Vaguely out of retirement…sort of. Coat checking. No booze, no clients, no bounced paychecks with credit card tips, no staff meetings, no retarded uniforms, cash in hand. Overall not bad. I’m working at an uncool place, in an uncool neighborhood, with really cool staff. So all the old drug dealers/pimps/whores/promoters/models/nightlife nightmares don’t know where to find me. Win/Win.
Cept last night. I used to love Halloween, it was an excuse to wear an offensive costume and get offensively fucked up, some highlights have been an American Apparel model who was raped by Dov Charney and Sexy Yoda…on cocaine, klonopin and Jameson…Oh my! But sober, I realize Halloween fucking sucks. Fat chicks in slutty costumes, cheap amateurs trying to fight me on the price of coatcheck. One loser actually said “What if we’re cute?” Answer: Don’t worry about it, cause you aren’t. Could’ve been worse, typical promoter fashion they told the manager that all the tables were pre-sold, so he put on extra waitresses. Reality: two promoter comp bottles, one real table. Poor girls.
on writing on this thing. Fuck you. I’m three weeks sober. What do you want from me? Funny moment at a meeting the other day. Recently I discovered an old work friend of mine is in “the rooms” too. Yes, that is what AA is called. It is all sorts of secret catch phrases. I was delighted to see her there. Frankly, it is kind of surprising I don’t know more girls from “the industry” in the rooms. So my girl and I were industry gossiping after a meeting, and this tattooed, tortured miserable fuck interjects. He’s been sniffing around me for a minute…they have some sayings in AA among some of the douchier men. “Get em on their backs before they get on their feet…” classy, really. Mr. Miami Ink meets Holden Caulfield clearly doesn’t know who he’s dealing with here, though. ANYWAY, we’re gossiping and I say something to the tune of “I feel fucking retarded asking this woman to be my sponsor. I can call up a dude and ask him to come and buy six bottles no problem, but asking this woman scares the shit out of me.” Tattoos and Torture says…”Wait, were you a stripper?” Then says, “Some of my best friends are strippers. no judgement.” He had also previously mentioned how he thought the day’s reading was sexist. Right…clearly someone has read The Game and is practicing his “negging.” Time would be better spent working on your novel, Champ.
7 meetings.
1 therapy session.
4 rehearsals.
3 gym sessions.
5,000 cups of coffee.
62 fights with my parents.
1 making my best friend cry.
0 drinks, 0 lines.
I’m not even gonna try and count the cigarettes.
Here’s what happened, I start the new job a few weeks back. I book a client, I’m doing ok…but Im the new girl, and I’m getting new girl hazed, plus I’m competing with a good friend of mine to be on the schedule, cause every waitress in this town knows every other waitress. It sucks. They schedule me. I win….I guess, kind of. So I work, it goes ok, no one really trained me so I’m fucking shit up, I never fuck shit up, and I’m always the OG bitch. I feel stupid. Next day, I go in, Im dressed wrong, everyone hates me, don’t know if I have any clients coming. I feel dumb, I’m gonna get fired etc. etc. is all going though my head. I have a glass or two of champagne to calm down. Tables come in, table wants coke. table sends me to buy coke. A LOT OF COKE. Table keeps cutting me lines, I drink their champagne, do the lines, a lot of lines, I’m too high. Other table is buying bottles of Don Julio, I keep doing shots with them to come down, now Im drunk, more coke…etc etc etc etc. It ends with me trying to split a bill on 7 credit cards, getting yelled at, freaking out and running another bill on the wrong credit card, all while grinding my teeth cause I’m so high. I get sent home by a girl who fucks clients in the bathroom. She has her shit together more than I do. Awesome. Amazing. AA.
I got fired from the bottle hooker job that I had always wanted for being the most coked up fuck up in the biggest coke den in NYC. Long story short, I’m in AA now. I’m retired.
Just typed up the entire story of my exit from bottle hookerdom, then tumblr fucking erased it. Now Im bored and I’ve been attending meetings for days and Im sick of my story, so will post it later. Thus far I have three days and four meetings. Yesterday was great, today I really wanted to drink champagne and go out. I didn’t. Im home with the DVR.
It is a bad enough to be going to work around 8 PM in all your bottle hooker finery, the looks one gets on the L train from bitches in librarian glasses and chuck taylors are pure murder, HOWEVER even worse is heading to work in your skintight American Apparel dress, 4 inch heels and full make up at 10:30 AM, I ran to my corner shop to get my iced coffee and the barista I see every day burst out laughing at me, whilst moms buying morning produce pulled their offspring away from me. “Shut up I’m going to work!!” I explained to the barista…”looks more like you are coming from work…” he replied. Then I got my ice coffee for free. Small blessings.
Just about how many bloggers did you cheat on me with?
Really?
And then add on all those girls you picked up while you were bartending/and or working the door?
Weren’t the club hos enough? You really had to go on the internet and find Brooklyn bloggers to cheat on me with as well?
Gross.
Though I might’ve texted you last night when I was leaving 1oak around 4. I WAS REALLY DRUNK AND IT DOESN’T COUNT.
Having to serve food to the owner’s table when you haven’t served food in about three years, and proceeding to spill oyster water when clearing plates…
Having to explain to a promoter and his crew that the owner took one look at them and said they weren’t getting a comped dinner cause he didn’t like the look of their crowd…
Having to get security to get a drunken douche to sign his check after he’s screaming that the girl he bought the bottle for didn’t go home with him so he wants a refund and the customer is always right…
I kind of respect the owner’s move though. Promoter didn’t do his job and bring a GOOD crowd, why should he get free food?
Nonetheless, feels like I’m stuck in a Christopher Guest movie, or an episode of The Office.
or 9 to 7 or 8ers.
Pull the stick out of your ass.
If turning thirty and having job security and health insurance involves being like you, I’ll stick to my transient nightlife work forever thank you very much.
Thanks Marian!
I don’t know what Tumbularity is, but now its up.
So I got a new job, at a new place that should be hot spot, not open yet and already starting to get a lot of buzz, so I decided to go out and beef up my client list, which I NEVER do. A good bottle girl hits the bottle service spots on her nights off and goes and finds clients to add to her existing rolodex. I usually go to Lit, Max Fish, or bed…as in my bed, not Bed on 27th street. However, I’m really stoked about this new spot, so I figured I’d hit one of the infamous brunch parties that the New York Times found so distasteful. I brought out my favorite partner in crime, a beautiful Italian girl with her boyfriend’s credit card. After we (he) bought ourselves 3 bottles and convinced some dude to buy us a fourth I was sufficiently wasted that I don’t remember the next three hours. I managed to miss the outsider art show I wanted to see and the friends and family opening of a new gastropub that I wanted to attend. However, I woke up with about 8 new numbers in my phone…I’ve had to start programming them in with BTL after the name so I remember who the hell they are. I fear, though, when the new place opens and I book these tables they are going to come in looking for me and I will have not the slightest recollection of them. Oh well….”Baby! Sweetie! Darling! Honey! Great to see you! You look/thin/tan/buff/whatever!”
Happy almost Summer.
