Thursday, April 26, 2007

When It Rains

Oh, Dear Readers, Saturday night was an awful night!

It didn't help matters that I was cranky; quite possibly the crankiest I have been in a while. I don't really know what put me in such a bad mood, I think just the pressure of finals (next week) and all my papers due (this week) was wearing on me, and I was not in a good mood. Apparently, misery does love company-- and most of the customers were jack asses as well.

The night started off dead. Dead dead dead; and as any server worth their salt can tell you- they would rather be slammed and weeded all night long then have a small trickle of people coming in every once in a while. I just couldn't get the motivation to work hard (not that it was particularly needed, mind you) and it made matters worse that I really didn't know anyone that was in there.

Usually my bar consists of 75% or more of regulars. The rest of the people are random- frat boys, guys getting off work, and people just driving by and deciding to stop in. There were NO regulars Saturday night and it was pissing me off. Not only that, but the few people we did have in there were disgusting.


Trailer trash, hick town, cheap motherfuckers; and they all seemed to be perpetually perverted. And cheap.

I can handle perverted as long as you are tipping me. I can fake it for the few hours you spend in my section, as long as you're making it worth my while. I can smile and fawn while you sexually harass me, as long as you're paying my bills.

On the other hand, I can handle cheap as long as you keep to yourself. If you want to sit alone in a corner and drink your beer by yourself without tipping me- that's fine. You leave me alone and I will continue to bring you your beer without making a snide comment about the fact that you're cheap.

When you put the two together, that's what pisses me off. Not only are you cheap, sitting there, looking anxious as you wait for your quarter change from your $2.75 domestic beer. Not only am I standing around while you count out nickles and dimes to pay for it; but you want to make some comment about my ass, or about how you would "love to take me home," or some other generic line that probably took your dumb ass two hours to come up with.

It really pisses me off.

You see, there's a subtle exchange that happens in the titty bar between the customers and the dancers and wait-staff. An "invisible bidding war" if you will; where the dancer/waitress decides how much shit she will put up with based on how much money is being handed over. It works somewhat like this:

If you stiff me on a drink, I will give you one more chance. Possibly, you didn't realize you hadn't tipped me, or maybe you just thought I took my tip myself (some people think this). If you stiff me on the second time, I will make a comment about it in a joking manner. Usually "darlin, you know you're going to tip me, so why are you making me stand here?" If you still refuse to tip me, one of two things will happen: 1- I will continue to wait on you (if you're sitting alone), but I will wait until your drink is empty and you are waving the bottle around like a flag; or 2- I will make your ass walk to the bar. Most people tip automatically; however, so this doesn't happen often.

If you tip me a dollar on a beer or a drink, I will pay attention to you. I will pat you on the head, maybe squeeze your shoulders a few times. I will come up with some pet name for you, and check on you often. If you make some perverted comment, I will probably laugh it off.

If you tip me more than a dollar on a beer, I will learn your name, and use it when I come by the table. I will hug you, possibly kiss you on the cheek, and try to make you feel special. I will remember what you drink and offer it to you before your last one runs out. If you make some perverted comment, I will come up with a witty response that will make you laugh, and wink at you so you know that everything is o.k.

If you tip more than that, and I'm talking about the guys who run tabs and tip me upwards of $50 to $100; I will not only remember your name, but I will find you a table. I will have your drink ready the minute I see you walk in the door. I will sit at your table with you, ask you how your day/job/wife/kids are doing. I will have a drink with you, and if you want a certain dancer, I will go track her down for you. I will remember your birthday, holidays, etcetera; and sometimes I will buy you a card on these occasions. I will give you a back massage when I'm not busy. I will remember/put up with your slight neurosis, and do my best to cater to them. I will let the dancers know you are there, and soon they will be filling your table, hanging on your every word. If you slap me on the ass, I'll let you get away with it. Soon, other customers will be looking at you, wondering what makes you so special to be treated in such a manner. Basically, you will be treated like the king of the titty bar.

Does everyone understand how that works?

Say what you will about it, that's how the system works. Attention and privilege go to the highest bidder. Such is life.

Back to Saturday night.

EVERYONE was cheap Saturday night. I wasn't making any money, the bartenders weren't making any money; hell-the dancers weren't even making any money. It was shit.

Early in the night I had one guy who was tipping me a dollar on his beer. I checked on him, and after a while a girl showed up and sat at his table with him. She ordered an amaretto sour, possibly the most pussyfied a drink can get; and I brought it to them.

"What is this?" she asked, pointing at the glass I set in front of her.

"An amaretto sour," I responding, while counting out change for the twenty the guy handed me.

"But, where are the cherries?" She seemed confused, looking from the glass to me and back to the glass.

"We don't have any cherries," I responded, turning to leave.

"But I want cherries," she whined.

I shook my head and walked off. This is a titty-bar, bitch, I thought to myself, there's not a fucking cherry in this whole place.

I told you I was cranky.

I saw my friend Alfonzo walk in the door. Finally, I thought to myself. Someone I know.

He came up to me, asked me where I had a table open, and after I pointed him in the direction of a high table against the wall, I ordered him a crown and coke.

"Want to have a shot with me," I offered, setting the drink on his table.

"Man," he said, "I was drinking before I got here."

"That's okay," I responded, "I was drinking before you got here too."

He paused for a minute as he chewed this over, then started laughing. "Sure," he said, "bring us two jager-bombs."

I brought the shots and waited on him a few more times before he told me he had to leave.

"I've got to go pick up some friends of mine, but I'll be back," he said, while putting his lighter in his pocket.

I headed up to the front door to call Boyfriend and lament on how shitty my night was, when the cherry girl and the guy she was sitting with walked out of the front door.

"Hey honey," I said into the phone, nodding goodbye at cherry girl as she walked out of the club. Suddenly, she turned and headed back into my direction.

"Hey," she said, interrupting my conversation. I turned the mouthpiece of the phone into my neck and looked up at her. "My brother really likes you. What time do you get off?"

I held up my left hand and splayed my fingers apart while I pointed at the ring on my finger. (I tell people I'm married- they don't hit on me as much that way.)

"Five?" she said. "Okay, I'll tell him to call you."

"What was that?" Boyfriend asked me into the phone.

"Fucking idiots," I responded.

A little while later, Alfonzo came back, this time with a guy and a girl. They took a seat in my section and I went to get their drinks. When I came back, I stood next to Alfonzo and made small talk.

The guy he was with, a younger guy, moved his chair so he was sitting directly behind me, and started making noises.

"Mmm," he grunted, "look at that ass."

I turned to face him.

"Stop that," I said.

He didn't stop.

So, I slapped him in the face. I didn't slap him hard, just kinda pushed his face with my hand.

I told you I was cranky.

"Go get me fucking beer," he responded after I hit him.

"Get your own fucking beer," I retorted.

"You're going to make me walk to the bar when you're right here?" He seemed amazed at this breach of protocol.

I just looked at him, and he decided to flip me off.

So, I cut him off. I told Alfonzo that although he was my friend, I wasn't above having his friend kicked out. Alfonzo promised to make him behave, and I went to the DJ booth to bitch to CEO.

"Stop dancing," CEO shouted over the microphone to the girl at stage two. She was sitting on her boyfriends lap and grinding. She looked up at the DJ booth, and then started grinding again.

"Don't fucking look at me and then start dancing again. Stop fucking dancing!"

She wouldn't stop, so CEO took the cordless mike and headed out of the DJ booth. He walked right up to where the couple was sitting and leaned down, microphone in hand.

"Hey, YOU!" He said, and the girl snapped her face around. "Stop fucking dancing!"

As he turned to walk back to the DJ booth, she flipped him off. Then she started dancing again.

"Ok, Duke," CEO said over the mike. "Kick them out."

Duke led both of them out the front door. A few minutes later, I saw Champ, Glen, Pierce, and CEO all head out the front door.

I bet they're fighting, I thought to myself.

I was wrong, sort of.

The guy that the girl was dancing on decided he didn't like being kicked out of the titty bar. He decided it was a good idea to take the trash cans we keep outside and dump them onto everyone's cars. Then he threw the trash cans at CEO's truck. We called the police.

I decided that was my cue, and asked to leave.

"That's fine," CEO said, and I headed out the front door to my car. Back to my home, back to Boyfriend, where I don't have to pretend anymore.


Blogger Ospite said...

I have yet to get my ass smacked at work, but when I do, I'll figure out whether or not it's worth it based on their tip %.

1:56 AM  
Anonymous Jennifer said...

Having logged some time at an old friend's titty bar (a VERY successful one), and having watched what the waitresses and bartenders go through, I'm amazed you didn't just go ahead and backhand the guy. He earned it.

Oh, and "there's not a fucking cherry in this whole place"? TEE HEE!!!!!! ;-D

8:30 AM  
Anonymous 6th Floor Blogger said...

"I shook my head and walked off. This is a titty-bar, bitch, I thought to myself, there's not a fucking cherry in this whole place."

That was hilarious!

sorry you had a bad day at work, I remember the feeling.

9:31 AM  
Blogger ADW said...

OK - can I just say that you totally have the heirarchy of tipping down pat. I Frigging LOVE IT!!!

I once had a guy who came in three times a week (at least), sat in my section, ordered a mountain dew and left me $200.00 every time. That is beyond the level of king, that is someone that I went out to dinner with a few times. He was an older guy who was lonely and awkward and didn't have a lot of friends. We were (JUST) friends for years after that.

Love the post.

9:50 AM  
Blogger Seth said...

Damn that's a bad night.

Good luck finishing the semester!

10:42 AM  
Anonymous rasta eric said...


"i am being abused and treated badly at the whorehouse!"


12:34 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Shush, Eric. Adults are talking.

3:25 PM  
Blogger Steve said...

Wow, I only just got the cherry joke after hearing it repeated twice in the comments. I. Am. So. Freaking. Slow.

Sounds pretty eventful for a "dead" night!

Liquor Store Stories

5:43 PM  
Anonymous Finn said...

I'm from Alberta, Canada, and I've found that being a regular sucks. I tip well and ask nothing more than to be served--even that's too much. Bar and restaurant workers despise regulars. Better to mix it up a bit.

10:15 PM  
Blogger meatball666 said...

I have a few friends that work in strip joint in Montreal and a dollar is a minimum. They won't even serve you if you don't tip. One time a guy ordered at the bar and left without tipping.The girl got out of her bar, went to the guy's table, took the beer back and told him it was a dollar minimum. The guy told her he only had money for 2 beers without the tip. She told him to forget the second beer, since he was gonna tip on the first one. He probably won't come back, but who needs him? He doesn't make the girls dance and he doesn't tip.

1:57 AM  
Blogger waitress said...

Dear Finn,
That is, quite possibly, the dumbest thing I've ever heard.

My bar makes the majority of its bar sales on regulars, not the random patrons that come in every now and then.

I'm not sure why you're so bitter, but maybe you should work on your own issues? Hmmm?

5:03 PM  
Blogger David said...

Great read! Thanks

6:00 PM  
Blogger The Cleaning Lady said...

You simply MUST publish a Titty Bar Etiquette book, SOON!

BTW, the whore house adddress is the same as Eric's Mom's...guess his daddy "just left the tip"

6:44 PM  
Blogger meatball666 said...

@ Finn

So you say you tip good but the service they give you is not good. It's can only be 2 things. Maybe you think you tip good or you are such a pain that they'd rather live without your tip.

I don't know one place where they wouldn't take good care of their regulars if they tip good.

6:55 PM  
Anonymous Char said...

About the guy (finn) that tips good but receives crappy service:

I have to agree with him here. Until you guys visit Alberta, Canada then you should stop assuming about the guy! Seriously that province is like none other, especially in the city of Calgary. There is so much desperation for staff that the management will do ANYTHING to get people. So staff is well paid, don't get fired for errors and misconduct, and therefore they don't give a crap about customers. Trust me- I grew up and worked there. The finn guy has a right to be bitter!

12:38 AM  

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