Life at TJ's Place
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
Here’s one. Yesterday, we had just opened and one of the dancers came out of the dressing room crying. Moe and Curly were there at the bar, and the bartender, and a couple other goofballs. She had a toothache. It must have been severe because the particular dancer is not a crier at all. She walked out to the bar and everyone came to her rescue. What do we do? Aspirin, no she’s already tried that. Loads of it. Her nose is going to start bleeding if she takes anymore. Someone suggested candle wax. You melt some candle wax, pack it while it’s still warm and then shape it around the tooth. Takes all the pain away. Brilliant. So Brad got a lighter out and went to work melting one of our huge, dirty candles that sit behind the bar. What else? Chewing tobacco! Chewing tobacco? Yes, somebody’s toothless, gum-cancered grandfather swears by it. You have a toothache, get some Red Man, put it back over the sore tooth and pain gone. Someone suggested sucking on some ice first, then the candle wax, then the chew. Attack it on several fronts. A roomful of men with limited intelligence trying to solve a problem, in a bar. It reminded me of a scene from Drew Carey.
While this inept cluster fuck is going on at the bar, Curly told her, “Get dressed. I’ll take you to the dentist.” Crying, sucking on an ice cube, she went back to the dressing room. Five minutes later, she was gone, with responsible Curly, a dancer’s best friend. She came back two hours later and even danced. Curly is now in the dancers’ good graces, in our doghouse for making us look (and feel) like a bunch of dumb assholes, which we are. Sometimes I think I’m so down-to-earth with all this common sense, then something like that happens. The rest of the night, every time I walked past Moe, he looked at me and said, “Candle wax? Nice one, dipshit,” even though the chewing tobacco had been his idea. He has a way of doing that.
I’m going golfing tomorrow with a buddy at the golf course I grew up playing. This is a company outing or golf day. My friend works in the concrete business, so a lot of the companies that sell him equipment or supplies have golf days (preferred ball golfing, free drinks, food, door prizes). It’s a way for a company to say Thanks for buying our shit. There are only two golfers in my friend’s company, so I always get invited to go on these. I have to try and fake it, though, when anybody at the golf outings (especially a guy who works for the host company) comes up and says, “So, how long have you been with ABC Concrete?” because they get kind of pissed if they’re shelling out a bunch of money for guys who don’t even work at the companies they’re trying to schmooze. I’ve been in some pretty hairy conversations that were way over my head.
I went to a huge concrete trade show with them a couple years ago, because really the only reason they went was to golf. So we had to spend one day at the trade show, which was actually really cool. All the companies have a booth showing their stuff. They also have a drawing where they give things away. You enter the drawing by putting your business card in the drawing box. If you don’t have a business card, you fill out a little slip with your name and address, company name, your job title, etc. That way they can solicit you down the road. I filled out everything correctly, but I had to ask my friend what my job title was. He said put Estimator. He tells me I still get mail and sales calls all the time. He had to tell his secretary to tell them I no longer work there.
Monday, June 21, 2004
Some of the most fascinating conversations in the club, by far, come from the waitresses. This is because we have waitresses ranging from 20 years old to about 40. Two of my favorite waitresses are Erin and Becky, who are college students and play softball. They’re best friends and work every shift together because Erin can’t drive and Becky has to bring her. Becky dates a guy who’s 29 and looks like the Swiss tennis guy, Roger Federer (with little pony tail). I think he knows he looks like Roger Federer and tries to dress like him, for whatever reason. He’s a nice guy.
Erin dates lots of guys. I’m beginning to think she’s the easiest chick at her college. She has a spiky blonde, super short hairstyle but is still very cute and has a really funny personality. Some of the most outrageous things I’ve ever heard a person say came from Erin’s mouth. I’ve even seen dancers blush at some of the things Erin says. She’s a flirt, but I also know Erin does more than just flirt. I’ve heard of women who get booty calls at 3:00 am from drunk college guys, but I’ve never met one until I met Erin, who enthusiastically admits to getting, and answering, booty calls. The theory behind the booty call is that, as a guy, you can go to the bars, strike out completely, and then stagger home and make the “booty call” to Erin, which she’ll answer and invite you over. There is also the “booty rock throw against window” like in Animal House (and countless others—seriously, has any guy ever stood outside of a girl’s window and thrown rocks up at it? Probably yes.) The only booty call I ever made was when I was in college, and I called an old girlfriend 200 miles away after a night out drinking. I woke her up and she talked to me for a little while, then, when I started suggesting I hop in my car and come visit her, she told me I was drunk and to go to bed. I bet women just love those phone calls.
The other night I walked by the waitress station and Erin called me over. There were four waitresses there. They were discussing anal sex. Apparently, a lot of Erin’s booty callers were trying to sneak in the back door recently. “Kev, you’re a guy. Why do all the boys want to buttfuck anymore?” Erin calls guys boys, all the time, which is funny. I know we call dancers girls, but for some reason I get a kick picturing one of Erin’s “boys” drunkenly trying to screw her in the ass. She asks me stuff like this all the time, like I should know. What do you say to a question like that? I said it’s a drunk thing, and that they’ve been watching too much porn. I told her if they’re drunk enough, they’ll try to stick it in your ear. One of the older waitresses, who was just standing there listening, raised her hand and said, “Uh, been there.”