This Happened Today (yesterday)

Sometimes a strip club is an awesome place for a young guy to work. However, the club is not a pleasant place to pretend to work when you're hung over and on four hours of sleep and it's noon and everyone is at Jazzfest not giving me tips and nobody else showed up to work. The two girls who showed up for the free drinks are taking the one drunk in the entire bar for all he's worth. He's not "mimosas and bloodys" drunk. He's "4am whiskey shots" drunk. Drunk enough to eat a Lucky Dog. Drunk enough to get cut off, if we ever cut anyone off. He's in his mid-twenties, in basketball shorts and a polo, and having trouble pronouncing "tequila."
I'm watching the Hornets from the one spot behind the bar where I can see the TV and the waitress corner, when something catches my eye. It hurts to turn my head, so I do it carefully. The girls are concerned because our new buddy is awkwardly pulling himself onto the empty stage. He stands up, disoriented by the flashing lights and mirrors. And the alcohol. Did I mention he's drunk? He probably doesn't realize that without an audience, a stage is just a piece of wood and granite with no special significance in a nearly empty room. I should probably get him down. I try yelling at him. he flips me off. I come out from behind the bar. He surveys the situation, weighs his options, and decides that the best course of action is obviously to turn around, pull down his pants, and expose his pasty ass to a hung-over barback, two strippers and some cameras. Then he jumps/falls off the other side of the stage. I radioed the manager while explaining that jumping onstage and mooning the employees is somewhat frowned upon, and getting mumbles in response.
When the manager arrived, I watched so I could learn for future reference what company policy is toward unruly behavior and indecent exposure by our only customer. Apparently it is as follows: The offender may stay until he runs out of money, and at which point he will be allowed to sleep for 20 minutes, and then thrown in the street.

Bitch, are you serious?

. . . after walking stripper to her parking garage. she asks me for money for her parking. . .

"No." I said
"Really?"
"Really."
"C'moooon . . ."
"No! You can't be serious. I can see at least $300 in your purse."
"But I don't want to break another $20. C'mon."
"You can't see what an inappropriate request this is?" She made probably three times what I made that night.
"No. I can't believe you won't help me."

. . . Walks away . . .

There is nothing more obnoxious than a hot chick with a sense of entitlement.

I Want:

. . . to live off the residuals

. . . An overnight success that I deserve

. . . A woman who cooks and cleans in heels

. . . Pride without the fall

. . . A stripper who likes me for me

. . . To be impressed by my own success

. . . The perks of fame

. . . The joy of anonymity

. . . endless summer

. . . job security

. . . boundless possibilities

. . . limitless appetite

. . . way too much

. . . never enough.

it will never be enough

I said it first

this, I hope, is the first recorded instance of someone suggesting that the broad genre which for the past 12 or so years has been called classic rock be renamed guitar hero music

The View From Below

Currently I distinguish between 3 types of people* in my life. The categories are, from largest to smallest, these:

1. normal people. These people have a purpose and direction to their lives, and do something every day to bring themselves closer to that purpose. My role in their lives consists of either an ally in achieving that purpose, or as an obstacle or distraction between them and their goals. Their waking hours are usually different than mine, so we rarely interact except in totally opposing states of mind. Our friendships are destroyed by our inability to be awake, coherent, and friendly at the same time.

2. Sluts. For some reason, these people seem to have organized their schedules so that at least one of them is nearly always available to fuck. They seem to have been somehow psychologically programmed to have sex with me no matter how much disrespect or condescension they get, as long as I show them the slightest attention.

3. Bar People. These people are most important to me, because they determine how much money I make and how much alcohol I get. Certain behaviors cause them to like me, causing them speak favorably of me to my employers (in the case of co-workers) or give me free drinks and status (in the case of other bar workers). Predictably, these are the behaviors I repeat the most.

*Customers are not people. They are units of labor. The work consists of making them think I think they are people, which done a certain number of times to a certain number of customers, earns a certain amount of money which we don't disclose to the IRS.