Sunday, May 31, 2009

Life is good

Tonight at The Club, it was ok. Well, actually, if last week was “just ok”, tonight was below average.

The money was good, but hardly anything happened. I had a bunch of American tourists at my bar. They were loud, the girls weren’t cute at all and they tipped like shit.

In general, it’s known that Americans are good tippers. When I was a waiter at an upscale tourist restaurant, I used to love Americans! They religiously tipped 20$ after taxes.

But at The Club, the Americans we get are mostly under 21. They can’t get into bars at home and they just don’t know how it works. Unlike most girls I work with, I always try to tell them nicely. “hey guys, try to leave some tips tonight… all right ?”

I know most of them are just not used to this unwritten rule, but it can really ruin my mood. It’s pretty easy: 1 drink, 1 $. Two shots, 1$. There you go.

At 7$ a drink and 3$ a shot, it rounds up to 15%. I know, you think that 2$ is still a good tip for opening three beers. After all, why should I even make more? Opening three beers ain’t much harder than opening just one.

But that’s not how it works. See, I pay a cut. I pay 6% of my sales, regardless of how much tips I make, to my busboys and managers. Which means that if you tip me 10%, I only get to keep 4%. At this rate, to come home with a whole 10$ of tips, I’ll need to sell over 16 of those 6$ beers. So… yeah, I’m a bit pissed off when you leave me 1$ for two beers (which is actually less than 10%)

Fortunately, I always have some good local customers who compensate for the cheap fucks I get.

Enough with that, I just needed to blow off some steam. Let’s stay zen… you win some you loose some.

At one point in the night, I see a camera on my bar. The only people around are facing away, it seems like it was forgotten there. To make sure it doesn’t get stolen, I take it from the bar and put it on my back bar, right there in plain view.

At 3am, when everybody’s out, I reach for my pack of cigarette and I realize the camera is still there. No one came to ask for it.

I actually feel sorry for the owner. I once lost my camera, a few years ago, and I know how much it sucks. But it’s now totally mine. It’s not like handing it over to my bosses would be the honest thing to do. One of my boss would just have a new camera. It would be as helpful as giving it to the homeless guy on the street, in terms of returning it to the owner.

When I get home, I look in the camera to see what pictures are on it. Hey maybe I’ll see a boob or two!

I open the camera, and the first picture that appears (the last taken) is me, behind my bar. The second picture? Still me behind my bar. It’s not like I’m at the back of a shot. No, it’s just me. How fucking weird!

The other 150 pictures were of the American kids that were hanging out at my bar. I hope it belongs to the overly drunk fucker who consistently undertipped me, cause some of these guys were actually ok. But since there’s two pictures of me taken secretly on that thing, I kinda wish it belongs to the cutest of the American girls.

I guess I’ll start to post pictures now.

Oh! And it was Pascale’s birthday. She got pretty drunk. At one point, Sara and her were kissing. It’s always fun to see two (HOT) girls you’ve slept with in the last week kiss each other. It fuels the imagination, to say the least.

At 3:25, I received a text message from Pascale: Can I come sleep with you?

I’m tired, I’m drunk, she’s WAY drunk, all I want to do is go home and smoke a joint. I choose to ignore it.

At 4:30, when I’m ready to leave the club, I text back: Sorry, I just got your message… going to sleep, I’ll see you soon.

You know life is good when you can afford to turn down booty calls from a cute 19 years old barmaid.

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