Ah some many things to talk about.

Grew up in an all white family, I am adopted. I don't know my biological parents, other than that my mom is dead. I grew up in a very small Catholic school community, taught by nuns, who had no problem tipping your desk over and grabbing you by the chin. Eh, that subjects old and boring.

My skin is dry, the tears trickling down my face burn. I speed down the four lane road, ducking and weaving through the other cars. He's different I swear. I can be better tomorrow. I am a better worker than that. He's only mean because he's stressed out. I know he's taking it out on me. I know he is frustrated, he hates his life, and his failing business. I'm sorry, I'll be better tomorrow I swear, I can do better. I know he's taking advantage of me. I know that deep down he cares about me, he has to.
Me and my boss have a sick, and disturbed relationship. He demoted me from a general manager to a waitress, because times are tough. He cuts my hours and thinks I don't notice. I cover shifts left and right, then all of a sudden the next week rolls in so nonchalantly. When I receive my check it seems so small I can't see how out of all those hours it's only so big. Today I am exhausted. Yesterday, I worked in the morning till 3pm then went to school till 10pm then went to work at the club till 2am. Ah yes, I got my job back from an old employer, but I'm working at the sister club instead of the one I was originally at before.

Why do I put up with my bosses abuse? He insults me, puts me down, but yet I am at his every beckon call. What the hell is wrong with me? You might think, oh girl you deserve so much better! Do I? Do I deserve better? Personally, I don't think so. Not that long ago, my dad told me at the dinner table said in a chuckle, "Ha, yea no one's going to hire you because your bald." Maybe. Maybe that's why I stick with the same employers I've had over the last four to five years.

When I tried to get a job at the old club I used to work at, the girl who did the hiring rejected me. She walked around me slowly, analyzing everything about me. Finally she comes to stop to the place where she had started, her eyes slowly go from my legs to my head. She freezes, and says in a cold distant voice, "Take off your hat please." I reply in a small voice that doesn't even sound like mine, "I'm bald." I feel ashamed and embarrassed. She shrugs and tells me she'll have to get back to me but for right now all their staff is full. Which is bull because I talked to the owners and they both told me they need bartenders, bar backs, door people, floor people, waitresses, and shot girls. So, I was hired at the sister club, which is fine I guess. I get rejected every night. "Hey guys can I interest you in some shots tonight?" Don't look at me like that, stop it I don't like it, I'm not selling me, I'm selling what's in my hands. But in a deeper level you really do feel like your selling yourself at three dollars a shot, specially after fours hours of the hustle.

Ugh, I'm hungover. The customers who are free with their money have no problem buying you shots or drinks. She was different. She was clever, smart, and witty. I suspect she had been involved in working at clubs to because she knew things most customers don't know. She told me she was amazed I didn't have a red bull can so I wouldn't have to take all the shots. You get a red bull can "down the shot" and "chase it" with a red bull when really your spitting it out. Which is an art form within it's self, but it was a long day and I didn't mind numbness. Also she was amazed I didn't have any fakers. Fakers are fake shots you give to people who are to drunk, so your rip them off by giving them a mixture of red bull and sprite, and then take their money. That night I was serving good old jager, Washington apples, red headed... ladies..., and blue mother freakers. <--- haha that's funny. Anyways.
I haven't worn heels in forever, so I asked if I could sit down. She eagerly agrees and lays her hand down. She tells me I'm pretty and that she's glad I get out. Ha.. whatever lady. Then she tells me this:
"Oh yea, I knew a guy with cancer once. He lost all his hair, and I have to say he looked better bald. Then I knew this lesbian who shaved her head and she looked... well... like a lesbian. I have to say your head is so perfectly round."

I don't think so, I'm not doing this tonight, no siree, no no no, oh you want another shot? Fiiiiiinnnnne....
She offers me a shot, I grab the strongest one, I don't wait for her and I slam it. Time to go.

She says I'm a great girl, and how I'm just so adorably cute because I'm not even five feet tall. I thank her and move on. I go across the room and start all over again. I still have three more trays to sell, so I really need to kick it into high gear. The bar makes so many pitches of whatever shots, then fills them into those test tubes. They told me I wouldn't have to work long because there was going to be three other shot girls. Oh but guess what, one got the flu, the other isn't answering her phone, and the third just quit with no notice. So hey it's just me!!! Great so many things are coming to mind like hey, it might be crazy because there are too many people for one shot girl, or depending on the crowd you COULD be the ONLY shot girl and sell a half a tray. Ok where was I? I think I sold a tray, wait no I'm still on my first one, crrraaaap. Ok, ok, calm down, I frantically look over at the bar and the different colored test tubes are sitting out waiting for me. I really don't feel like selling nothing, and then having to tip the bartenders. Well you really shouldn't say tip, because you have to give the bartenders money.

I'm running around like a chicken with her bald head cut off. "Hey baby get me our waitress. We need to cash out. She's like this tall, I think. I didn't get her name. What? WHAT? I can't hear you! No, no she's got dark hair and ugh she's nice, and ugh yea I think she went that way." Wow, thanks guy that was sooo descriptive I'll just get right on that. Huge room with different rooms, levels, bars, and waitresses everywhere, sure I'll get the waitress. And then there's me. I am a very short if you hadn't noticed, soooo, I'm walking with my shots raised in one hand over my head which to a normal person next to me, the shots would probably come up to your face. Guys trying to grab one for free I'm fending them off and still trying to balance the tray, and gracefully sliding through customers, and ducking from drinks and flaring hands from drunk people telling really lame, overly dramatic stories. I reach the other side of the room.

Benny Benassi is blaring over the speakers which are in every corner. The bass is so loud I can feel it in my chest. I scream at customers to buy shots. Finally, I get to a mixed table of girls and guys. "Come on guys buy these lovely ladies some shots!" I nudge a girl and wink. I set the tray down and give them the whole special, what I'm selling which is which, for how much, and then again which ones which because half of them were not paying attention. Cha Ching! Money flows...

They offer me to sit down. Fine. I sit. Now what. Oh I have an idea how about you buy more shots, so I don't have to talk to you. One of the guys come behind me and wraps his arms around me. "Wow, baby your cute, I love your bald head. It's so exotic, can I rub it." ... how about no...

Then he proceeds to tell me the girl next to me, the one I nudged is his wife. Well that's grand, so what. He asks what I was up to after work and wanted to see if I'd like to come over their house and continue to party. For one I have no idea why people think because you work in a party atmosphere that you MUST be partying too! No, I'm not. And no I don't want to "party" with swingers. I slide out of his grip, and then off the chair, I say I must be off! As, I start to walk off he slaps my butt and swiftly comes up behind me and yells in my ear, "Hey girl if you ever want to get interesting let me know, you know where I am." ...yea again, how about no... But I say nothing because my voice is becoming hoarse from yelling the same lines over and over and over again.

Hours go by and I survived the night just barely. The owner comes out of his office, the lights are all on, music is shut off, bartenders are softly counting tips, door people are sweeping the floors, he comes up to tell me I did a good job. He hands me cash, yay. Of course I go over and "tip" the bartenders they smile and nod without breaking away from counting all the crushed up singles. It's weird when all the lights are on, you can actually see the people you work with. It becomes almost uncomfortable, because now you can hear their real voice, see their imperfections with their outfits, and the wrinkles or the sweat on their faces. As, I start towards the door, the owner calls me back. "Hey um yea, somethings I need to talk to you about, can you see me in my office for a second." All of a sudden I don't hear the brooms against the floor sweeping up broken glass and cigarette butts, I can no longer hear the soft voices of counting... 78,79,80,81. I look around and they are all staring at me... shoot.

I follow him with my head looking down, I'm nervous, really nervous. He's a huge guy, you would have thought he was a bouncer not an owner. He's been in this business for over 20 years, he's rough and has a voice of a man who's smoked a pack a day of those 20 years. I walk into his office, he tells me to shut the door, I take one more look out and see them staring at me and then the door is shut. I sit down and cross my legs and pretend not to be scared. Basically, he tells me next time I work I have to watch out for the bathrooms for drugs and to much human contact, what to do when the cops come, how to tip them off if someone is too drunk, etc. Haha, yea got you didn't I? Well, to be honest when it was happening I thought something bad was going to happen too.

I've written a lot. Anyways if you've stayed the long hall and read the whole think, I thank you! I feel like this all so not interesting though, like this isn't what you want to hear. I'm sitting on my futon curled up with five blankets on my with my DJ head phones listening to a play list off my computer. I am bare to you. I am so vulnerable, saying certain things that I do. If you wish for me to talk about other things let me know, any suggestions on what I should blog about? Go ahead and comment!