Burnt Out.....

Work and school is kicking my ass. This semester just sucks, and half the time I have to run from school to work. And the last few nights I have made shitty money while other servers did ok. For a while, I was making around $150 a night. Now, all of a sudden, I'm making $85. I'm starting to look for bartending jobs on the side. Today I'm going to apply for a bartending job at a strip club.

I've worked at a strip club before, but during the day. I cocktail waitressed there. The money was shit because it was during the day, while the night girls made tons of money. And they didn't let day girls go to night unless they went into champagne rooms (where they would have to dance topless for customers). Me and my coworkers would stand around and laugh at the bad boob jobs and at the customers who acted like they had never seen a pair of tits before. I started drinking too much. Then they told us we would have to wear a pair of panties and a corset to work, so I quit.

I really hope I get this bartending job today. The place seems a little seedy, and there aren't reviews about the place on the internet, but I might as well go check it out and see for myself.

Ben

Ben is one of the managers at the restaurant. He is an older, wire-skinny Chinese man. He downs shots of vodka throughout shifts, smokes like a chimney and runs around as if in a constant state of panic. He incessantly feels the need to repeat whatever he tells us at least three times in his accented English.

“86 tiramisu!” he runs up and tells me one shift. He runs up to Bruce, our token gay waiter. “86 tiramisu!” He runs up to Don. “86 tiramisu! You got that? No more tiramisu!” Me, Bruce and Don gather at the bar, joking around before the dinner rush comes in. Ben runs up to us in a frenzy. “86 tiramisu. No more tiramisu. You got that?” he yells at us. “Wait, Ben, what are we out of?” I ask him sarcastically. “Tiramisu! No more tiramisu!” he answers. The three of us bust out laughing.

The dinner rush comes. People try to order tiramisu, but I tell them that they’re out. In the middle of the rush, I glance over to the bar, where I see Ben gobbling up a tiramisu. I go up to him. “I thought we were out of tiramisu?” I ask. “I found some. Don’t 86 tiramisu.” He tells me. I see Bruce approach him and ask the exact same thing. Ben then approaches each of us individually and announces in a frenzy, “I found some tiramisu. We have tiramisu. We have tiramisu!”

Poor Ben. He must suffer from some type of severe anxiety disorder, and probably uses vodka to self medicate. This industry does make you need a drink after your shift, especially after dealing with difficult people.

Don't Mess with the Bartender

Jessica is a nasal 18 year old girl. She is pretty but wears hairstyles that make her look matronly. She was a busgirl but recently became a waitress. Her and I got into a little argument a week ago. I am over it but she isn’t. I try to talk to her about it, but she lies and says that she has nothing against me while ignoring me otherwise. I chalk it up to the fact that she’s only 18 and practically still a child who needs to learn about forgiveness. However, it’s still a pain in the ass working with her.

            On this particular night I’m bartending. I walk in and greet Jessica. She ignores me as she has for the past week. When I’m behind the bar, she faux-sweetly asks me for change, milk, lemons, and anything else she needs from behind the bar. I keep in mind how rude she’s been to me for the past week while waitressing beside her, but how tonight when I’m the bartender she’s all nice to me. She needs a beer. I take the bottled Heineken out of the fridge, make sure she’s not looking, and shake it up really hard. I leave it on the service section of the bar. Eddie, a food runner, comes up to the bar and starts chatting with me. I watch the service area out of the corner of my eye while only half listening. Jessica comes up to retrieve the Heineken. She removes the top of it with the beer opener on the side of the bar and it explodes all over here. She sets it down and foam pours over the neck of the bottle.

“What the…”

She has a look on her face like she can’t fathom what had just happened. What on this earth would make a bottle of beer explode when opened? Her little 18 year old brain can’t comprehend the complexity of it all. I can’t help but smirk. Her reaction was just what I had hoped for. I know it's silly, I know it's immature. But she shouldn’t have messed with the bartender.