It was a few years ago. Dude walked in early- like 6 PM and went straight to a private room. I knew he had real money right away because he was wearing everything that went against the dress code- shorts (bright orange shorts at that), sneakers, and a t-shirt; he was smoking a cigarette as he walked through the main floor; and he was being escorted politely by a host and a security guard. You would've thought he was famous, except most famous people wouldn't have been allowed in dressed like that... except, maybe, Rodman. Anyway, we all knew how to spot the big fish and he was an obvious spender and we were right.
Although it seemed somewhat tame in the beginning as far as spending goes-early bird, bought an hour and a couple girls, got a bottle, whatever, cool- he exceeded everyone's debauchery expectations by far. Not only was he there until after closing, signing his bill to stay through past 4 AM, at one point he was doing something that made his corner of the club smell like straight feces. And I've smelled some shit in the club. With all the laxative-laden coke and bowel-loosening ecstasy in these places, the smell of diarrhea wafting from the restroom is not exactly uncommon (it keeps the girls skinny!) But this was something else, and it was coming from the room, not the toilet. It required a good air freshener spray every quarter hour! Now on that topic, I can't even tell you how the noxious fumes were unleashed, and I'm glad for that. I believe the waitress either stayed clear around this time or she spared us an explanation. We're all better off, I'm sure.
What the waitress did see in the room was bad enough but, like an adult cartoon, it was comically witnessed in strange, brief flashes from her personal light, because the customer managed to remove all the bulbs (the already dim bulbs) from the light sockets to make the room pitch black. Going in there was a challenge just to clear glasses and refresh ice. Maybe it was a blessing. Even with the lights out, the server would come out with stories about sudden scenes of fucking and coke sniffing as her flashlight scanned the room like a searchlight beam passing over an orgy. She even saw them snorting cocaine out of an ashtray filled with old cigarettes! She told us the white powder was mixed with the ashes and they were too high to even notice.
At the end of the night the waitress had to psych herself up to get the bill paid. He had already propositioned her, as they all normally do, and she had refused. It was inevitable that he would do it again before signing off on any gratuity. Do I give you money for being a waitress, or do we work something out now for a little extra, hmmmmm? She wasn't down with any of that, so it was going to be a bit intimidating. Some of these guys are known to get mad at the rejection and not tip at all. The room was still black, but with the help of the flashlight the waitress and customer found each other. She later told us she handed him the check presenter and as he took it she flashed the light on the open book only to see the bill being held by one of his hands and directly under that his penis being caressed by the other. "How much for you to give me a blow job?" He asked her without even pausing his masturbating. She politely declined and he conceded, signing the bill with an extra thousand dollars added for her and then frolicked back naked to the strippers. We all left before he did.
That's why I like to stay behind the bar.
1 comment:
wow. makes for interesting writing material.
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