1st
Helloween
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.
