Fuckupery

I’ve lost jobs that were quite pathetic to begin with; fired from hostessing at Chili’s, age 17, for not putting my hair back, fired from waitressing a good four times for various reasons, and abruptly quitting my American Express Platinum/Black card concierge job because the internal pressure of the glorified call center gave me a nervous breakdown.

But I usually hold it down as a stripper, relatively speaking. I made a huge mistake Saturday night and blatantly left with a customer. It wasn’t anything solicitary; he was a guy from Venice and, having lived in Italy, I almost never meet authentic Italians here in New Orleans. All I wanted from him was the opportunity to practice speaking, plus the cultural exchange I’ve sorely missed, not money. I wanted someone to keep me company as I washed a turkey burger down with Blue Moon ’cause it beats consuming alone.

My managers interpreted it as soliciting and told me I have a fine, plus I’m being demoted to day shift.

Fuck that shit. I’m going to show up to my scheduled shifts this week, but as soon as I get another gig, I’m out of there. I’ve worked day shifts there before, and it’s the most depressing waste of time I can think of. I’m a nighthawk and having to wake up at 10 for an 11AM shift is my idea of hell on hearth. I’ve become close with many night shift girls and, although I sometimes start early and work with the day girls, who are perfectly fine, I’ll actually miss my other girls.

They are on a firing squad over every little thing. They fired my other friend for exchanging numbers with someone and another friend for random arbitrary crap. I still have a job, but I loathe day shift with every ounce of my being. I’d like to think I’ll be something of a “top dog” compared to day shift girls, which could help me with customers, and I’d like to think the managers will let me stay on to work doubles, but I really need another gig.

It’s hard in New Orleans, because there is nothing better than my club besides Rick’s Cabaret and Penthouse. Neither of those clubs are likely to hire me thanks to my weight and age. Rick’s Sporting Saloon is on par with my club, so I may try them. But after that, it’s a slow and steady downfall of dirty clubs; Stilettos, Scores (which ain’t on par with its Manhattan namesake), Deja vu, Lipstixx, Hustler/Barely Legal (whose girls are unhappy with money) et al. I’m not sure where to begin. My manager said I can move up to split shifts, then back to night shifts after serving my fucking punishment, but it’s about to be the Super Bowl and I can’t squander this money making opportunity on only working day shifts. The timing sucks and I truly don’t understand why it’s “soliciting” to have a beer with a guy. It’s not like someone overheard me say “I’ll do____ if you give me ___$.”

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2 Responses to “Fuckupery”

  1. Ken Says:

    I just found your blog and I love it. So thank you. And I love this story.

  2. sexmahoney Says:

    Fuck that shit is right. There are always other jobs. Why should Chili’s hostesses have to tie their hair back?

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