins a game, his testosterone levels increase-- and then he thinks it's a good idea to come to my bar and bug the shit out of me.

Last Saturday, State U had a home game and we crushed the opposition. Shortly there after, my bar was full of hopped up men, adorning themselves from head to toe in State U colors and screaming "WOOOOOO" at the top of their lungs every few seconds.

One group, two men and two girls, took a seat at one of my tables directly across from stage one. I headed over to make my greetings and take their drink orders.

"Hi," I said, cheerfully, "what can I get you guys to drink?"

"Are you our waitress," one guy asked, eyeing me up and down.

Like I have, so many times in the past, I bit back the urge to say "No, I'm just some random person trying to make a few extra bucks."

"Yes, yes I am. Can I get you something?"

"You're not a waitress," he insisted, "you're wearing too many clothes."

I knew then that this table was going to be a problem. I finally convinced him that I was, indeed, a waitress, and finally got their drink orders.

I brought their drinks back and set them on the table.

"Hey," one of the guys at the table said, "will they get mad if I start screaming 'show me your pussy?'"

You've got to be kidding me, I thought.

"Yes, that will probably anger the dancers," I replied.

"So, it's not a good idea?" He looked hopeful, as if maybe he could live out this long held desire.

"No, not a good idea if you want to stay in here."

I walked up to the bar and told Raymond what was going on. When I got to the part about showing the pussy, Raymond smiled.

"Hey, why don't you ask him if he would mind if all the dancers started yelling "Little Dick Motherfucker" and pointed at him?"

I smiled, and was about to respond, when I heard CEO's voice come out of the speakers.

"No touching the dancers," he said. "There is no touching allowed."

I cringed, turning, and there was my table, looking perturbed while standing at stage one.

Everyone else made it back to the table, but LDM (little dick motherfucker, for short) still stood at stage one, with a dollar bill in his hand. The dancer on stage was in front of him, dancing, and he was still attempting to put the dollar in her G-string. The charade went as follows: LDM would hold up the dollar, the dancer would dance in front of him. LDM would reach for her, she would stop him and pull away. LDM would still hold on to the dollar.

This is called "teasing the dancers" and it's not a nice thing to do.

I headed over to make him stop when he started back towards the table.

"So," he said, sitting down, "we can't touch the dancers?"

"No, no touching," I squatted down at his chair to put us at eye level.

"Even the girls?" He pointed to the two girls in their party. I don't know why some people think that the rules of the club don't apply to members of the female sex, but they do.

"No, even the girls. There is no touching in here; and it's not just this bar. Touching the dancers is against State law." Usually, this works to defer them from attempting anything else. Usually.

"What about lap dances?"

"They can touch you," I patiently explained, "but you can't touch them."

"What about VIP?" This guy was persistent.

"Same rules apply," I said, looking around the club. I was wasting so much time at this table I was afraid my other tables needed drinks. These guys were already getting on my nerves and I wasn't about to lose any money.

"What if I gave them some extra money?"

"Look," I said, standing up, "there is absolutely no touching in this bar. I don't care how much money you have, or how much you're willing to give away, you will never, EVER, be allowed to touch any of the dancers in this club, OK?"

He looked up at me, pointedly.

"What about you?" He grabbed my thigh when he said the word you.

I slapped his hand away and leaned in, grabbing his chin with my hand until we were practically nose to nose.

"If you want to be able to walk out of here, I suggest you never fucking put your hands on me again," I said, flicking his face out of my had, turning on my heels and walking away.

"I'm done with that fucking table," I told Raymond when I made it back up to the bar. "They can die of thirst before I wait on them again."

Raymond smiled and went back to what he was doing.

Shortly there after I heard CEO's voice again, over the speakers.

"No dancing. Unless you are on that stage there is no dancing allowed in this bar."

I looked over and there were the women from my table of assholes, dancing around with their version of a strip tease. I started to head over when they finally sat down, this time in their boyfriends laps and attempted to give them uncoordinated lap dances.

"It's going to be another one of those nights," I mused to Raymond while debating whether to go over there and make them get up.

"Yeah, but at least you'll have something to write about." He smiled and rubbed my shoulder. "Now go make some money."