The Fat Lip

It started off as a bad day, and things mostly progressed from there. The small things can really pile up. The power went out and I slept in due to an alarm clock that requires power to sustain life. On my way to run my errands, I received a flat tire for my effort. After a $15 patch job on my tire, I received a chip out of my windshield from a passing Tractor-trailer (and his heat seeking pebble). In the mall parking lot, I received a dent in my diver side door from someone driving a rather large white vehicle (I assumed it was an SUV).

The washing machine in my laundry room didn’t work and it cost me $1.50 to find that out. I washed my uniform in the sink and tossed it in the dryer. An hour later, I realized that the dryer I chose worked, but didn’t dry anything. It cost me $1.75 to find that out. I would later improvise and use my fan as a makeshift dryer. On my way to work, my cassette tape got jammed in my car’s tape player.

I arrived at work at my designated time (7pm) and I found the club to be quite busy for that time of night. I was assigned to the door checking ID. I would stand at the door for a good three hours, checking ID, kicking out minors, skimming money off minors, and talking to Tracy, the regular beer girl.

As I stood, poised against the wall, comfortable, content, talking about a fascinating topic with Tracey, the call goes out on the radio “Get your ass to the booths, major shit going down”, I ran to the back of the club to find one of the dancers freaking out, crying, yelling, swinging her arms. The girl was in complete shock. There was a terrible stench in the air and as I pushed the girl out of the way, I found an intoxicated customer lying on the floor.

I know what you’re thinking and yes, the guy had too much to drink and he threw up on the floor, on the chair, and yes, on the dancer. I hauled the guy up and started dragging him out of the booth just as a barrage of slaps came from the dancer. In an effort to keep moving, I cleared the girl out of the way with one hand and kept hold of the drunk with my other. In an attempt to launch one last assault on the drunk, the girl lashed out and I bore the brunt of the assault, including a sharp elbow in the face. After the assault, the dancer retreated to the dressing room. By this time, the cavalry had arrived in the form of the Brick Shithouse (Chris). Chris just took a look at my sorry state and started laughing at me.

I dragged the drunk to the door and radioed Chris to see how much the guy owed to the dancer. The reply was “40 bucks” so I reached into the guy’s pocket, retrieved $40, called the guy a cab, and then gave him the boot.

By this time, I had a bloody nose from the elbow and puke on my uniform. I radioed Chris to start the mop up and his reply was “Fuck that man, you find the mess, you clean it up”. Just my fucking luck. A good hour of mopping later, I closed the booth down, changed my shirt, and cleaned up my face. I had a fat lip.

My damsel in distress calmed down and took a shower. She later found me and apologized for her actions. How could I blame the girl? I know if I were in the same situation, I would try to kick the dumb fuck’s ass. I did, however, receive a generous tip for my actions.

I apologize that I don’t remember the dancer’s name; most of the girls who worked at my club went my “Michelle, Stacey, Stephanie or Tracey”. Just too many girls to remember.