This particular story is one from my early strip club days, when I was a bartender. It was a fully nude club in California, which meant that there is no alcohol served there. Only soda, juice, coffee and O'Doul's, a non-alcoholic beer. That did not mean that dudes didn't come in drunk, because they usually did.
During this time I was a miserable person. My marriage was shit, my apartment was infested with roaches, I felt like an ugly, plain-Jane around all these glamorous looking hookers, and despite the fucking SILVER SUIT VEST and button down white collared shirt I was forced to wear, I was sexually harassed by old, nasty men on an hourly basis.
|This was my uniform. Hot, isn't it?|
Okay so, this one night we were slammed, and it was a Wednesday, so we were understaffed and I only had one waitress. My job was to pour drinks, bar-back, cashier, take orders from the tip rail to ease the pressure from my server, and take food orders from dancers so the door guys could make food runs.
An old man came in and told me immediately that he intended to spend a lot of money for good service and handed me a $10. I've heard this before, and a $10 bill was just enough for me to wipe my ass with, but I obliged his ego anyway 'cuz you never know.
"Of course Sir. What can I get you?" I asked.
"O'Doul's" he said.
He sat at the bar and spent the next few hours pissing everybody off. He criticized every dancer that approached him. "You're too fat.", or "You smell like a fruit basket, I'm gonna throw up.", and called one of our Mexican girls a wetback. He only accepted lap dances from women without children because he "only likes tight pussies", or who were in college in their second year or more (which was only three), and would ask dancers to SPELL a random word he thought of to earn the chance to dance for him. Did we kick him out after all that? Hell fucking no! He was buying a few dances, tipping off the rail, and tipping me, so insults like "wetback" fly. STELLAR. He also had a crazy huge appetite for O'Doul's. He drank two or three an hour, and went to pee just as often. It was bizarre. He would also make me re-pour them if there was more or less than a half inch of head on the damn thing. He MEASURED it with his key-chain measuring tape. Because he was a douche.
At one point it got really, super busy and I was running around like a nut. He watched me for a long time and then complimented me on my work ethic. "Um...Thank you." I said. He asked If I had kids...Uh oh....
"Do you have kids?"
"A son. He's 4."
"Why is that?"
"Because you shouldn't have kids and work in a place like this. Your husband should keep you home where you belong. Or you should be a dancer. You have no tits, but guys nowadays are so lazy they'll pay for any dumb bitch to sit on their lap, tits or not."
(At this point I turn around, go get my manager, and tell him I need a break so I can stop myself from murdering this guy. He agrees.)
I come back from break and he starts up again:
"You in college?", he says with a sideways grin that meant he didn't think I was educated...
"In graduate school.", I lied.
He laughs hysterically..."No you're not. I went to Pepperdine. Where the fuck do YOU go? San Bernardino?? Hahhahahaaa..."
I searched my mind for the most impressive school nearby I could think of...
"Scripps. I'm a psychology major. Minor in special education." I didn't even know if Scripps offered those majors...
"You go to a dyke college??? Of course you do! You're a man hater because you have no body, you have a kid from a deadbeat, and you aren't pretty enough to be a stripper. Hahahahahaaa!!"
It took everything in me not to jump over the bar and choke him to death with my soda and near-beer soaked socks. I poked my head around the corner to talk to my manager again, and told him what happened. He said he was sorry but he couldn't do anything and just to ignore him. WTF.
My server came up and asked for change. I walked to the register and got it for her, with the asshole still laughing at me. Then I asked him if he needed another O'Doul's.
"Not now, dummy, in a few minutes. I still have a few sips. This one was too cold. I have sensitive teeth. I had to let it sit for a little while....You know what? How about you get me one, and when I get back from having a smoke maybe it won't be so damn cold. Can you handle that sweetie?"
Oh yes. I can handle that...
What happened next I am not proud of, although I do see a sick humor in it. I could have (should have?) been fired and arrested for it, but I'm not entirely sure of the exact legal ramifications...
I had to pee. And he likes lukewarm beer.
I took a mug from the shelf, walked into the storage room, and peed in it. About...maybe 2 ounces. Then I brought it out, and proceeded to pour the most perfect O'Doul's ever in the history of fully nude strip clubs. The head was a perfect 1/2 inch, just like he wanted. And it was slightly warmer than 37 degrees. I set it on a fresh napkin, and went about my business. After a few minutes he came back in sat down, inspected the head on his "beer", and took a sip. And stopped.
He looked at the glass and then at me, and my heart dropped. But then he said, "You finally got it right." and gulped down a few swallows. After he finished that mug he left without saying anything to anyone, strangely enough. And I was shaking with fear that somehow he knew and I'd get caught, but I never did. Nowadays I feel bad, but I also feel great about it. I hope that old shit bag is dead and worms are eating him. Bastard.
So....I don't care to work the service industry anymore...