it's been a long couple of weeks with school, holidays, and rent. what follows is a general recap of the 6 month stint that is this job...i started the blog a little late.
it was my second ever shift at one particular night club. still very nervous. i'm still not really used to talking to any of the patrons at this point, and if i don't completely fumble over human interaction i'd treat it as a plus. i still was quite scared of homophobia at the time; worried that i'd give off a gay vibe.
one particular customer struts on in.
'how's it going, sir?'
he doesn't respond, he just looks at me with somewhere between puzzled and very discontent.
'shit, that was weird, hope i didnt give him any strange vibe. wait it out, it will come naturally soon enough,' i think to myself.
as he walks through the threshold to the stalls, a strange smell crawls up my nose, like a cresendo of crickets that start to sing at dusk.
UGH YOU FARTED! and the whole time i was blaming that awkwardness on myself. i knew his half eyebrow raise wasn't on purpose.
more recently, i saw a patron who reminded me of Phillip Seymour Hoffman. maybe i see it more because i'm looking for it, but telling patrons that they remind you of famous people is always good. i happen to like hoffman--he's a total qt--but with this guy i kind of struggled.
'who's that?' he asked.
'he's in the big lebowski' i say, then i think, he's alos in capote--shit don't tell a guy he reminds you of a gay character, he's in boogie nights, fuck!, ummm, 'oh yeah, i say, 'he's the rock journalist in almost famous, too...umm he's the reporter in red dragon...'
'i don't know who that is,' he says, 'i've seen big lebowski though.'
'he's the assistant to the big lebowski...her life is in your hands dude, ya know?'
oh that guy? c'mon, man, i was thinkin brad pitt.
'haha, dude it's totally a compliment, PSH rules! and you really look nothing like brad pitt, dude'
'oh it's like that?'
'it is what it is...'
after i sold out my first batch of condoms, i never bought them again. from getting them stolen by my friends, to just never really selling them i figured it wasn't worth it. plus EVERYONE always said, 'get magnums. if you had those i'd get three!'
apparently everyone has a big dick. a few weeks ago i figured, hey, put up or shut up. i was gonna get magnums and regulars, but a [lady] friend of mine says, 'c'mon given magnums or regulars every guy is gonna choose magnums. plus, who is gonna not take a condom because their dick isn't big enough. no one is gonna admit that to you.'
i agreed.
boy was i wrong.
'haha, man' a patron begins, lookin at the condoms, 'i'm not even gonna lie. i can't use that.'
'heh, i figured everyone would be all about it. so many people talk about their super dick you know'
'yeah, all talk' he says. 'only 8% of the dick having population needs magnums. i'm perfectly okay with being in the other 92%.'
'well, hopefully some of them are here tonight. or at least they have magnum egos.'
'also, i'm not washing my hands.'
'alright, your choice, you gross bastard.'
'haha,' he laughs, then extends his hand for a shake.'
'nah you didn't wash.' i put out my elbow, and he responds in kind.
'elbows are handshakes with condoms' i say.
'haha, have a good night, dude'
'you too, man'
a few patrons walk in together.
'oh shit, lemmie get a magnum.'
'two bucks.'
'two bucks?! thasa pack! now lemmie ask you a question. are you fuckin with these?'
i throw up a finger.
'c'mon son, you don't need these, hook me up.'
'sorry man, two bucks or nothin'
two muscle head patrons walk in together. they approach me intensely.
'you dude,' one says, lifting up his sleve, 'who's bigger?' he flexes his bicep.
i, grinning, turn to his friend and await his muscly display.
he lifts up his sleeve and flexes as well. i turn back to his friend, who once again 'struts' his bicep into my face. i turn back to his friend, he does the same.
'hmmm,' i say, drawing up anticpation, 'which one is bigger? define bigger? bigger is better right?'
'oh yeah,' they both say, 'bigger is definately better.'
'well, i'll be honest. yours is longer, and yours is thicker. it's so hard to choose.'
'you gotta choose!' he says, flexing hard.
'hmm, longer or thicker. i guess it depends how you like it. show me again.'
they raise their sleeves and flex extra intensely this time. i'm the judge of a bathroom body building contest. i drag slowly on a black and mild....
'hmm, longer or thicker...long's got nice tone, but i guess i'm gonna pick thicker. it's got a little more umph, and is a little tan, and i like that.'
'yessss!' he says victoriously.
i shake my head and sip on my gin and tonic.
after they leave another guy walks out of the stall.
'ya' see? this is totally okay, cause you weren't talking about their dicks. arms are totally understandable.'
'haha, yes i was. i mean, their arms are their cocks. at that point. are we splitting hairs?'
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
God has a hard-on for Marines
i worked the Saturday following Veteran's Day. i walked in a little early, laundry hamper on my back, into a celebration of the 235th birthday of the Marine Corps. it was very quiet. twenty or so men circled another, who spoke to them in a firm, loud voice. when his sentences were over, they responded in kind. HUAH! i stood there in a kind of awe, my mind fluttering around, some how reminded of being at an intimate catholic mass when the door man broke the Corps's spell.
"You'd better go around."
"Huh? Oh, right...yeah, looks like it."
as i exited i couldn't help but notice three of the bouncers were Marines. crazy.
the first two people who come in are Marines. they are pissing side by side.
"Whatcha packin there?" One asks.
The other shakes his head.
"Nothing too great, huh?"
"Hey man, you're the one in the kiddie urinal," he finally responds.
"Ha," he scoffs, "yeah this is bullshit i get mad back splash. How am i supposed to do this?" He asks, turning to me.
"You gotta squat!" I say.
He squats. "Oh yeah, there it is!"
"I've never seen black stalls before," other says, "perfect for my black cock." [he's white]
"Soooo," I begin, "what's up with that assembly and all these Marines? Everyone here is a Marine?"
"Yeah," a Marine says, "we're celebrating our anniversary. we do it every year. the Marines started in a bar, y'know."
"I did not know that."
"Well..." *shrug*
"So is this like people from all over, or did you serve with most of these guys, or what?"
"Nah, these are people from everywhere. None of my buddies are here. Some of them are gone, some haven't come back yet."
"I'm sor--"
"Nah," he cuts me off, "all these guys are my brothers!"
Another Marine walks up.
"What's this devil dog tellin you? Some craziness?"
"Just informin' me about the core," I say. "What's a devil dog?"
"German forces called us that in WWI," he says, "cause we fought so ferociously."
"So, it's a good term, then." I say.
"Yeah, it's a respect thing."
"Can it be used as an insult? Like if I called you a devil dog it would be not cool, yeah?"
"Nah, nah, it would be fine. Now that you know, what it is, you'd have to say it out of respect so it is all good."
"Cool," i say.
I think one of the best things about this job is that it has changed the way i think about the military and those who serve in it. Hanging out with a lot of the leftist people, i never really interacted with anyone in the military. I've taken part in some protests that demonized people who've served in the process of condemning war. Justification or not aside, people in the military have always treated me, a lowly bathroom guy, with the most respect of any patrons.
*shrug*
"You'd better go around."
"Huh? Oh, right...yeah, looks like it."
as i exited i couldn't help but notice three of the bouncers were Marines. crazy.
the first two people who come in are Marines. they are pissing side by side.
"Whatcha packin there?" One asks.
The other shakes his head.
"Nothing too great, huh?"
"Hey man, you're the one in the kiddie urinal," he finally responds.
"Ha," he scoffs, "yeah this is bullshit i get mad back splash. How am i supposed to do this?" He asks, turning to me.
"You gotta squat!" I say.
He squats. "Oh yeah, there it is!"
"I've never seen black stalls before," other says, "perfect for my black cock." [he's white]
"Soooo," I begin, "what's up with that assembly and all these Marines? Everyone here is a Marine?"
"Yeah," a Marine says, "we're celebrating our anniversary. we do it every year. the Marines started in a bar, y'know."
"I did not know that."
"Well..." *shrug*
"So is this like people from all over, or did you serve with most of these guys, or what?"
"Nah, these are people from everywhere. None of my buddies are here. Some of them are gone, some haven't come back yet."
"I'm sor--"
"Nah," he cuts me off, "all these guys are my brothers!"
Another Marine walks up.
"What's this devil dog tellin you? Some craziness?"
"Just informin' me about the core," I say. "What's a devil dog?"
"German forces called us that in WWI," he says, "cause we fought so ferociously."
"So, it's a good term, then." I say.
"Yeah, it's a respect thing."
"Can it be used as an insult? Like if I called you a devil dog it would be not cool, yeah?"
"Nah, nah, it would be fine. Now that you know, what it is, you'd have to say it out of respect so it is all good."
"Cool," i say.
I think one of the best things about this job is that it has changed the way i think about the military and those who serve in it. Hanging out with a lot of the leftist people, i never really interacted with anyone in the military. I've taken part in some protests that demonized people who've served in the process of condemning war. Justification or not aside, people in the military have always treated me, a lowly bathroom guy, with the most respect of any patrons.
*shrug*
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
golden showers and whiskey sours
oh boy, a lot has happened in a week. i covered for a friend so i worked three shifts. there's a lot to talk about, so hop on that hog in the rear view mirror and ride that sweet wave of man.
one of the nights this club had no music. how terrible! not only do i have to stay in the bathroom, but now i can't even jam out to anything while i wait around. i'm freaking out, i start pacing jumping up and down, running in circles, it's always very awkward when i'm mid some particular mindnumb cure all move and someone walks in. after i tire myself out, my boredom evolves into singing songs to myself. also pretty awkward as people walk in...
"hey, how's it going, dude?" I ask.
"alright, man," he says with little conviction.
"yeah, dude, what's up with no music? how the hell do they expect to get people here? i'm going crazy," I complain.
"yeah i hear that," he says.
"i was pacing and shit, but now i've started singing to myself. it's kind of awkward when the door opens and i'm like 'doo da doo...no i wasn't singing mariah carey while emulating her poses. *cough*"
"haha, yeah but that one mariah carey song is the shit, man."
"hell yeah, she's got some good stuff. what's the one you're thinking of?"
"fuck, i dunno. it was a single...i can't place the melody or remember the words, though."
"damn, man i was thinking of one when i said that, but now i've lost it."
"dude, we gotta figure out what this song is, it's gonna wrack our brains!"
"haha, yeah, was the melody like...*proceed to try to bust out something between honey and fantasy.
"nah, man, we're so close though."
"alright, alright, alright," i say frantically, "we've got this. was the melody 'doo do do dum doo doo doo da doo da dum?"
"that's the one! fuck yeah!
"what's the song called?"
"aw c'mon man, don't push it. we both got the melody!" we proceed to sing it together.
"and then! it's like 'yoouuu and i will always beeee...."
he blows up the lead vocal track "youuu andd iii youuu andd iiii"
"oh don't you know you can't escape me..." i look for him lost on the words.
"...cause you will ,always be my baby!"
"YEAAH, that's it! and we'll linger onnnnn.... fuck yeah dude! you're the man, that was the shit!
"fuck yeah that's the shit," he says, "don't let people hate on mariah, or you for liking her, she's awesome."
a while later, a man walks up and small, intricate, 'chemical-like' tattoo peaks out under his sleeve on his right wrist.
"hey man, that's a pretty nifty tattoo," i say, "what is it?"
"oh, it's a dopamine molecule."
"oh, cool, what does that do?"
"well," he begins, "dopamine controls all your motor functions and allows you to make smooth movements. my grandma had parkinson's disease, so this is kind of a tattoo for her."
"that's cool," i say.
"dopamine also controls a lot of your emotions, and personality and stuff, so it's pretty cool."
"definately," i say.
"your dopamine receptors are also effected," he chuckles, "if you do any psychotropic drugs like mushrooms or LSD."
"ooohh haha, so it's a grandma and tripping tattoo, very nice. or is it a tripping grandma tattoo ;)?"
"haha," he chuckles, "it's versatile."
after he leaves another patron walks up to me with a huge grin on his face.
"what the fuck, man? where else are you gonna learn all this random shit about someone? now you know his grandma had parkinsons, that he knows a little about brain chemistry, and that he's done or does do crazy drugs. in like 2 minutes, you know all this crazy shit about this random person you don't even know!"
"yeah, man, this job is nuts. people talk about some crazy shit in here," i say.
"alright, dude, the craziest thing you've seen, GO!"
"shit, dude, thassa tough cookie. hrrm...i wore a skirt in here last week, but that wasn't as crazy as i thought it would be...uhhh...this guy mooned me once...alright alright i got it. one time these two guys were pissin and one look right over the partition just starin at his boy's junk!"
"he what?"
"oh yeah dude, just vibin on it for like 15 seconds, not even tryin to hide where he's spyin, and then he just goes into this kinda mopey tone...
'damn dude, next to yours my dick is tiny!'
"no way...." he says in disbelief
"fucking, way, dude, and i swear they forgot i was even there. so i'm just smoking trying to keep quiet as his friend just kind of comforts him..."
'nah, dude, don't worry about it, you get mad girls, you're alright.'
"hahahaha whoa," he says.
"haha yeah and he's not trying to be patronizing but i mean what can he do? this dude just like set himself up there's really nothing you can do. you could lie, but assuming the other dude has a super cock or whatever i mean he ain't gonna believe that. so eventually, man i just crack up, and they turn around, they're in shocked!"
'oh, shit this bathroom guy thinks we're gay!'
"...and shit man, they needed me to know they were straight, and i don't give a shit, man"
"yeah," he says, "i could give two fucks about anyone's shit."
"yeah man, i say, "and they're all handed me money 'we're straight we're straight' and i'm tryin to tell em that it doesn't matter to me, and that i see crazy shit like this all the time and it's all gravy, but they won't leave till they tip me 5 bucks!"
"hahaa, that's pretty wild man," he says.
"nothin out of the ordinary, though," i say as he walks out, "be easy man."
"you too!" he shouts as the door closes.
there are good times, though, when someone makes a solid effort to squash homophobia, or at least let me know they don't support it.
"yo, pimpin, what's good?" one says.
"i'm chillin, man, can i get you anything?"
"yeah yeah yeah, we both need to get a spray."
"alright, you got it."i recommend this (Le Male by jean paul gaultier). a lot of people knock it cause it's a dudes body and they think that's gay or some shit, but they're idiots. this shit smells so nice. it's the best one we've got."
"hell yeah, that's dank, dude" he says. "and that shit is just plain ignorance!"
"you're telling me," i say.
"we 'preciate it, boss, you have a good one."
"thanks, ya'll, you have a good one as well."
a 6ft plus dude walks out of the stall and up to the sink. he looks at the colognes skeptically.
"pfft, nah, i got my own scent!" He proclaims. He then takes his hand and waves over his chest and lower torso.
"i've been brewin it all day, baby" he says.
"hey man, some people dig that au naturale! ;)"
one of my regular bathrooms has two urinals of different height. one is at about 'average' crotch spot for guys and the other is much lower. it's the 'kiddie' sized urinal as it has been dubbed by a lot of patrons.
as both are being used, the guy at the low one complains, "man what the hell is this shit. i feel like i'm 'bout to piss on my shoes or somethin'"
"at least you don't get all that back splash," his friend responds.
"it's just weird, if i'm peeing this low it's usually into a girls mouth!"
i laugh.
"dude, gross, thanks for the imagery," his friend complains.
"nah, it ain't gross, if she's into it you definately gotta oblige, right?" he asks, turning to me.
"definately, dude, if i'm with someone and they want to do weird shit, whatever man, i'll do that shit. if she's into getting peed on, or peein on i don't give a fuck. you gotta step up and get down on some weird shit sometimes," i say. "i looove raisinets, i'll eat em out of an ass crack," whatever!
"you see? this man knows whassup!"
"yeah, man," i say, "when it comes down to it, everybody is into weird shit i imagine. you just gotta give it up."
"eh, i think i draw the line at peein in some girl's mouth," his friend says, "i don't think i could do it."
"well," he says, "that's why i'm getting all of em at the club, and you're on lock by some chick who's out of town."
"fuck you, bro, man dating sucks."
"hey," i say, "when you got it you hate it but when you don't, you want it" *shrug*
"ain't that the truth, be easy man," one of them says as they leave.
"have a good night, ya'll."
following their exit, this guy comes out of the full stall, kicking the door open and pushing his chest out. *crasssssshhhhhhh*
"nah, dude, if a girl asks me to pee in her mouth, i say alright i'm cummin in your ass."
"hey man, do your thing," i say cracking up.
the man on lock is a classic dynamic. no man will complain more about not getting any at the club than the man who's there with his girlfriend.
"man," he says, "this girl keeps dancing on me, and then lookin at my girlfriend and my girl is just giving me the evil eye! fuck dude!"
"shit, man, being locked down at the club is rough," i say, "i bet shedances with other guys."
"if she does, i'll be pissed!" He exclaims.
"alright, so it ain't like that, but what about this other girl?" I ask.
"damn man, she was friends with me before i started dating my girlfriend. we've always been flirty, but nothing crazy, and now whenever i go out with my girl she's all over me! it's fucked!"
"damn, man, and your girl don't dance with you?"
"not when she's all pissed off at this other chick!"
"so this girl who your friends with is giving you love, and your girlfriend ain't. fuck man, maybe talk to her about loosenin up, try and get em both or do an open relationship?"
"nah, she won't go for that."
"you gotta work something out. if your friend who you flirt with is grinding on you, and your girl ain't blowin you up, maybe it will work itself out."
"nah, i dunno, i don't WANT the other girl, i want my girlfriend."
"true, true, well it's gotta be rough getting danced on when you can't dance back. all that hot loving in your dead in the water."
"yeah," he says, handing me a dollar.
"thanks, man" i say, "you wanna cu--*cough* err gum for that?"
one of the nights this club had no music. how terrible! not only do i have to stay in the bathroom, but now i can't even jam out to anything while i wait around. i'm freaking out, i start pacing jumping up and down, running in circles, it's always very awkward when i'm mid some particular mindnumb cure all move and someone walks in. after i tire myself out, my boredom evolves into singing songs to myself. also pretty awkward as people walk in...
"hey, how's it going, dude?" I ask.
"alright, man," he says with little conviction.
"yeah, dude, what's up with no music? how the hell do they expect to get people here? i'm going crazy," I complain.
"yeah i hear that," he says.
"i was pacing and shit, but now i've started singing to myself. it's kind of awkward when the door opens and i'm like 'doo da doo...no i wasn't singing mariah carey while emulating her poses. *cough*"
"haha, yeah but that one mariah carey song is the shit, man."
"hell yeah, she's got some good stuff. what's the one you're thinking of?"
"fuck, i dunno. it was a single...i can't place the melody or remember the words, though."
"damn, man i was thinking of one when i said that, but now i've lost it."
"dude, we gotta figure out what this song is, it's gonna wrack our brains!"
"haha, yeah, was the melody like...*proceed to try to bust out something between honey and fantasy.
"nah, man, we're so close though."
"alright, alright, alright," i say frantically, "we've got this. was the melody 'doo do do dum doo doo doo da doo da dum?"
"that's the one! fuck yeah!
"what's the song called?"
"aw c'mon man, don't push it. we both got the melody!" we proceed to sing it together.
"and then! it's like 'yoouuu and i will always beeee...."
he blows up the lead vocal track "youuu andd iii youuu andd iiii"
"oh don't you know you can't escape me..." i look for him lost on the words.
"...cause you will ,always be my baby!"
"YEAAH, that's it! and we'll linger onnnnn.... fuck yeah dude! you're the man, that was the shit!
"fuck yeah that's the shit," he says, "don't let people hate on mariah, or you for liking her, she's awesome."
a while later, a man walks up and small, intricate, 'chemical-like' tattoo peaks out under his sleeve on his right wrist.
"hey man, that's a pretty nifty tattoo," i say, "what is it?"
"oh, it's a dopamine molecule."
"oh, cool, what does that do?"
"well," he begins, "dopamine controls all your motor functions and allows you to make smooth movements. my grandma had parkinson's disease, so this is kind of a tattoo for her."
"that's cool," i say.
"dopamine also controls a lot of your emotions, and personality and stuff, so it's pretty cool."
"definately," i say.
"your dopamine receptors are also effected," he chuckles, "if you do any psychotropic drugs like mushrooms or LSD."
"ooohh haha, so it's a grandma and tripping tattoo, very nice. or is it a tripping grandma tattoo ;)?"
"haha," he chuckles, "it's versatile."
after he leaves another patron walks up to me with a huge grin on his face.
"what the fuck, man? where else are you gonna learn all this random shit about someone? now you know his grandma had parkinsons, that he knows a little about brain chemistry, and that he's done or does do crazy drugs. in like 2 minutes, you know all this crazy shit about this random person you don't even know!"
"yeah, man, this job is nuts. people talk about some crazy shit in here," i say.
"alright, dude, the craziest thing you've seen, GO!"
"shit, dude, thassa tough cookie. hrrm...i wore a skirt in here last week, but that wasn't as crazy as i thought it would be...uhhh...this guy mooned me once...alright alright i got it. one time these two guys were pissin and one look right over the partition just starin at his boy's junk!"
"he what?"
"oh yeah dude, just vibin on it for like 15 seconds, not even tryin to hide where he's spyin, and then he just goes into this kinda mopey tone...
'damn dude, next to yours my dick is tiny!'
"no way...." he says in disbelief
"fucking, way, dude, and i swear they forgot i was even there. so i'm just smoking trying to keep quiet as his friend just kind of comforts him..."
'nah, dude, don't worry about it, you get mad girls, you're alright.'
"hahahaha whoa," he says.
"haha yeah and he's not trying to be patronizing but i mean what can he do? this dude just like set himself up there's really nothing you can do. you could lie, but assuming the other dude has a super cock or whatever i mean he ain't gonna believe that. so eventually, man i just crack up, and they turn around, they're in shocked!"
'oh, shit this bathroom guy thinks we're gay!'
"...and shit man, they needed me to know they were straight, and i don't give a shit, man"
"yeah," he says, "i could give two fucks about anyone's shit."
"yeah man, i say, "and they're all handed me money 'we're straight we're straight' and i'm tryin to tell em that it doesn't matter to me, and that i see crazy shit like this all the time and it's all gravy, but they won't leave till they tip me 5 bucks!"
"hahaa, that's pretty wild man," he says.
"nothin out of the ordinary, though," i say as he walks out, "be easy man."
"you too!" he shouts as the door closes.
there are good times, though, when someone makes a solid effort to squash homophobia, or at least let me know they don't support it.
"yo, pimpin, what's good?" one says.
"i'm chillin, man, can i get you anything?"
"yeah yeah yeah, we both need to get a spray."
"alright, you got it."i recommend this (Le Male by jean paul gaultier). a lot of people knock it cause it's a dudes body and they think that's gay or some shit, but they're idiots. this shit smells so nice. it's the best one we've got."
"hell yeah, that's dank, dude" he says. "and that shit is just plain ignorance!"
"you're telling me," i say.
"we 'preciate it, boss, you have a good one."
"thanks, ya'll, you have a good one as well."
a 6ft plus dude walks out of the stall and up to the sink. he looks at the colognes skeptically.
"pfft, nah, i got my own scent!" He proclaims. He then takes his hand and waves over his chest and lower torso.
"i've been brewin it all day, baby" he says.
"hey man, some people dig that au naturale! ;)"
one of my regular bathrooms has two urinals of different height. one is at about 'average' crotch spot for guys and the other is much lower. it's the 'kiddie' sized urinal as it has been dubbed by a lot of patrons.
as both are being used, the guy at the low one complains, "man what the hell is this shit. i feel like i'm 'bout to piss on my shoes or somethin'"
"at least you don't get all that back splash," his friend responds.
"it's just weird, if i'm peeing this low it's usually into a girls mouth!"
i laugh.
"dude, gross, thanks for the imagery," his friend complains.
"nah, it ain't gross, if she's into it you definately gotta oblige, right?" he asks, turning to me.
"definately, dude, if i'm with someone and they want to do weird shit, whatever man, i'll do that shit. if she's into getting peed on, or peein on i don't give a fuck. you gotta step up and get down on some weird shit sometimes," i say. "i looove raisinets, i'll eat em out of an ass crack," whatever!
"you see? this man knows whassup!"
"yeah, man," i say, "when it comes down to it, everybody is into weird shit i imagine. you just gotta give it up."
"eh, i think i draw the line at peein in some girl's mouth," his friend says, "i don't think i could do it."
"well," he says, "that's why i'm getting all of em at the club, and you're on lock by some chick who's out of town."
"fuck you, bro, man dating sucks."
"hey," i say, "when you got it you hate it but when you don't, you want it" *shrug*
"ain't that the truth, be easy man," one of them says as they leave.
"have a good night, ya'll."
following their exit, this guy comes out of the full stall, kicking the door open and pushing his chest out. *crasssssshhhhhhh*
"nah, dude, if a girl asks me to pee in her mouth, i say alright i'm cummin in your ass."
"hey man, do your thing," i say cracking up.
the man on lock is a classic dynamic. no man will complain more about not getting any at the club than the man who's there with his girlfriend.
"man," he says, "this girl keeps dancing on me, and then lookin at my girlfriend and my girl is just giving me the evil eye! fuck dude!"
"shit, man, being locked down at the club is rough," i say, "i bet shedances with other guys."
"if she does, i'll be pissed!" He exclaims.
"alright, so it ain't like that, but what about this other girl?" I ask.
"damn man, she was friends with me before i started dating my girlfriend. we've always been flirty, but nothing crazy, and now whenever i go out with my girl she's all over me! it's fucked!"
"damn, man, and your girl don't dance with you?"
"not when she's all pissed off at this other chick!"
"so this girl who your friends with is giving you love, and your girlfriend ain't. fuck man, maybe talk to her about loosenin up, try and get em both or do an open relationship?"
"nah, she won't go for that."
"you gotta work something out. if your friend who you flirt with is grinding on you, and your girl ain't blowin you up, maybe it will work itself out."
"nah, i dunno, i don't WANT the other girl, i want my girlfriend."
"true, true, well it's gotta be rough getting danced on when you can't dance back. all that hot loving in your dead in the water."
"yeah," he says, handing me a dollar.
"thanks, man" i say, "you wanna cu--*cough* err gum for that?"
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
happy hallopeen.
i decided to dress up on the job this year--for my saturday night halloween eve shift --with help from a fellow employee, i got made up with some fabulous curled and mascaraed eye lashes, luscious eye shadow and rosy cheeks. i donned some fun purple tights and a school girl skirt from my own collection, had to wear the tuxedo shirt and bow tie though. as i walked--strutted?--up to the door i wondered if they'd even let me into the bar. when the door guy saw me he started laughing.
"that's too funny, man," he said.
"phew," i said, relieved, "glad you like it man, happy halloween."
as i walked through the bar, i got a few reactions, some long stars from guys, to slightly cracked smiles from girls. some of the bartenders winked at me, themselves in tiny leotards plus cat ears and tales. mrrrruuuuu.
the first few people who walked in didn't even acknowledge my get up. i was a little surprised. maybe they were thinking about it though. who knows. the first person who did, did so kind of strangely.
"rockin the kilt tonight, huh?"
"yessir," i say, somewhat surprised that i'm reluctant to correct him that it is indeed a fabulous school girl skirt. i wonder why i didn't correct him, i think to myself.
it's a really slow saturday night, i wonder where everyone is. maybe at halloween keggers. the exciting tension of serving up four bros--they get really gay on each other in groups--while wearing this outfit just seems like it won't ever come. i walk out of the bathroom and there is literally no one in this bar. i walk across into the adjacent bar, to check on a fellow employee. he seems to be doin alright, as it looks a little slow, but not dead. all of the sudden grateful dead's scarlett begonias comes on the PA and i start gettin down in between guys playin dart board and the main dance spot. i get a lot of deer in the headlights looks from these guys, and a few "YOU'RE WEARING IN A SKIRT!" yells. then, a total QT dressed in a white button down, black tie & suspenders, black short shorts, and taped up glasses starts dancing with me. the deers in headlights boys now turn into stink eye boys.
"i'm a nerd!" she says
"cool," i say, "i'm a school girl bathroom guy ;)"
"hahaha, you're crazy, do you dress like this all the time, or just for halloween?"
"both ;)"
"hell yeah!"
we continued to dance together, and make a big scene into grateful dead's shakedown street doing crazy twirls and spins and everything. it was so fun! it was really nice to be able to dance all hippied out to the right kind of music. and it was extra nice to get approached by multiple ladies when all the boys were jockin me.
"i have to get back to work," i tell her sadly.
"aww, you're working?" she asks in disbelief.
"yeah, in the bar next to this one, come visit me."
i'm back in the bathroom...as the door opens...
"whoooooooooah? is this the guys bathroom? you're freakin me out with that skirt, man."
"i'm sorry, i've actually gotten quite a few compliments," i lie, innocently.
"you're lucky it's halloween, man."
i look at him curiously. "is this some kind of passive aggressive violent threat?" i think to myself, and i ask with my body language.
"i'm just fuckin with you, guy," he reassures me, "i just wasn't ready for that."
"it's cool, man, i just danced with a couple ladies, and all their guy friends looked mad confused, it was good stuff," i say.
"hey man, just make sure you don't pop a chub," he says.
"haha, nah, i got briefs man, i'm covered," i say.
since the bar was so dead, we closed early. the drag bar fun must come to an end. i make my way over to a pizza place, to fulfill my drunchies craze.
as i'm eating, these drunk guys are getting out of hand, but they are saying some funny stuff. i look back at them a few times, some with an ugh you're being annoying, and others because they made me lol. the cook, stands over the counter and tells them they need to chill. as they continue to be obnoxious, i continue to watch them.
eventually, one of them gets at me.
"hey, why you keep looking back here? guys, look at that dude. look at that fucking faggot!"
"fuck you," i say, throwing up the finger.
one of them stands up, "you wanna get jumped?!"
i shake my head and laugh, "wow, you're really gonna threaten to jump me?"
"there's six of us, motherfucker!" he says.
"yeah, and if a small guy like me is a threat to the six of you, i really don't know what to say. that's pretty weak, though."
the manager/cook, B, jumps in, "yo, don't threaten my customers. this guy is tight, he comes in here every week and doesn't bother nobody, always chills out. don't fuck with him."
"whatever, you plantation nigga," one guy responds, "we'll take you any time any day."
"well," B says suprisingly calm, "i get up at 4am, see you then."
"4?" one says puzzled, "i'm from the 9-5-4 bitchass plantation mothafucka. you know where i'm from?"
one of his friends tries to calm him down, "shaddup, you're from boca!"
i laugh to myself at this riled up rich drunk guy threatening the man who's making him food. so it goes to obnoxious drunk dudes. the thing is, i'm positive i've met each of these guys in the bathroom, and they're usually alright. once you leave the club, shit gets weird in a whole different way.
eventually the rest of the guys at the table convince their loud friend he's out of line, and they all leave. i finish my food and walk up to B.
"you alright, man?" B asks.
"yeah, man, i can handles that shit. thanks for backin me up. you alright?"
"yeah, i'm good, man," B says, "next time i see those chumps i'mma get em. and it ain't me backin you up, we backin us up. they fuck with anyone. they fuck with us," B says.
"hell yeah, dude, thanks a lot," i say.
"you got it, man, i ain't gonna let people fuck with my customers, especially ones that kick it n shit," B says.
"thanks again, see you soon," i say.
"peace," B says.
as i'm walking out to my friend's car someone makes a comment...
"yo, what the fuck are you wearin'?"
"i'm a bathroom guy in a skirt and tights, man, happy halloween."
"oh, so cause it's halloween, you can wear a skirt and shit?"
"yup, or you know, any day of the year if i feel like it," i say coyly.
"are you gay?"
"if you like," i say, laughing.
"fuck you, i'll kill you if you say you're gay!"
i begin to walk away quickly. once we're at a distance i turn back, and acknowledge him.
"WHAT?!"
"that's not very niiiiiiiiice," i say.
he puffs out his shoulders and begins power walking towards me.
i quickly open the door, as he speeds up.
"H, we need to go!" i said.
"why?" she asks.
"this dude told me he was gonna kill me, and is coming after your car."
"ummm, shit. is he close?"
"he will be if we don't get out of here."
as we backed out he speeds up and begins running after us.
"fuck, he's following us," E says.
"he won't catch us, i say relieved, "phew thanks, H. there's nothing like ending a shift with a threat one your life!"
"that's too funny, man," he said.
"phew," i said, relieved, "glad you like it man, happy halloween."
as i walked through the bar, i got a few reactions, some long stars from guys, to slightly cracked smiles from girls. some of the bartenders winked at me, themselves in tiny leotards plus cat ears and tales. mrrrruuuuu.
the first few people who walked in didn't even acknowledge my get up. i was a little surprised. maybe they were thinking about it though. who knows. the first person who did, did so kind of strangely.
"rockin the kilt tonight, huh?"
"yessir," i say, somewhat surprised that i'm reluctant to correct him that it is indeed a fabulous school girl skirt. i wonder why i didn't correct him, i think to myself.
it's a really slow saturday night, i wonder where everyone is. maybe at halloween keggers. the exciting tension of serving up four bros--they get really gay on each other in groups--while wearing this outfit just seems like it won't ever come. i walk out of the bathroom and there is literally no one in this bar. i walk across into the adjacent bar, to check on a fellow employee. he seems to be doin alright, as it looks a little slow, but not dead. all of the sudden grateful dead's scarlett begonias comes on the PA and i start gettin down in between guys playin dart board and the main dance spot. i get a lot of deer in the headlights looks from these guys, and a few "YOU'RE WEARING IN A SKIRT!" yells. then, a total QT dressed in a white button down, black tie & suspenders, black short shorts, and taped up glasses starts dancing with me. the deers in headlights boys now turn into stink eye boys.
"i'm a nerd!" she says
"cool," i say, "i'm a school girl bathroom guy ;)"
"hahaha, you're crazy, do you dress like this all the time, or just for halloween?"
"both ;)"
"hell yeah!"
we continued to dance together, and make a big scene into grateful dead's shakedown street doing crazy twirls and spins and everything. it was so fun! it was really nice to be able to dance all hippied out to the right kind of music. and it was extra nice to get approached by multiple ladies when all the boys were jockin me.
"i have to get back to work," i tell her sadly.
"aww, you're working?" she asks in disbelief.
"yeah, in the bar next to this one, come visit me."
i'm back in the bathroom...as the door opens...
"whoooooooooah? is this the guys bathroom? you're freakin me out with that skirt, man."
"i'm sorry, i've actually gotten quite a few compliments," i lie, innocently.
"you're lucky it's halloween, man."
i look at him curiously. "is this some kind of passive aggressive violent threat?" i think to myself, and i ask with my body language.
"i'm just fuckin with you, guy," he reassures me, "i just wasn't ready for that."
"it's cool, man, i just danced with a couple ladies, and all their guy friends looked mad confused, it was good stuff," i say.
"hey man, just make sure you don't pop a chub," he says.
"haha, nah, i got briefs man, i'm covered," i say.
since the bar was so dead, we closed early. the drag bar fun must come to an end. i make my way over to a pizza place, to fulfill my drunchies craze.
as i'm eating, these drunk guys are getting out of hand, but they are saying some funny stuff. i look back at them a few times, some with an ugh you're being annoying, and others because they made me lol. the cook, stands over the counter and tells them they need to chill. as they continue to be obnoxious, i continue to watch them.
eventually, one of them gets at me.
"hey, why you keep looking back here? guys, look at that dude. look at that fucking faggot!"
"fuck you," i say, throwing up the finger.
one of them stands up, "you wanna get jumped?!"
i shake my head and laugh, "wow, you're really gonna threaten to jump me?"
"there's six of us, motherfucker!" he says.
"yeah, and if a small guy like me is a threat to the six of you, i really don't know what to say. that's pretty weak, though."
the manager/cook, B, jumps in, "yo, don't threaten my customers. this guy is tight, he comes in here every week and doesn't bother nobody, always chills out. don't fuck with him."
"whatever, you plantation nigga," one guy responds, "we'll take you any time any day."
"well," B says suprisingly calm, "i get up at 4am, see you then."
"4?" one says puzzled, "i'm from the 9-5-4 bitchass plantation mothafucka. you know where i'm from?"
one of his friends tries to calm him down, "shaddup, you're from boca!"
i laugh to myself at this riled up rich drunk guy threatening the man who's making him food. so it goes to obnoxious drunk dudes. the thing is, i'm positive i've met each of these guys in the bathroom, and they're usually alright. once you leave the club, shit gets weird in a whole different way.
eventually the rest of the guys at the table convince their loud friend he's out of line, and they all leave. i finish my food and walk up to B.
"you alright, man?" B asks.
"yeah, man, i can handles that shit. thanks for backin me up. you alright?"
"yeah, i'm good, man," B says, "next time i see those chumps i'mma get em. and it ain't me backin you up, we backin us up. they fuck with anyone. they fuck with us," B says.
"hell yeah, dude, thanks a lot," i say.
"you got it, man, i ain't gonna let people fuck with my customers, especially ones that kick it n shit," B says.
"thanks again, see you soon," i say.
"peace," B says.
as i'm walking out to my friend's car someone makes a comment...
"yo, what the fuck are you wearin'?"
"i'm a bathroom guy in a skirt and tights, man, happy halloween."
"oh, so cause it's halloween, you can wear a skirt and shit?"
"yup, or you know, any day of the year if i feel like it," i say coyly.
"are you gay?"
"if you like," i say, laughing.
"fuck you, i'll kill you if you say you're gay!"
i begin to walk away quickly. once we're at a distance i turn back, and acknowledge him.
"WHAT?!"
"that's not very niiiiiiiiice," i say.
he puffs out his shoulders and begins power walking towards me.
i quickly open the door, as he speeds up.
"H, we need to go!" i said.
"why?" she asks.
"this dude told me he was gonna kill me, and is coming after your car."
"ummm, shit. is he close?"
"he will be if we don't get out of here."
as we backed out he speeds up and begins running after us.
"fuck, he's following us," E says.
"he won't catch us, i say relieved, "phew thanks, H. there's nothing like ending a shift with a threat one your life!"
Monday, October 25, 2010
search your feelings, you know it to be true.
i got a new laundry hamper. now i roll up on my bike, two hampers, a back pack full of stoges, new flask in the pocket. medium pimpin, baby.
another guy tried to talk me into selling drugs in the b-room.
"whatuya make in here? twenty bucks? that's shit. imagine if you had some yay"
"sir, i don't know nothing about that."
"aw c'mon, you give stoges for tips, what about a lil bud?"
"nah, i'm alright."
his buddy walks up, and backs him up.
"yeah baby, you should move some o dat powdah. i did last night." he proceeds to put his hand out as if on the back of some bent over hottie, "and made," *humps his arm pallus* "six hundred dolllaaasss"
this tall man walks in. "alo," he says in a strong french accent.
as i hand him a towel, he begins, "there is nothing like this in france. i don't know it is very interesting."
"yeah, a lot of my friends told me this job seemed like it was out of some 80's miami vice or something."
"yes,"he says--seeming to me, a little confused--"the clubs in france it just would not work. do you have gum?"
"yeah, sure."
i hand him a piece, and he gives me five dollars.
"wow, thank you sir, how much do you want back?"
"no, no, no, no. this, for you"
"thanks a lot, lemmie know if you need anything else."
as he opens the door to leave he turns around and says "may zeh force be wizzu"
i respond with a live long and prosper.
"exactly," he says smiling.
later, when encountering another frenchmen, i ask if they are there together. he says yes and informs me via sick videos on his iphone they are on a team of skydivers who are touring the US for competitions. you can visit their website, Reflex Parachutisme.
remember, if you tip, i'll plug ya ;)
another guy tried to talk me into selling drugs in the b-room.
"whatuya make in here? twenty bucks? that's shit. imagine if you had some yay"
"sir, i don't know nothing about that."
"aw c'mon, you give stoges for tips, what about a lil bud?"
"nah, i'm alright."
his buddy walks up, and backs him up.
"yeah baby, you should move some o dat powdah. i did last night." he proceeds to put his hand out as if on the back of some bent over hottie, "and made," *humps his arm pallus* "six hundred dolllaaasss"
this tall man walks in. "alo," he says in a strong french accent.
as i hand him a towel, he begins, "there is nothing like this in france. i don't know it is very interesting."
"yeah, a lot of my friends told me this job seemed like it was out of some 80's miami vice or something."
"yes,"he says--seeming to me, a little confused--"the clubs in france it just would not work. do you have gum?"
"yeah, sure."
i hand him a piece, and he gives me five dollars.
"wow, thank you sir, how much do you want back?"
"no, no, no, no. this, for you"
"thanks a lot, lemmie know if you need anything else."
as he opens the door to leave he turns around and says "may zeh force be wizzu"
i respond with a live long and prosper.
"exactly," he says smiling.
later, when encountering another frenchmen, i ask if they are there together. he says yes and informs me via sick videos on his iphone they are on a team of skydivers who are touring the US for competitions. you can visit their website, Reflex Parachutisme.
remember, if you tip, i'll plug ya ;)
Friday, October 22, 2010
congratulations, you have a huuuge dick.
man oh man. people at clubs have hearts! you don't know how many times i've heard "i feel so bad, i have no money...you're the man though." it really gets to people when they can't tip me. life must be so hard for their broke asses, buying 4 dollar miller lites, 50 dollar half bottles of vodka, and 20 dollar hookahs. those broke ass chumps! it's okay, though. there's always a silver lining. like on my last shift, i washed all my towels way early, made sure i was ready for my shift on time and everything. i open up my bag after i've set up the table...i forgot to get new supplies. fuck. i have less than half of three packs of cigs, no condoms, no gum, and no cigars. alright. i look in my wallet: cardinal sin, i forgot change.
too many times tonight i can't make change for a 10 or 20 and lose at least two bucks each time. the big boner patron from the first post comes through, however. every time someone washes their hands he says in his argentinian accent, "tip this man! he has four children!" as the night progresses, i've more children than i have fingers and have three sick dogs. thanks, guy.
i got a hug on this shift. a somewhat rare, yet no out the ordinary occurance, most of the time i get hugs from cute guys. this one was no exception. minus the trucker hat he was quite the looker. somewhere between jeff buckley and paul j. alessi (the actor who contracts HIV in TLC's 'waterfalls'). maybe jeff buckely is pushin it, but hey i was drunk.
to end the night, this guy stumbles on in with a half full bottle of bubble gum vodka. as he pisses, he raises it violently screaming "my girlfriend just told me i have a big penis!"
no response...
he turns around. we make eye contact. "my girlfriend just told me i have a big penis!!!"
"congratulations, man. i'll drink to that!" i finish my rum and coke and he takes a shot.
"hell yeah dude," he says, "take a shot of this."
i drink the lukewarm bubblegum vodka. it goes down like some kind of reverse acid reflux cotton candy face fuck. "uggggh..."
"aw c'mon man, take another," he pushes.
"alright man, to your dick!"
*glug glug fucking glug*
too many times tonight i can't make change for a 10 or 20 and lose at least two bucks each time. the big boner patron from the first post comes through, however. every time someone washes their hands he says in his argentinian accent, "tip this man! he has four children!" as the night progresses, i've more children than i have fingers and have three sick dogs. thanks, guy.
i got a hug on this shift. a somewhat rare, yet no out the ordinary occurance, most of the time i get hugs from cute guys. this one was no exception. minus the trucker hat he was quite the looker. somewhere between jeff buckley and paul j. alessi (the actor who contracts HIV in TLC's 'waterfalls'). maybe jeff buckely is pushin it, but hey i was drunk.
![paul j. alessi](http://www.southflatv.com/PaulAlessiSmallPortraitCropped.jpg"){kind=link}
to end the night, this guy stumbles on in with a half full bottle of bubble gum vodka. as he pisses, he raises it violently screaming "my girlfriend just told me i have a big penis!"
no response...
he turns around. we make eye contact. "my girlfriend just told me i have a big penis!!!"
"congratulations, man. i'll drink to that!" i finish my rum and coke and he takes a shot.
"hell yeah dude," he says, "take a shot of this."
i drink the lukewarm bubblegum vodka. it goes down like some kind of reverse acid reflux cotton candy face fuck. "uggggh..."
"aw c'mon man, take another," he pushes.
"alright man, to your dick!"
*glug glug fucking glug*
Friday, October 8, 2010
the ladies love it!
when guys don't wash their hands, they always talk about it.
the most common explanations are:
my dick['s] clean
my mom taught me not to piss on my hands
i have no money
whateverrr i'm drrrruuunk
but i got me's a special one last night.
"nah, dude i'm good. i got piss all over my hands though!"
"and you don't wanna wash?
"naaaaah, the ladies love my piss fingers, baby. i can get like three of em suckin my hands off. they can't get enough of piss fingers ;)"
these two other guys were pissing next to each other, one putting his hand on the partition so he can stay standing up.
the one who needs no assistance begins conversation:
"yo, you alright? look like you about to fall over."
"what? i'm good, i'm chillin."
"well then why are you holding yourself up on the wall? you sure you're alright?"
he then proceeds to put his hands being his head as if he's about to receive oral, dawg "oh yeah, i'm chillin"
"what is that?" the other guy responds, "you don't need your hands?"
"nah, dude, i just let it hang."
"shit, i gotta hold it, i'll probably piss on myself otherwise. how big is yours anyway?"
he laughs, shakes his head, and doesn't answer.
dick asking guy (DAG), then comes up to the counter. i offer him soap and a towel.
"man, some people," he laments with a dissapointed tone, "sometimes i just like to come in here and talk. some people could talk enough to write a book, some don't say enough."
i guess not getting a dick size is really getting to him. he continues...
"you know there was a fight earlier?"
"no shit," i say.
"yeah man, you gotta have a good time, cause if you ain't, then you're having a bad time."
as he says this he turns and looks at the guy who didn't answer. apparently his silence is really making DAG have a bad time.
he finally responds: "haha, man, you're a short story at best. i'm an epic novel."
i never thought that would be a metaphor for dick size.
the more you know ~~~~^***
the most common explanations are:
my dick['s] clean
my mom taught me not to piss on my hands
i have no money
whateverrr i'm drrrruuunk
but i got me's a special one last night.
"nah, dude i'm good. i got piss all over my hands though!"
"and you don't wanna wash?
"naaaaah, the ladies love my piss fingers, baby. i can get like three of em suckin my hands off. they can't get enough of piss fingers ;)"
these two other guys were pissing next to each other, one putting his hand on the partition so he can stay standing up.
the one who needs no assistance begins conversation:
"yo, you alright? look like you about to fall over."
"what? i'm good, i'm chillin."
"well then why are you holding yourself up on the wall? you sure you're alright?"
he then proceeds to put his hands being his head as if he's about to receive oral, dawg "oh yeah, i'm chillin"
"what is that?" the other guy responds, "you don't need your hands?"
"nah, dude, i just let it hang."
"shit, i gotta hold it, i'll probably piss on myself otherwise. how big is yours anyway?"
he laughs, shakes his head, and doesn't answer.
dick asking guy (DAG), then comes up to the counter. i offer him soap and a towel.
"man, some people," he laments with a dissapointed tone, "sometimes i just like to come in here and talk. some people could talk enough to write a book, some don't say enough."
i guess not getting a dick size is really getting to him. he continues...
"you know there was a fight earlier?"
"no shit," i say.
"yeah man, you gotta have a good time, cause if you ain't, then you're having a bad time."
as he says this he turns and looks at the guy who didn't answer. apparently his silence is really making DAG have a bad time.
he finally responds: "haha, man, you're a short story at best. i'm an epic novel."
i never thought that would be a metaphor for dick size.
the more you know ~~~~^***
Thursday, October 7, 2010
great poise in the pocket.
i had my first shift on a football night on monday, october 4th. what fantastic social lubricant! we're talking serious man flirting. when a dolphins fan came in, his body slumping down, drowning his imminent defeat in whatever cheap beer cemented his coming week's failure, i assured them of worse things.
"i'm a bucs fan," i'd say, putting my hand on a jersyed shoulder. "at least you have a chance."
"my week is fucking over, bro" he responds. "i'm not even gonna go out this weekend!"
in the wake of his sadness i offer a cigarette or a hand wash, he doesn't bite. looks like we're both stayin in.
a patriots fan comes in. i perk up to meet his joyous attitude.
"yoooo," i say, "did you see that kick return?! so so sweet!"
"fuck yeah, baby, patriots forever! you rootin for 'em too?"
"actually, i'm a bucs fan, and i guess i'm rootin for the 'fins since they're down. but i can still appreciate crazy plays like that. that was sooo dirty."
i move like i'm dodging. "skiiirrrrrt"
"damn the bucs? i'm sorry, bro"
"ah, whatever, we're 2-1, we have a chance. so are you here with a buncha friends or what?"
"yeah, dude, and they're all dolphins fans!"
"that's so kickass, i bet you just talk sooo much shit right now."
"dude, you have no idea. the shit talking is endless."
as the game gets more one sided, the football talk becomes less fun. all the dolphins fans have completely resigned, and it's no longer a thrill for patriots fans that they're winning. it has devolved in a regular, slow night.
and then
a man comes in about 6'2, terribly gelled fauxhawk, ed hardy-like shirt, acid washed jeans, good physical shape. somewhere between a model, and a man doing drag of himself.
he asks, "yo if you were a girl/gay (couldn't tell which one he said) would you wanna fuck me?"
i grin and bat my eyes, unable to otherwise respond.
"oh no, i'm not gay or anything, i just need a confidence booster."
he looks in the mirror, pulls his sleeve up and flexes a slightly toned pasty bicep.
"you'd hit that right?"
i sip on my drink till it makes an annyoing slirp sound.
"i'm a bucs fan," i'd say, putting my hand on a jersyed shoulder. "at least you have a chance."
"my week is fucking over, bro" he responds. "i'm not even gonna go out this weekend!"
in the wake of his sadness i offer a cigarette or a hand wash, he doesn't bite. looks like we're both stayin in.
a patriots fan comes in. i perk up to meet his joyous attitude.
"yoooo," i say, "did you see that kick return?! so so sweet!"
"fuck yeah, baby, patriots forever! you rootin for 'em too?"
"actually, i'm a bucs fan, and i guess i'm rootin for the 'fins since they're down. but i can still appreciate crazy plays like that. that was sooo dirty."
i move like i'm dodging. "skiiirrrrrt"
"damn the bucs? i'm sorry, bro"
"ah, whatever, we're 2-1, we have a chance. so are you here with a buncha friends or what?"
"yeah, dude, and they're all dolphins fans!"
"that's so kickass, i bet you just talk sooo much shit right now."
"dude, you have no idea. the shit talking is endless."
as the game gets more one sided, the football talk becomes less fun. all the dolphins fans have completely resigned, and it's no longer a thrill for patriots fans that they're winning. it has devolved in a regular, slow night.
and then
a man comes in about 6'2, terribly gelled fauxhawk, ed hardy-like shirt, acid washed jeans, good physical shape. somewhere between a model, and a man doing drag of himself.
he asks, "yo if you were a girl/gay (couldn't tell which one he said) would you wanna fuck me?"
i grin and bat my eyes, unable to otherwise respond.
"oh no, i'm not gay or anything, i just need a confidence booster."
he looks in the mirror, pulls his sleeve up and flexes a slightly toned pasty bicep.
"you'd hit that right?"
i sip on my drink till it makes an annyoing slirp sound.
Monday, October 4, 2010
i can't give you anything but(t) love.
it is kind of strange figuring out when to talk to someone who is urinating. maybe i shouldn't talk to them at all, says the guy who drunkenly, if not aimlessly--thank jebus--launched three darts at my head because "i should know better than to say hey to someone who is trying to piss." a lot of guys though, wait. after unleashed and mid relief, they start lookin around and chat me up. it's an interesting phenomenon. in some bathrooms any view is blocked by a partition, in others depending on an angle i get a glimpse at many a phallus, taking the form of various kinds belts . they could be [knock off] leather, perhaps a guy harvey rhinestone, or even a 'punk rock' belt dick. either way, i must watch my eyes, and my tongue, for a curious wanderer gets little tips ;). a few nights ago, a guy unzipped looked at me and removed his pants, boxers and all, down to his ankles, and as i was 'forced' to look at his bare ass...
"BOOYAH! there's a lil' treat for ya!"
so far though, an all time favorite, was at the end of my [first] night at one particular bar...these two guys walk in arms around one another drunkenly stumblin and singing along to la roux's 'bullet proof'. there's a partition separating two of the stalls, but one guy pays it no mind directly starting over the wall taking his friend in full view. i puff on a cigarette while he begins to lament:
"dude, your dick makes mine look...puny i'm so embarassed"
he begins to respond, "dude..."
i take a puff...
"...don't worry about it man. your'e fine. it's all about confidence."
"thanks, dude, but how can i be confident, pissing next to that"
i laugh a little, and attempt to mask it by quickly inhaling. i cough like i've never smoked.
"aw shit, this bathroom guy thinks we're gay! guy, we're NOT gay."
"hey man, i don't assume anything. i learned early on that i can't really get a square read on anyone. i see so much crazy shit. i wouldn't worry about it."
"but seriously though, we're straight." he turns to his friend, "hahaha, this guy things we're faahhgggs.
"we're totally straight," he assures my while handing me 4 singles.
"i appreciate the tip, but i don't care if you're gay. if you are, i've got shields. take a couple, and do your thing. if you're not, whatever, this kind of shit happens in here every night ;)"
"BOOYAH! there's a lil' treat for ya!"
so far though, an all time favorite, was at the end of my [first] night at one particular bar...these two guys walk in arms around one another drunkenly stumblin and singing along to la roux's 'bullet proof'. there's a partition separating two of the stalls, but one guy pays it no mind directly starting over the wall taking his friend in full view. i puff on a cigarette while he begins to lament:
"dude, your dick makes mine look...puny i'm so embarassed"
he begins to respond, "dude..."
i take a puff...
"...don't worry about it man. your'e fine. it's all about confidence."
"thanks, dude, but how can i be confident, pissing next to that"
i laugh a little, and attempt to mask it by quickly inhaling. i cough like i've never smoked.
"aw shit, this bathroom guy thinks we're gay! guy, we're NOT gay."
"hey man, i don't assume anything. i learned early on that i can't really get a square read on anyone. i see so much crazy shit. i wouldn't worry about it."
"but seriously though, we're straight." he turns to his friend, "hahaha, this guy things we're faahhgggs.
"we're totally straight," he assures my while handing me 4 singles.
"i appreciate the tip, but i don't care if you're gay. if you are, i've got shields. take a couple, and do your thing. if you're not, whatever, this kind of shit happens in here every night ;)"
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
nekbromancer
this guy enters the bathroom. he's already tipped...
'sup dude?'
'my friend says that i've got some comb over action goin on. says if i fix it this chick'll be crazy about me.'
'yeah?...i wouldn't call that a comb over, but i see what he's saying. got some gel if ya want it.'
'nah, that's alright. gel gives it that wet look, i don't really like it.
'haha, as you use water to style your hair...'
'ah whatever, i don't really care about her opinion, i'm just doin' this for my boy anyways. she'll sleep with me regardless.'
'hmm...well if you fix it just right maybe you can get with him too...'
'sup dude?'
'my friend says that i've got some comb over action goin on. says if i fix it this chick'll be crazy about me.'
'yeah?...i wouldn't call that a comb over, but i see what he's saying. got some gel if ya want it.'
'nah, that's alright. gel gives it that wet look, i don't really like it.
'haha, as you use water to style your hair...'
'ah whatever, i don't really care about her opinion, i'm just doin' this for my boy anyways. she'll sleep with me regardless.'
'hmm...well if you fix it just right maybe you can get with him too...'
Friday, September 24, 2010
check your bias at the door...
ya know, a lot of people, upon encountering their first bathroom guy, ask "why aren't you working the women's bathroooom? that's gotta be where it's at!" it does always make me chuckle. i always retort with, "nah, i suspect most women don't carry cash. that's what you're here for."
plus, every guy in here keeps gooooooooin on and on that there are no cute girls out there, and as soon as one sets her cute self in here, you yell at her! i'm pretty sure they'd do the same thing to you, if you walked in, and it would be way to hard to break the dynamic for me.
"alright, alright maybe so..."
"oh i know so baby, and the things is, you don't want girls in here. cause this is where you wanna fuck with your boys. man flirt a lil bit, it's all good. that's probably what they're doing in there." *shrug* "the best thing is, when the girls do come in here and you guys aren't in here. cause then i can flirt like crazy. they can dig it, because i'm making them comfortable in an otherwise uncomfortable space, and they know it isn't real. since they know that i'm working, i can say 'sup girl, you need a condom, or a smoke for later ;)" and they'll laugh.
one time this lady waved me over in the girls bathroom. i stayed put, because my set up was there, but told her to come into the boys. 'it's cool, there's a stall. ;)' she walks in and gloats all over about how cute i am in my bow tie. 'take a shot with us booooy' "bring it into the bathroom and i will..."
once a woman and her 3 pronged possie told me i look like a stripper...
"haha, thanks, so do you..."
"are you gay?"
"...ya know, as gay as i need to be to get a tip ;)"
they walk away.
"i knew it, he's suuuuuuuuch a faggit!"
i check my pack of lights. i've smoked half, goddamn it.
it's been pretty suprising how open i am about being queer at this job. on my second shift ever i was terrified. the bathroom was set up so that there was a whole nother room for stalls and urinals than the wash room. that meant as i said hello to people as they walked in, i also got a look at their back[side]. 6/10 times they said something about some faggot. i got worried. now though--maybe thanks to a bit of drink--it kind of just comes out of me. this guy came in one time, we struck up a conversation and i immediately knew he was queer. as we're chatting he avoids a phonecall.
"ugh...my boyfriend won't leave me alone!"
"oh yeah?" I ask, quite surprised he confirmed my suspection.
"yeah, he wants to go down town, but i don't wanna do the fag thing tonight. i just wanna chill here and get drunk."
"hell yeah dude, my experience with gay clubs hasn't been the best. are you alright at bars like this? no one really fucks with you or anything?"
"nah, i do fine...i'll be back with your g&t soon."
"see you then..."
the man from the previous post, who came out to me at the end of the night, avoids my gaze. i can usually get a head bob or wave from most of the people that recognize me, but not from him. i wonder if he worries about me outing him? the last time i was at that bar, it was country night. someone told me, "hey when i go to wash my hands i'll do it." this is a common response from people who seem to feel wierd about not tipping, or maybe just weird about someone helping them do such an easy task. the only thing is, people suck at it. i do it all night, for multiple people at once. i am so much faster than you could ever hope to be. i explain to this man that he'll just be slowing me down and make my job harder, but her persists.
"nah, i can do it man. i refuse to let you wash my hands. you're doing a job that i can do myself."
"i know you can do it...."
"nah, i can't let you do a job that i can do. if someone else is doing a job that you can do yourself, than they're doing a nigger's job."
"yo, fuck you. get the fuck out of my bathroom."
"what? i didn't say anything"
"i'm black."
"nah, you ain't dark enough...."
"look at me! fuck you, and GET OUT!"
"ah man, i didnt...i said nigga"
"no, you didn't...and even if you did, you can't say that, you're white."
"ah i'm sorry, i didn't mean to offend..."
"no one ever does..."
"...and i'm not racist i work with people of all races..."
"you may not be racist, but what you said is..."
"now get out of fuckin bathroom"
he reaches into his wallet after telling me he has no tips all night. four dollars suddenly appear.
he places it in the tip plate and apologizes once more as he leaves. i feel that i shouldn't take it, but i've made $11 tonight. i pack up my shit and leave. i hate white supremacy.
i wonder about having to affirm blackness for people to take their racism in my presence seriously. i'm of anglo saxan and cuban descent. there might be some black in there somewhere, and i ususally have positive racial conversations with other people of color. most start with the question "are you black?" some of have said i have a unique vantage ponit to fight racism, but i'm not sure if affirming an ethnicity that i'm unsure of is the right way to do it.
plus, every guy in here keeps gooooooooin on and on that there are no cute girls out there, and as soon as one sets her cute self in here, you yell at her! i'm pretty sure they'd do the same thing to you, if you walked in, and it would be way to hard to break the dynamic for me.
"alright, alright maybe so..."
"oh i know so baby, and the things is, you don't want girls in here. cause this is where you wanna fuck with your boys. man flirt a lil bit, it's all good. that's probably what they're doing in there." *shrug* "the best thing is, when the girls do come in here and you guys aren't in here. cause then i can flirt like crazy. they can dig it, because i'm making them comfortable in an otherwise uncomfortable space, and they know it isn't real. since they know that i'm working, i can say 'sup girl, you need a condom, or a smoke for later ;)" and they'll laugh.
one time this lady waved me over in the girls bathroom. i stayed put, because my set up was there, but told her to come into the boys. 'it's cool, there's a stall. ;)' she walks in and gloats all over about how cute i am in my bow tie. 'take a shot with us booooy' "bring it into the bathroom and i will..."
once a woman and her 3 pronged possie told me i look like a stripper...
"haha, thanks, so do you..."
"are you gay?"
"...ya know, as gay as i need to be to get a tip ;)"
they walk away.
"i knew it, he's suuuuuuuuch a faggit!"
i check my pack of lights. i've smoked half, goddamn it.
it's been pretty suprising how open i am about being queer at this job. on my second shift ever i was terrified. the bathroom was set up so that there was a whole nother room for stalls and urinals than the wash room. that meant as i said hello to people as they walked in, i also got a look at their back[side]. 6/10 times they said something about some faggot. i got worried. now though--maybe thanks to a bit of drink--it kind of just comes out of me. this guy came in one time, we struck up a conversation and i immediately knew he was queer. as we're chatting he avoids a phonecall.
"ugh...my boyfriend won't leave me alone!"
"oh yeah?" I ask, quite surprised he confirmed my suspection.
"yeah, he wants to go down town, but i don't wanna do the fag thing tonight. i just wanna chill here and get drunk."
"hell yeah dude, my experience with gay clubs hasn't been the best. are you alright at bars like this? no one really fucks with you or anything?"
"nah, i do fine...i'll be back with your g&t soon."
"see you then..."
the man from the previous post, who came out to me at the end of the night, avoids my gaze. i can usually get a head bob or wave from most of the people that recognize me, but not from him. i wonder if he worries about me outing him? the last time i was at that bar, it was country night. someone told me, "hey when i go to wash my hands i'll do it." this is a common response from people who seem to feel wierd about not tipping, or maybe just weird about someone helping them do such an easy task. the only thing is, people suck at it. i do it all night, for multiple people at once. i am so much faster than you could ever hope to be. i explain to this man that he'll just be slowing me down and make my job harder, but her persists.
"nah, i can do it man. i refuse to let you wash my hands. you're doing a job that i can do myself."
"i know you can do it...."
"nah, i can't let you do a job that i can do. if someone else is doing a job that you can do yourself, than they're doing a nigger's job."
"yo, fuck you. get the fuck out of my bathroom."
"what? i didn't say anything"
"i'm black."
"nah, you ain't dark enough...."
"look at me! fuck you, and GET OUT!"
"ah man, i didnt...i said nigga"
"no, you didn't...and even if you did, you can't say that, you're white."
"ah i'm sorry, i didn't mean to offend..."
"no one ever does..."
"...and i'm not racist i work with people of all races..."
"you may not be racist, but what you said is..."
"now get out of fuckin bathroom"
he reaches into his wallet after telling me he has no tips all night. four dollars suddenly appear.
he places it in the tip plate and apologizes once more as he leaves. i feel that i shouldn't take it, but i've made $11 tonight. i pack up my shit and leave. i hate white supremacy.
i wonder about having to affirm blackness for people to take their racism in my presence seriously. i'm of anglo saxan and cuban descent. there might be some black in there somewhere, and i ususally have positive racial conversations with other people of color. most start with the question "are you black?" some of have said i have a unique vantage ponit to fight racism, but i'm not sure if affirming an ethnicity that i'm unsure of is the right way to do it.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
just oneuh them days, don't take it personal
I grunt as i carry my supplies to this musty bathroom. I cross the threshold and the stench of stale urine and cigarettes chokes me out. "Ughhhh..." I do my best to maintain balance as i dodge piss puddles. it's like i'm playing in aftermath of a rainstorm. my stomping grounds is a dank, terribly ventilated, stale bathroom resurrected back to life by a piss monsoon. tonight's gonna be great, i can feel it.
i'm not supposed to smoke in this bathroom, fuck. i must mask the smell. i have plenty of calogne, but that's like pouring perfume on a pig.
first guy comes in.
"how's it going dude?"
"it'll be going much better in a second."
...
"aaahhhh" i avert my eyes as he relives himself two feet from me. i grab for the soap, as he grabs for the flush handle. flushhh! a flash flood of urine careens over my shoes and sprints for the front door.
awesome. i'm standing in piss, working for shit and i'll have to remind drunks not to flush over and over and over and...
all night people are coming in saying "you work here?! you're better than this job!...this job must suck. etc."
i've learned to get used to the homophobia, because most of the time it is the way these guys flirt with each other. most of the time it is not really hateful, it's just the only way they can be sweet to each other.
"look at this faggot right here!" guy points to his friend and puts his arm around me.
"have you ever seen a bigger faggot, dude?"
"uhh--i don't uh- o_O..."
"this guy can take a mean dick!"
"fuck you, bitch i'll bend you over any day!" he responds with authority.
"haha, no really though me and him are gonna smash some bitches tonight!"
"fuck yeah dude, you look really good. this is gonna rule!"
"you look really good too!"
*bam*
in the half second of the last dialogue, their vocal tones, and body language changed. a tiny peak into the parts of their psyches that seemed to want to 'smash' each other. i take a deep drag on a cigarette and as i let the smoke slowly curly out of the bottom of my lip, i grin: i have an intimate secret.
the rest of my night goes terribly rough. i feel i spoke too soon about homophobia. younger guys are coming in and aggressively talking about how i have the worst job in the world, how they can hook me up at a mall kiosk selling beepers and i can kiss this bullshit job goodbye. they're all asserting themselves past my personal space, making it terribly difficult for me to offer soap and push calogne and cigarettes.
eventually, i crack. "yo, i don't give a fuck about your job, you're gonna have to move i can't do mine" "well fuck you then, faggot bitch!"
towards the end of the night i'm crushed. people have treated me like shit all night, i've made no money and i feel i'm so close to punching someone. i hope i don't go off on anyone. then, this big beefy dude comes in, i'm positive he works here, and i'm apprehensive because he gave me shit the night before.
"hey, how's it goin' dude, can i get a cigarette?"
"it's goin' man, pretty bad, you got it, what kind you want?"
he grabs a light and reads my face and body language. as i light up with him he begins...
"dude, don't let these guys get to you. they're shit. you're working, and you need to own that. these guys aren't doing anything but fucking themselves up."
"thanks, man, i know it's just hard." i struggle to let this guy in. since my first experience with him was tense, i'm not too keen to let my guard down, especially considering what is getting to me most is how homophobic all the patrons were. i know this guy is tryin to make me feel better, but he won't be able to make me feel better about that.
as if he knows he's not getting to me positively he repeats himself. "look, man, just know you're working. you've got a job, and that deserves respect. make sure you respect yourself for that, alright?"
"hell yeah, thanks a lot man, i really appreciate it. i've just had to take a lot of shit tonight, and i really feel like i could punch someone. i feel like sitting in the dark," i say desperately.
"you gotta not let em get to you," he responds, "man i'm a homo guy, you know how much shit i have to take at this job?!"
there it is. i light up, and i'm off. a ball of energy that cannot be stopped. "oh my god, dude, the homophobia in here is killing me! it's all these younger cats, man they're so fucking aggressive, and shit. this isn't guys being friendly between each other, most anyways--they're all trying to dominate this space and it makes me want to scream! fuck. i never thought i'd be able to safely talk to someone about this in a bar..."
he puts his right hand out, and i mine and we firmly shake. he drops a 20 in my tip jar. "keep your chin up, man."
i'm not supposed to smoke in this bathroom, fuck. i must mask the smell. i have plenty of calogne, but that's like pouring perfume on a pig.
first guy comes in.
"how's it going dude?"
"it'll be going much better in a second."
...
"aaahhhh" i avert my eyes as he relives himself two feet from me. i grab for the soap, as he grabs for the flush handle. flushhh! a flash flood of urine careens over my shoes and sprints for the front door.
awesome. i'm standing in piss, working for shit and i'll have to remind drunks not to flush over and over and over and...
all night people are coming in saying "you work here?! you're better than this job!...this job must suck. etc."
i've learned to get used to the homophobia, because most of the time it is the way these guys flirt with each other. most of the time it is not really hateful, it's just the only way they can be sweet to each other.
"look at this faggot right here!" guy points to his friend and puts his arm around me.
"have you ever seen a bigger faggot, dude?"
"uhh--i don't uh- o_O..."
"this guy can take a mean dick!"
"fuck you, bitch i'll bend you over any day!" he responds with authority.
"haha, no really though me and him are gonna smash some bitches tonight!"
"fuck yeah dude, you look really good. this is gonna rule!"
"you look really good too!"
*bam*
in the half second of the last dialogue, their vocal tones, and body language changed. a tiny peak into the parts of their psyches that seemed to want to 'smash' each other. i take a deep drag on a cigarette and as i let the smoke slowly curly out of the bottom of my lip, i grin: i have an intimate secret.
the rest of my night goes terribly rough. i feel i spoke too soon about homophobia. younger guys are coming in and aggressively talking about how i have the worst job in the world, how they can hook me up at a mall kiosk selling beepers and i can kiss this bullshit job goodbye. they're all asserting themselves past my personal space, making it terribly difficult for me to offer soap and push calogne and cigarettes.
eventually, i crack. "yo, i don't give a fuck about your job, you're gonna have to move i can't do mine" "well fuck you then, faggot bitch!"
towards the end of the night i'm crushed. people have treated me like shit all night, i've made no money and i feel i'm so close to punching someone. i hope i don't go off on anyone. then, this big beefy dude comes in, i'm positive he works here, and i'm apprehensive because he gave me shit the night before.
"hey, how's it goin' dude, can i get a cigarette?"
"it's goin' man, pretty bad, you got it, what kind you want?"
he grabs a light and reads my face and body language. as i light up with him he begins...
"dude, don't let these guys get to you. they're shit. you're working, and you need to own that. these guys aren't doing anything but fucking themselves up."
"thanks, man, i know it's just hard." i struggle to let this guy in. since my first experience with him was tense, i'm not too keen to let my guard down, especially considering what is getting to me most is how homophobic all the patrons were. i know this guy is tryin to make me feel better, but he won't be able to make me feel better about that.
as if he knows he's not getting to me positively he repeats himself. "look, man, just know you're working. you've got a job, and that deserves respect. make sure you respect yourself for that, alright?"
"hell yeah, thanks a lot man, i really appreciate it. i've just had to take a lot of shit tonight, and i really feel like i could punch someone. i feel like sitting in the dark," i say desperately.
"you gotta not let em get to you," he responds, "man i'm a homo guy, you know how much shit i have to take at this job?!"
there it is. i light up, and i'm off. a ball of energy that cannot be stopped. "oh my god, dude, the homophobia in here is killing me! it's all these younger cats, man they're so fucking aggressive, and shit. this isn't guys being friendly between each other, most anyways--they're all trying to dominate this space and it makes me want to scream! fuck. i never thought i'd be able to safely talk to someone about this in a bar..."
he puts his right hand out, and i mine and we firmly shake. he drops a 20 in my tip jar. "keep your chin up, man."
Thursday, August 26, 2010
first post.
I work in various college bar bathrooms for tips. I wear a tuxedo shirt, a bow tie, and slacks. I provide patrons with cigarettes, cigars, condoms, gum, calogne, hair gel, a hand towel and soap, and conversation. It is my job to sell myself to you. The moment we make eye contact, I've got a read on you. In the millisecond that you walk by, I must know whether it is better to give you a head nod, say 'whassup boss,' throw a hand out for a physical greeting etc. I work to make you comfortable that I'm watching you piss. Do you shit louder than the club sound system pumping out lil wayne mixed with the police? No worries, I gotchu. Have a smoke or a mint. Got knows i need both. I keep track of who is in what stall so that future customers don't walk in on you, and place myself in all the conversations you bullshit with your boys. If it feels right, I speak on the matter without invitation. Other times, patrons come to me. I have to make you feel more comfortable, make sure you leave the bathroom feeling good about yourself, good about your night, and that you have good chances with whoever you're eyeing on the dance floor. Essentially, it is my job to flirt with straight men.
~~~~~~
first night
As with any job, the first shift gives one a case of the butterflies, but this is a whole new level. As i watch people leave the stall, I struggle not to follow their energy. I'm looking at them eye to eye, they go for their zipper, so go my eyes...look up look up look up.
I give the patron a head nod and extend my arm for the towel. "Nah, boss. Mah dick's clean." "Alright, have a good night," I respond nervously. Prior to the shift I had my best pep talk about the job and being queer. "I have passing privilege," I say to myself, "make sure you don't give anyone the eye....."
As my night goes, most of my conversations, start out with the customers talking to me "you're new huh?" I nervously respond to every conversational piece. I am an intruder, an impostor. I am killing the bathroom vibe. I This is a dynamic i feel helpless to rectify.
Finally, a patron 'breaks the fourth wall' so to speak and puts his arm around me. "My maaaan," he says loosely and loudly "I've tippped you but have no more cash. Do you drink?" "Yeah, vodka cran," I say nervously. "No no no nooo," he responds, "I just tried this drink tequilla sunrise! It's awesome. It gives you a big big boner!" As he says this he wraps his left arm around his bent right making and shakes his fist ala a sumerisle native in the wickerman (1973). "I'll have that," i respond trying not to blush.
~~~~~~
first night
As with any job, the first shift gives one a case of the butterflies, but this is a whole new level. As i watch people leave the stall, I struggle not to follow their energy. I'm looking at them eye to eye, they go for their zipper, so go my eyes...look up look up look up.
I give the patron a head nod and extend my arm for the towel. "Nah, boss. Mah dick's clean." "Alright, have a good night," I respond nervously. Prior to the shift I had my best pep talk about the job and being queer. "I have passing privilege," I say to myself, "make sure you don't give anyone the eye....."
As my night goes, most of my conversations, start out with the customers talking to me "you're new huh?" I nervously respond to every conversational piece. I am an intruder, an impostor. I am killing the bathroom vibe. I This is a dynamic i feel helpless to rectify.
Finally, a patron 'breaks the fourth wall' so to speak and puts his arm around me. "My maaaan," he says loosely and loudly "I've tippped you but have no more cash. Do you drink?" "Yeah, vodka cran," I say nervously. "No no no nooo," he responds, "I just tried this drink tequilla sunrise! It's awesome. It gives you a big big boner!" As he says this he wraps his left arm around his bent right making and shakes his fist ala a sumerisle native in the wickerman (1973). "I'll have that," i respond trying not to blush.
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