Saturday, January 20, 2007
or
Up All Night
When you work in a nightclub, you have to be prepared for anything. You work with, and for, all types of people - ex cons, rehabilitated junkies, single parents, transexuals, the occasional WASP working her way through college, illegal immigrants, what have you. We've all got something going on. We wouldn't work nights if we didn't. You learn to let steriotypes fly out the window. As long as everyone does their job correctly and keeps discrete, you learn to turn a blind eye.
In the locker room last night, I saw two girls huddling over the vanity. When one of them said "Oh shit, I spilled my cocaine!" I shouted back "We'll then you'd better clean it up fast!" and got back on the floor as quickly as possible.
Later, I teased her gently about the incident. You know, to show her that I was a cool chick and pretty much live and let live. "How much do you think that spill cost you?" I asked. "About three bucks," she said. "I ordered a case of them from California."
Boy did I feel like a dumbass.
You know, the funny thing is, this isn't even the first time I've been thrown by the name of an energy drink. A few months ago, a girl asked me for "Sum Poosie." I told her I at least need a dinner date first.
