Answer: this is not me. Understand? Need I explain further? I consider myself a decent-looking dude. I have exceptional cocktail knowledge, super-fine efficiency, unmatched situational awareness, and lighting speed. And oh… I can sell my ass off – something owners love. I can ring $3,000, $4,000 or even $5,000 on my register alone, without bottle service. None of that is worth a damn when attempting to compete with boobs. I’m simply outgunned in every way, shape, and – uhh – form. No matter how many “friends” my following consists off, it’s no match whatsoever for the draw someone like this consistently maintains. $1,000 and even sometimes $2,000 a night in tips – without taking [all] of her clothes off is what this girl can routinely earn.
Ponder that one for few minutes folks…
I get a lot of seriously dumb-shit questions. Many genius customers throw unabashed inquiries out there with such ease and candor, you would think I’d known them for decades. I incessantly get questions like : (a) gay or straight (b) do you have a girlfriend [really stupid question - just go for it dumbass] (c) what should I drink (d) do you know how to make a Tuscaloosa Screaming Cucumber Reach-Around shot [or some other obscure restaurant's house special] and finally (e) it’s my birthday – buy me a drink? There is one subject of interrogation however, which irks me something terrible. That is: “so, how much money do you make?”
Well, Douchebag (greatest word in the English language), “How much money do you make?” Do I show up at your options and swaps trading desk and ask you about your big fat commissions? Do I ask if you’ve met your target December bonus thresholds and what you’ll be doing with said bonus? Are you struggling to decide which convertible Porsche 911 variant you’ll be leasing this year to match what’s left of your corn-row Bosley hair plugs, Havana Cohibas, and crisp Thomas Pink collection? Why do you feel the need to dig into my personal financial business? For the sake of all things holy, I’m going to spell it out for you below and hope you read my post. Maybe, I can finally put to this question to bed and duck the topic (and fake smile) at work at little less… you know – the place where I have little leverage to tell you what a retarded question you’re asking lest I be shit-canned for directly telling you like it is.