Part one …

I like to think of myself as a professional. Excluding the fact that I can barely carry a full tray of  drinks through a crowded casino. A professional  in dealing with all kinds of crazy. You know eccentric, degenerate, kind, free loading, funny and the occasional douche bag drunks. Not all  lunatics are created equal. I always ask my self why don’t I have a hidden camera on me ! I decided to blog for now.

I had scored my first job in the food and beverage industry at the ripe age of 16 as a hostess. Perfectly ready to be molded into the ideal Hooter Girl . Fast forward,  I became nothing even close to the “girl next door” image. I mean clearly wearing booty shorts and a low-cut tank top screams girl next door. It was fun though. I have a billion stories to share. It was so grand that I worked there for 9 years! Just kidding. I was stuck by the hooter claw that grabs onto you for life because you can pick your own schedule. I was in and out of college during those years, it really just worked best and I was way too comfortable there.

After 9 years of mild , medium or hot , I moved on to the club scene and sold ridiculous size bottles of grey goose. Total culture shock compared to the amount of work I had to do for a five dollar tip at good old hoots. I mean we had to sing songs, sign t-shirts, sell shit , and bus our own tables. Being a bottle server was like meeting the oasis in the desert. I just pranced around in my dress and three-inch heels while mixing drinks. More stories on that later.Unfortunately, there’s some weird law that states you can’t be a bottle server forever. Who ever made that one up needs to be fired.

So here we are my first little babble about working for dollars. Not those kind of dollars. Although it has crossed my mind after I’ve counted my tips on a Tuesday night in December.