True story....here we go...
It's a Saturday night a while ago and I'm sitting at Rocks, a gay bar in Albany, drinking my Corona and lime, sitting by myself, hoping that maybe I'd get a blow job. “Work and try to get laid”, that kinda sums up most of my existence lately...
The guy slitting next to me turns and starts talking.
"You missed it."
"Oh", I said, "what did I miss?"
"The go go boys. You missed it."
"Oh, that's ok," I said, "They're still floating around."
"This place is always kinda dead."
(Another person I met at a bar once yelled at me because I wasn’t ENGAGED or showed interest in his conversation….yeah, well, maybe if you weren’t so fucking boring, I’d be interested…)
"Today is my Friday."
"hmmm.." I nod.
"I don't work on Sunday or Monday, so today is Friday night."
I thought to myself, I was so glad that he explained that, because I wouldn’t have figured that one out on my own.
"This is the only thing to do in town. There's nothing else."
"Well," I said, "you could always start your own party!" I smiled.
He looked at me like I had three heads. That's not what he wanted to hear. My little life-lesson/pearl of wisdom rolled under the bar.
"Yeah, I work in security. Which is the most thankless, under-appreciated job!"
"Oh." I said.
Now, I wasn't about to go into it. I'm not this guy's therapist; I'm not even his friend.
And, like, what the fuck? Doesn't he have a hair dresser or bartender to talk to? Plus, if he's trying to get me into bed, it's not happening. Complaining about your job when you meet someone at a bar is not sexy, little Miss Mary Sunshine. Just buy me a few drinks, tell me I look thin and pretty, and you know what? if you’re lucky, I might just sit on your face to make you - and me - happy. Plus, it'll shut you up and put that tongue to better use.
For a moment though, I had a pang of sympathy. I work with the security guys at Jason's, and they're great. Their job is not easy, I wouldn't do it. Whenever I work with the security guys, though, in a wig and sunglasses, short skirt, tulle askew, my ass half-hanging out, they still give me respect. Ya gotta love 'em.
For instance, true story, there was one Whorehouse party, several months ago, and I was just walking along, in the bar, and this one woman walks by, and snatches my wig off.
I yell at her, “What the fuck? This is MY party, you don’t do this shit”. She throws it at me, then yells back and gets in my face while her girlfriends have to “hold her back”….it was like third grade.
I was not having it.
I would have kicked that fat mullet-haircut bitch right in her Walmart-sweatpants camel toe, but years of yoga practice told me, “Trixie, just get security.”
She was escorted out. Enough.
The security guys were great and they dealt with her, and there was no bitch fight on the dance floor.
I have enough scuff marks on my boots as is, and I don’t need to ruin my good pleather.
Anyway, back at Rocks, in Albany, I’m listening to this guy, because he’s doing all the talking, and I’m thinking, maybe he’s right, maybe working security is not easy and it’s under-appreciated.
So, I sit and listen.
And he complains to me some more about whatever. But, after a few minutes, I get up and leave. His "pick-up lines" weren't working.
This morning, I'm at the security check in at the airport, taking my laptops out and putting them in plastic bins (yes, I have two, shut up) and ya know what? The guy behind the scanner says 'Hi'. It was him.
This was the security job. He scans luggage. This was the stressful, under-appreciated security job!
Hey, Negative Nancy, shut the fuck up!
You sit on a stool and stare at a screen to determine if my dildos and soy milk are in plastic zip lock bags, and then have the nerve to complain to ME about me?
I’m glad now I didn’t put out because he doesn’t even DESERVE to eat my 'pussy'! (which, in case you were wondering, tastes like sweet nectar from the Gods – or so I’ve been told!)
Yeah, it's an under-appreciated job, because, DUH, the average person really cannot understand the amount of "stress" you have by sitting and looking at a monitor all day long! What, you're stressed because you're missing "Oprah"?
It's a government job with benefits.....and probably a pension!!! Who gets a pension anymore?
Maybe I'm missing something. Maybe people yell at him all the time. Maybe I should have yelled at him.
Anyway....where was I? What was my point? I don’t know.
I'm having a party on Saturday.
Just go and have fun. And stop fucking complaining. Life is a party!