I’ve been working 12 hour days and my recent posts have all been from my phone. Loyal readers (and the disloyal ones too) I apologize for my lack of detail in some regards. I feel I should backtrack a bit and break a few things down.
The oil workers
This club is well known for fights, stabbings and shootings.
I talked about how everyone has a big ass knife on them, but something that doesn’t give context that I failed to mention are the types of men here.
Most oil boomtown workers are people willing to go anywhere because they’re on their last chance. As such, companies only have so many people to choose from. Then you factor in the type of work involved, and your pool of potential hires is even smaller.
Let me be clear about something, I don’t really like these people on a personal level. They’re crude, dirty, and morally reprehensible. But I do respect them because the work they do would test ANY man’s resolve. I can’t even accurately describe it because I only did a small part of it before getting my current job.
Try to imagine working out in -65 degree weather (wind chill) and being so cold because you’re WET and you have to change gloves every few hours because your hands are so swollen from the cold and your gloves are shrinking because you’re being drenched in “invert” (a toxic chemical you get drenched in that causes rashes) and then combine this with having to do intense labor. For 12 fucking hours minimum for 30 days in a row. Then think about going home to share a small room, tired and dirty, with 3 other assholes to catch 5-6 hours sleep just to wake up and do it again.
Like I said, I don’t like these men, but I have to respect anyone that has that kind of grit.
Many are ex felons, guys with no options, men willing to go and do whatever they have to. They’re survivors.
Most would probably make excellent soldiers under different circumstances.
At any rate, these guys come into a strip club with wads of cash wanting to blow off steam and be around feminine company after 30 days on a “hitch”. It’s understandable why they’re wound up so tight, and when they drink, they do it until they’re barely able to speak.
That amount of testosterone, stress, and booze is a dangerous combination.
Now consider that our bouncers are usually part timers of the same crowd, or guys that just aren’t up for that kind of work.
I had to teach our guys how to do a proper search, and then come down hard on them because they get lazy and won’t search the same guy after he leaves and comes back.
They don’t usually bring anything back in, and I wouldn’t want to search these dirty, grimy, smelly dudes more than I had to either, but that one time shit goes wrong, you’ll wish you’d just been a little more vigilant.
A good bouncer is more than just a tough guy; I’ll give you an example.
Nice job Steve
Our floater, Steve, is supposed to stand around and keep an eye on things in general. One time he noticed a guy at the tip rail trying to grab a girl so he warned him not to do it. The guy does it again so he says “you’re out of here buddy!”.
Now this is a bad move for a variety of reason.
For one thing, when you say that to the type of guy I described above, you’re challenging his manhood, of course he’s going to fight you. Especially if he’s with his friends. Which he was. Two of them were sitting right next to him. And two more were sitting at the table. RIGHT BEHIND STEVE.
Steve got emotional, and because he isn’t confident his excitement went through the roof and he got tunnel vision and didn’t check his surroundings.
The result was that he was stuck in the middle of 5 guys that were all tougher than him.
It’s shit like this that was happening on a daily basis because these guys just don’t know how to handle it.
My friend and I had a full on brawl on out hands.
Jack (my buddy) jumped over the bar and grabbed the biggest guy in a front headlock and I hit the rest of the group from the side taking them all towards the door and hemmed them up in the entryway. To make matters worse, the guys at the door jumped into the mix making things more congested.
What ONE of them should have done was open the door so we could get these guys out but instead we were all jammed up in front of it
I had my arms draped around two guys choking them in guillotines and Jack was pressing two guys against each other. Steve, useless wet towel that he is, was getting pummeled in the corner by ineffectual punches. I let go of one guy for a split second and reached over with my right hand and turned the doorknob and we spilled outside into the snow.
Jack ran back inside and saved Steve while I kept the other guys in front of me at bay. They were all talking a gang of shit but they were keeping their distance.
Finally jack yanked the last guy out and the three of us told them “go home and come back tomorrow”.
“Fuck you!” Was their collective reply but they were too tired to keep going.
Fighting takes a lot out of you, and untrained guys will expend all their energy by being too tense and too excited. These guys were big and strong, but they were thankfully untrained.
We went back inside and had a long talk with Steve.
All this shit could have gone a lot simpler if he had just told a couple other guys to be ready and the said “he man can I talk to you outside for a second, it’s loud in here”
Once outside “have a nice night” and the doors are closed.
Our place is pretty big so it didn’t clear it out, but that type of thing is bad for business.
Out next move was to train these guys up a little bit, proper searches, a few techniques to get them out, and strategy on how to remove people was done. And last but not least, I had a stern talk about not trying to white knight for these girls.
In all honesty, that particular asshole didn’t do anything that was throw out worthy.
The cute Asian
My little black girl was gone, and thinking about that perfect round ass up in the air while I smashed her face down over the office desk with her moaning was a distant memory.
I was just as wound up as the oil field guys. I was working twelve hour days and even though the work doesn’t compare, it wears on you in a different way. These strippers are so fucked up on every level, you are constantly dealing with their bullshit. On top of that, they hate each other and are constantly complaining about how one or all of the other girls are screwing each other over.
Throwing guys out, girl drama, and inept employees was a bit more than I bargained for, so when the cute Asian waitress started giving me the eyes, I found it a little hard to resist when she came right out and said she wanted to see me.
The owner is a guy I respect, he isn’t the type to blow smoke up your ass and he’s crazy enough to give someone a shot if he likes them enough (this was a bad move with the former general manager Darrell but it paid off with Jack and I) to give us a chance to make some decent coin.
The owner liked the Asian waitress and made it clear she was off limits. I kept a respectful distance even though I actually liked her. She was different than these other girls and she is smart which was a refreshing change. In other conversations with strippers trying to prove they weren’t stupid I’d have to endure all sorts of half baked theories on life and religion or worse, philosophy. Listening to these girls and following the pitiful excuse for logic they use is painful. Their rationalization hamsters are in ridiculous shape. The only way to have fun with it is to offer ridiculous solutions to their problems and let them sort that out.
To get back on point, the girl is very pretty, and while she had her own red flags, she was by far the best option.
Only she wasn’t an option. One day bartending she came up and said “Don (the owner) asked me out on a date.”
I knew this was a statement to gauge my reaction and I replied with aloof disinterest, “you should go”.
Later that week she text me “on my date with Don tonight, you working? We are coming by”.
I didn’t reply but just carried on working when they came in. They were both pretty sauced and Don was ordering me around to display his authority over me. I understood and didn’t hold it against him even though I felt it was bad game. He was having them both take shots and she was getting pretty drunk. I noticed several alpha type plays by Don where he grabbed her face and went for a kiss. She would turn her head and I looked the other way or kept busy behind the bar.
I admit, it bothered me.
I didn’t like having to play this passive role but I was also trying to be smart and defer to the guy that was pretty much giving me everything. As I mentioned before, I’m actually an idiot and when Don just got up and left her at the bar, I couldn’t help myself by coming over and asking what was up.
She was drunk, and more than a little open about her affection for me.
She told me Don had gotten pissed off and left her when she said she needed to stay and sober up.
Long story short, I took her home and banged the ever loving fuck out of her. She was tight and wet and seeing her pretty face pursing her lips and furrowing her eyebrows was too damn sexy. I must have fucked her 6 times.
As nice as it was I couldn’t help but have that lingering feeling of guilt. I had crossed a line and I didn’t like it.
A week went by and Don left town on business. He didn’t really mention the waitress and I didn’t bring it up.
She and I entered into a kind of mini relationship and I decided it was best to just tell Don myself for two reasons: 1) I don’t like being a prisoner of a lie and 2) if he was going to hear about it, it should be from me.
As I say Don was out of town and so I had to call him. “Look I need to tell you something, Sandie and I kind of hooked up, and I wanted you to know that I’ve been seeing her.”
There was a pause on the phone, and my heart was beating pretty hard.
“Fisto, you know, I think that’s really good for both of you, she’s a classy girl and I’m glad you two have it it off”.
Pure class. I felt a wave of relief but not without a large dose of guilt.
Naturally because things were finally going smooth and all the loose ends were tied up, it was time for more variables.
A heavyweight fighter I have trained with for years contacted me one day.
He’s a bodyguard for a big time music producer in Los Angeles, and that music producer had a certain big name star that buys copious amounts of MDMA known as Moonrock Molly.
Moonrock is basically the Breaking Bad version of Molly and these stars in LA pay 500 bucks a gram for it.
My buddy Derrick (the fighter) became friends with this Star’s dealer, and now he wanted me to sell Moonrock to all the roughnecks and oil men that could afford it.
My career resume was about to have “dealer” added to it.
To be continued…