The One where I Can't Stop Talking About T & A

Way back when....in a different lifetime, I used to "do time behind the rail" at a family member's local establishment. It started with me learning how to assist the bartender (aka 'bar back') which essentially meant I tapped kegs, filled pints, washed glasses, delivered orders, and got screwed out of my rightful tips. Eventually I was allowed to "set 'em up" for drunk, unruly pricks that bellowed and elbowed their buddies when they thought they got a sneak peek down my shirt. *sigh* I certainly don't miss those nights. However, I DO miss the money! Luckily, every once and a while my uncle calls me up when he needs some extra help. (He pretends to ignore the fact that my license might be expired and I look the other way while he pays my hourly in cash, possibly off the books. He's Italian, what can I say?)

So guess what day it is on Saturday??? And guess who's earning some big bucks helping out a family member???? You got it! Yours truly is going to shimmy into some cute jeans, wrap some green mardis gras beads around my neck, plaster a smile on my face, and listen to inebriated guys attempt to sweep me off my feet with comments like, "Hey, nice rack!" or "Those titties real baby?" (WOO HOO!!! Yay for me.)

In all seriousness though, St. Patrick's Day is the WORST day to be a female bartender. The tips are phenomenal but the atmosphere is less than stellar. Drunk Irishmen (and everyone who wishes they were one) flood the bar scene and the night almost always ends with drunken brawls. In my neck of the woods, SPD also happens to fall during the time of year when the City is just beginning its Big Thaw. Suddenly there are spaghetti straps, flip flops, tiny skirts and titties in great abundance all over downtown. This sudden increase in visible flesh also seems to play a role in the rowdiness that is associated St. Patty's Day. Guys who are already suffering from sudden testosterone poisoning decide to add fuel to the fire and flock to the local bars to throw back and throw punches.

However, if a girl is wise she can rack up (no pun intended) some SERIOUS cash. St. Patrick's Day also happens to be falling on a weekend during March Madness!! The Uncle has me on the schedule for every night this weekend and given past experience, I'm estimating I'll walk away with over $2,000 from Friday and Saturday, and another $600 on Sunday. Easily.

It's not that I'm mind-blowingly superb at mixing drinks, I just know how to smile, flirt, and lean over a little too far when I reach under the rail for another glass. Is it demeaning? Meh....sort of. Do I LOVE doing it? Nope.....definitely not. Am I freaking hard up for easy cash? You betcher butt, yo! If this is what I have to resort to in order to make some quick money I'm cool with it.

Of course I did work with bartenders that were more than happy to accompany a patron to their home for a little sleep-over. I was never into that. It always seemed to be just this side of hooking. I'm perfectly willing to flash a little skin and shake a little rump to make some extra bucks, but I'm not about to whore it out. (Don't give me that look!) I'm a natural born flirt, people. I'll flirt with a lamppost if it's the only thing standing still long enough. I truly believe in the old adage, you catch more flies with honey. Hey, I'm all about catching flies....especially if it means a big pay-off for me!

Special Man Friend was more than a little horrified the first time I got us a discount on some videos we were renting just because I flirted with the guy behind the counter. I was blessed with some pretty nice assets (pun intended) and I'm not afraid to use them. Sure, I've been accused of being manipulative but hey, if someone is naive enough to fall for it, then that's just too bad for them. My spell has been broken on SMF for a long time now. It is only on RARE occasions now that a well-timed cleavage flash or 'Naughty Girl' smile will get him to do what I want. He's got my number and I know that my techniques only work when he was already planning on letting me get my own way.

Needless to say, I was pretty sure Special Man Friend was going to put the kibosh on this idea when I talked it over with him yesterday. Of course, he was less than thrilled by the idea of his cherished beloved letting guys ogle her goodies just so she can have some spending cash. However, SMF is a numbers guy and given the number of hours I would be working (9p-2a) on Friday and Saturday and 12p-10p on Sunday, he finally admitted that $2,600 was difficult to pass up. So I guess it's official Internets! I'm gonna let my Milkshake bring all the boys to the bar.....and them I'm gonna take 'em for all they're worth. ;-)

All I have left to do is: (a) brush up on my Pocket Guide, (b) pick out my best "Oops! You Can See My Boobs When I Bend Over" shirt, and (c) practice my "Come and Get Me, Big Boy" look in the mirror. SWEET! Good times.

Of course, SMF did have some final words regarding the whole situation:

SMF: Just don't forget those are MY titties I'm letting you show off.

ME: I don't remember reciting any "Till death do us part" vows lately.

SMF: Well....I've made a down payment anyway.

ME: Really?! I don't see a ring on this finger! [wiggling my left hand at him]

SMF: FINE! I'm renting to own! Just keep that in mind, Dingle.

ME: Deal.


PS: I thought I'd make my Buppy Wuppy Head feel a little bit better and share MY pet name.