I hunted down a customer who’d said he wanted more dances after he got another drink.
Much prevarication and well-concealed annoyance later he finally came out with:
“Oh no. I’m not going to make it easy for you. I’m going to make you work for it.”
I like to preserve a Jordan Baker-esque facade, a cool, insolent smile that can take anything and keep going, but shit like this always cracks it.
I grabbed his neck. I have to be subtle with this because if they catch me on camera they threaten to take away my shifts, “threatening customers doesn’t look good.” Look good hell, your customer base doesn’t look good.
“I am working. You are in my place of work, and I am working. Giving you attention is work. Uncompensated work, I might add.”
“Oooh now I’ve made you mad. Definitely not getting any more from you now.”
Squeezed his neck harder, moved up to grasp his chin & make sure he’s listening.
“Let me frame it like this for you. Imagine going to a restaurant. Imagine keeping the waitress running asking for glasses of water and promising that you’ll order a big entree soon. Then you leave, without ordering, without leaving her a tip. And she doesn’t make an hourly wage. Got it? You’re that guy.” I started to walk away but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back, frantic to feel like less of an asshole.
“No I’m not! No I’m not! I got a dance! You got my $40!”
“that’s really helpful. I get less than 70% of everything you spend in here.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.” He fumbled with his wallet. I saw a twenty but he went for a five. Which I guess is actually 20% of the 25 I get after the club takes their/the dj’s cut. “here!”
Good thing my minor buddy just exited a half hour with the most hilaribad story I’ve heard in a while courtesy of a really weird foot fetishist.