Life at TJ's Place
Thursday, July 15, 2004
I was just in my car a few minutes ago and I went to pass a guy in an SUV and he started flipping me off and sticking his head out the window screaming at me as I went by. He was going like 50 miles per hour and I just passed him. Dude, chill.
I have tomorrow off! My day from freaking hell and I’m taking it off. I’ll miss the money though, but not that much. I’m going to spend the day golfing a cool new course here, and then tomorrow I’m going to post a detailed, shot-by-shot description of my golf game, for all the women who read this and love to hear about my golfing. It’ll look like this.
Hole #1 (Par 4, 395 yards) T-shot (driver), ended in left rough. Approach, 9-iron from 140 yards, left front of green. Two-putt, par. Even par after one.
Like that for 18 holes.
My friend has an idea that there should be all-male golf courses that feature nude women on the course. But the women wouldn’t be like the strippers at outings (topless females pouring beers, taking wagers, tending the flags, flirting), they’d be more like wildlife. You know how cool it is when you see a deer running across the fairway, or standing near the tee box? That’s his idea. You might not see any for a few holes, then all of a sudden you’d hear a rustling in the trees and see two of them running back into the timber. A few holes later, you might see one standing in your fairway, then she’d run off when you got ready to hit your t-shots. I haven’t golfed with him in the last 3 years where he hasn’t brought up the nude golf course thing. We joke about it, but I honestly know he thinks it’s a great idea. We joke that then the women would want their own courses with naked dudes swinging around in the trees. But probably not.
This isn’t a joke, some of our dancers were invited to a company golf outing last summer. They’re topless, of course, and they go around getting the guys drinks and messing with them on the greens (like the pool playing) and flirting around. These are really big-money outings because they have to shut the course completely down on those days, so the wrong person doesn’t get an eyeful. Well somebody was taking pictures and it kind of turned out that there wasn’t supposed to be anything like that for their outing and a bunch of the top guys at the company ended up getting fired for it.
This last part sounds really boring, but it was actually kind of funny at the time. Our dancers made about a million dollars, went home and then the shit hit the fan. I might try to re-write this story when I have more time. I’m off to work.
Monday, July 12, 2004
One night we were in the process of kicking out two rednecks who didn’t pay for their drinks. I mentioned this event one time in my comments section, but I don’t think I elaborated. So everybody’s standing out on the front porch, and these two guys didn’t want to go. They had been physically removed from the club by three of our bouncers. I feel a lot better when guys are outside of the club. Inside of the club, there are lots of things that can still be broken. I walked outside and there it was, three on two, our guys standing in a line and those two drunk idiots on the other side, facing off. Fuckhead this, fuck you that, piece of fucking shit, come on fuckhead. As the guy in charge, I’m supposed to step in and say things like, “Come on, guys, just go home, everything’s cool, you don’t want to end up in jail tonight, do you?” Then they say things like, “FUCK YOU! FUCKIN’ PUSSY!” It’s a whole back-and-forth kind of thing. Very challenging.
One of the two guys had his hand cut on the way out the door, probably thrashing like a landed fish when our security guys tried to get him out of the club. He was holding his hand up near his face and I could see that the back of his hand was bleeding down his forearm. I walked up to both of them because it looked like they were ready to throw in the towel.
I said, “Look, just go home, guys. You’ll sleep in your own bed tonight. Otherwise you’re going to spend the night in jail.” This is all standard bullshit, which carries about a 30% success rate.
The bleeding guy looked at me, for the first time, I think, because he'd been staring at our bouncers the whole time and hadn't heard a fucking thing diplomatic Kev had been saying, and he said, “Yeah? What about this?” and fucking wiped his bloody forearm right across my chest.
I looked down at my chest and said something like, “Dude...”
If I’d had a gun, I would have shot him right in the face.
So everybody goes ape-shit, of course. Pushing and shoving, headlocks, more flailing. My guys moved in like the fucking cavalry. It’s a sight to see, guys wearing tuxedo shirts and bowties, cleaning things up. I love all of them. Even the ones who steal the cover-charge money. I really do love them.
There are four steps from our parking lot up to our wooden front porch. We were all just trying to move these guys off the deck and down to the parking lot, but the one guy was still doing his flailing asshole imitation and he went down the steps backwards.
Something, I’m not sure what, on his body, went crack on the pavement. I still don’t know what it was. Probably his head. We all just stood there on top of the deck looking down, all of us going, Oh! with our hands out. It had to be his head. Crack! Like a piece of wood.
I thought he was dead. His buddy bent down and started saying shit like, “DJ? Man, get up, man! DJ?” It was like a war movie.
And all of a sudden DJ just kind of shook his head and staggered to his feet. That was that. We could hear him mumbling all the way through the parking lot as his buddy took him to the car. “Fucks! Man, no! Fuck them! Fuck ‘em, dude.” God, that guy was a fighter. Of course, he now had brain damage.
That story is kind of funny, but I’ll tell you, we sat around for a couple weeks worrying about that one. My guess is that the guy had about 10 arrest warrants out for him and couldn’t be caught dead in a bar.