Speaking Of People Watching ……..

Okay boys and girls I have a little adventure to tell you about. Very recently I found myself at the mall with my wife, my birthday present to her was not actually a present, it was a trip to her favorite stores to pick out clothes she has wanted. The longer we are married the harder it is to get gifts for special occasions. Some of y’all might actually feel the same way, plus giving someone a gift blindly is very hit or miss, what they liked yesterday may have very well changed overnight. So, I have a bad habit, I don’t buy gifts, we go places or do something or in this case we made a special trip to the mall. In general, my wife was a little confused, for the first time I wasn’t clear about the budget, sure I had one in mind since going over the budget would have cut into the bill paying. Nevertheless, I told her that she had free reign, she knows the bank account and so forth and I knew she would “shop responsibly” in the end. Plus, as a direct bonus to me, I was there to help pick out new summer attire, that is if she actually buys anything. Usually, whether for work or for street clothes, I always get to go because she wants my “opinion”. Oh well, its just the way it is.

The first place she goes into is Victoria’s Secret, a store in my opinion which has gone seriously down hill because everything is geared toward the “teen” and everything has become tame and lame. I understand business, but I remember the Victoria’s Secret from back in the day when I was dating my ex, and it rivaled Fredrick’s of Hollywood at the time. So, the moral of the story is that if you want “trashy” lingerie you need to shop at Zone D Exotica or buy it online. How can a person buy lingerie, in general, online? Anyhow, we go in because she “needs” (wants) new bras and Victoria’s secret has convinced her over the years that she can only wear their brand bras because of her figure. At least that is the line I’ve heard from them and my wife repeat. Ok, she’s 5’2″, about 115#, where’s a size 2, and sports 36DDDs. I joked with her the other day because she was feeling her age, and in a complimentary fashion I mentioned that I haven’t noticed her age because the boobs are still rockin’ all on their own. She tells me one day they won’t be that way, yea, but that day is not today! In the store she picks out a few sets of varying colors, I know this because she tells me as we go along. I don’t personally care what they look like, however I don’t care for the padded ones since she doesn’t need help squishing the boobs out. I can always convince the employees that I need to be in the fitting room with her because she cant come out to show me and model the lingerie. In 17 years I have been told no only once, and that just turned into selfie after selfie after selfie. Other husbands sit outside, looking very uncomfortable sitting in the pink and white striped boudoir chair, holding her purse, and keeping the small children in line. So, we found one bra and panty set that she was happy with, she tried on 14 sets and some more singles. I’m not complaining, I enjoy the show, in fact I love the show, I was just saying. We wait in line, pay the $72.89, and we exit happily.

She wanted some new jean shorts, tank tops, and a new bikini. I don’t know that all of those things can be purchased in one store, but we were going to give it a shot. She likes Hollister so we started there, not my favorite store, clothes are more for the teen with an assload of daddy’s money. But, she likes their jeans and jean shorts. Being familiar with this store as she comes here allot, I know that when its time to try on everything that is there barely enough room for one person, so I know I will be riding the imitation plastic leather couch, holding her purse and the remainder of the clothes. How do you try on clothes in a 2’x2′ closet anyway? She was put in the room right by the end of the couch, I could touch the door handle I was so close. One thing I hate about this store is the over abuse of perfumes and colognes people wear in a confined space. Makes my eyes water, not good when I wear contacts. Reminds me of the VIP rooms at a strip club, mixed perfumes, mixed sweat in the chairs, spilled alcohol on the floor, it generally has such a musk that it reminds me of a funeral parlor where all of the older ladies feel they must bath in their preferred scent as if to compete with all of the others. I like a lite pleasant smell, one you don’t notice until you are close to the nape of the neck, y’all know what I’m talking about. Then, BOOM, she walks out in a pair of these jean shorts that are very tight, very short, yet still tasteful enough because her vagina isn’t eating them and spilling out the leg holes. Impressive! My wife does not get into the whole “if it zips it fits” craze. She prefers comfortably snug. She tries on a few more, same style, different colors, they all look fine enough to me, but that’s not the answer we are looking for and I know it, so I go for the white pair and the blue jean pair, both show off her tanned legs nicely. Holy fuck! Two pair of shorts were $93.89 and we still weren’t done, off to the Guess store, a personal favorite of mine.

The Guess store was an utter clusterfuck with the summer sale going on, shit everywhere it wasn’t supposed to be, employees talking and texting instead of helping people out. Luckily for us, the bathing suit section hadn’t been raped and ransacked yet, well not real bad in my opinion. She picks out three that she likes and one I was fond of because it was different. She hates all of them after trying them on, looking to old ladyish for her taste. At this point in time she talks me into driving to Galveston, about a 50 minute drive for us, to go suit shopping, she wants to go back to a place she bought hers for our trip to Florida a few years back. Sure, why not, I was done with the mall anyway. We load up her bags in the trunk of the Mustang and head to the Strand, a section of Galveston that has existed since the 1800s, now its mostly shops, bars, and restaurants. While driving through Houston in average Houston traffic, meaning it was steady and thick but moving at about 75mph, my wife slips off the jeans she is wearing, surprise for me, and slips on her new white shorts after cutting the tags off. I didn’t even see her bring them into the car. Ever want to make the women in the car next to you on the passenger side blush? Have your wife changing in the car doing 80 mph passing an SUV with the woman and her boys in the back seat gawking. We arrived safely to Galveston, park, pay, and off we are walking.

She spots a few tanks in the window of the surf shop we were walking by and pulls me inside to go check them out. She was looking for the kind one wears sans bra, its a special kind from what she tells me, got a liner in it so the person wearing it isn’t pointing at everyone looking like she is smuggling raisins. I’m good either way. This is a giant store, there are racks after racks after rack of bathing suits, even the female employees were wearing tiny little bikinis. I like this place already. It was amazing to watch the guys in the store that were there with their wives, girlfriends, friends, or significant others. While watching them watching the tiny bikini clad girls walk around, bending over with straight legs, and stretching to the point that the material of their tops was at the point of failing, which would be catastrophic, boobs everywhere if it happens., I noticed that they also were selling margaritas and daiquiris, bonus. Cheap as well, I don’t prefer frozen margaritas but two giant one’s served in a souvenir style cup with a really crazy straw was only eight bucks. I hand my wife hers and away we go to start the hunt. She picked out one style she liked, only one suit too, and without showing it to me on the hanger she disappears into the changing room. I meandered over, giving her time to wiggle out of her closes and wiggle back into the suit she is trying on. She pulls the curtain back far enough for me to tie the strings on the back for her. She closes the curtain, and we know why, she needs the time to “adjust” everything so there is nothing hanging out that shouldn’t be. The curtain rips open! There she stands, my tanned wife in a white bikini, she is looking slick, she spins in the mirrors outside the changing room, and I guess she decides she is not liking it after all. I’m instructed to stand there and guard her “stuff” while she gets another. Remember I was talking about the guys in the store, well, they aren’t shy about staring, not even a little subtle, but then again, I was pleasantly watching her walk away as well. I see an employee, half her age, helping her out, pointing around and so forth, and then my wife returns. I was told she didn’t care for the first one, the bottoms felt like they were sliding inside her and she feared a very revealing cameltoe. So, she explained she was looking for “cunt huggers” not “cunt eaters” like the one she just tried on. She gets a dirty potty mouth at all the appropriate times, but I saw her point, trust me. She finds one that makes her happy, I never got to see it either, I was told it will be a surprise. While doing a secret check out, hiding it all from me, the same employee who was helping her began talking with my wife again. Apparently she is the manager of the store and thinks my wife has some talents that she would like to employ. Yes, she offered her a job on the weekends. The pay wasn’t bad, $20 an hour plus tips, part time, no benefits, but 80% of clothing in the store as long as she was an employee. Also, she would be able to use my veteran’s discount for an additional 10% off. My wife is actually considering it, she thinks it will be fun, she likes the uniform, and she thinks she would be a help to the older crowd who are a bit shyer in their needs. She has to call her by this Friday afternoon if she wants to give it a shot this weekend.

So now we walk around some more, stopping in at many more island shops, drinking many more margaritas, and finally we got back in the car, not to go home, but to head to the seawall to park so we could go walk the beach for a while. There was a beautiful sunset, we watched the sun slowly but surely descend into the depths of the horizon. Feeling hungry we walked over to a seafood place, I cant remember the name tho for some reason, but we went in, it was very laid back, had classic rock playing relatively load, but it was the coziness of it that made it a cool environment. We ordered, we ate, we talked, talked allot about this summer and what we wanted to do, we are going to San Antonio for the 4th of July weekend, which I already knew, since it is going to be my father’s day present from the kids. To sum it all up, it was nice to go out alone with my wife, something that is very rare anymore, but this is something we both committed to change starting right then. Fine with me, that’s why I married her, to spend time with her, to be able to do things together. There are many more reasons of course, but we wanted a life together to do things together. Also, we discussed the upcoming concerts for the rest of the year, told me to pick three or four so we could go. Has my wife received a headwound? She is volunteering to see rock concerts? Nice. I mentioned our vacation to Florida two years ago, I was doing something with the kids and I get a text from my wife with this picture attached, asking me if I would join her on the beach for a walk. What do y’all think my answer was?

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Retired Resort Employee Explains

I can personally relate to the information that, if you so choose to do so, you’ll read in a few moments. I have traveled a bit in my life, either professionally or personally, and I have always had questions about how “friendly” the resort staff really is and why it is that way. I will use our last vacation to Florida to visit Disney World where we stayed in a Disney resort. Lets just say the behavior of certain staff member was a little strange, although appreciated. I’ll tell y’all what, I will make my next post about that vacation adventure. I wrote allot about it in the past, but never explored this aspect of it all. It was happening all around us as well as to us, read the next post and you’ll understand better.

Anyway, this email comes in to me to explain the sexual side of everyday resorts. It was mentioned that he worked at the same resort for 20 years, starting out at 16, and has since retired from the tourist industry. I won’t ruin it for him, I’ll let him tell it as it was emailed to me. All I ask is that you think long and hard about all your past resort vacations and probably what to look for on your next resort vacation.

—————— Begin Email Message ————–

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Greeting Mr. Scorpion~

I would like to share things about resorts and the people who work there as well as the people who stay at them. I worked at the same one since I was 16 and now 20 years later I have fully retired. Resort guests are the absolute reason I retired, the tips, other money, and the sex made my tenure there very appreciated. So, let’s explain why shall we.

Your daughters, your girlfriends, your fiancées, your wives, and other members of staff ALL tend to pay with sex. Resort workers put up serious weekly numbers. Exotic beaches trigger single women from around the globe slut’s instincts. If she arrives alone its almost too easy. If she arrives with a partner it takes shockingly little effort to get her separated, naked, and on her back. Not to worry, the men have the same opportunities as the women, but most men are usually looking for it anyway, resort workers just make it easy.

Resort pay typically ranges from poor to abysmal so access to a continual stream of cute guests is seen as a crucial benefit if indeed not the main one. This arrangement is fully condoned by management; resorts know they can get away with lower salaries if workers are “wifey-ing up” and happy about their overall working conditions.

All guests, male or female, are for our benefit. During activities and excursions I have guests introduce themselves to each other with names and backgrounds. Innocent questions like hometown and favorite Disney movie are interspersed with more ulterior ones like stop light color (relationship status), celebrity crush (mate preference) and tattoo ownership (slut indicator). We use this information to more efficiently select targets. Kickball, volleyball, red rover and something called “the beach game” turn X-rated quickly. We’ll make up rules that may seem spontaneous but rest assured they aren’t—they’re designed to get women naked and fucking in the shortest time possible.

I know one particularly well-endowed co-worker who had an effective tactic with couples and large groups. First, he would take them out on the boat to play a few drinking games. After the women were sufficiently inebriated he would institute a clothing-off policy in order to continue playing. Since the men were out on a boat with nowhere to go they had little choice but to play along or be deemed pussies by the rest of the boat. They would stand around timidly with their comparatively small penises while the women swooned over his massive member. One or more women would always come find him later that night.

As mentioned previously the financial component of our compensation is rarely much above poverty wages thus rendering us childishly appreciative for laughably meager sums. I still remember my first tip: two friendly Canadian guys handed me the equivalent of 5 dollars after a guest activity. I proceeded to introduce them to every cute girl in the hotel until they clicked with some hotties. I had the bartender send them free bottom shelf shots at the first lull in conversation. They didn’t sleep alone for the rest of their stay.

Bartenders write ad nauseam about the wisdom of taking care of servers; I would argue resort staff are a better allocation of resources because it takes a much smaller sum to impress and our ability to enable a bang is better (we have a more fun and intimate relationship with guests and we’re free to wander the resort to introduce people and take groups up to rooms, secluded balconies, staff quarters, etc.).

We can ruin your vacation in any number of ways. This is sound advice for all customer-employee interactions but nowhere else have I experienced such a profound influence over customer experience. If you are a dickhead I can make sure you won’t get laid. If you are an entitled little princess I will go out of my way to make you feel unwanted and humiliated. This can range from the morally neutral (unfavorable seating/pairings during meals and activities) to the morally wrong (subtly letting it be known to the other guests that you are a creep) to the technically illegal (fighting you when I am drunk enough to not be held responsible).

Because pay is so low, management has little weight to reprimand its workers so more often than not complaints will fall on deaf ears. By accepting the unusual payment arrangement management has acquiesced a degree of authority over worker-guest interactions. Unless what I do is blatant, unambiguous and against the rules, management will most likely turn a blind eye to my behavior. They’d rather keep me hidden until you leave and let me continue unhindered then find and train a new employee. Because 99% of customers leave satisfied this is a deal they are more than happy to accept.

I can only speak for employees typically in positions like hotel reception, surf instructors, tour guides, and housekeepers. The guests are the reason we’re here. People at beach resorts are unsurprisingly a congenial lot and it’s impossible to dislike such a pleasant demographic. I’ve helped many hundreds of cool guests get laid, both guys and girls. In my estimate 90% of guests are great, 9% are neutral and maybe 1% are assholes. It’s only that 1% that would ever get detrimental treatment.

Sharks. Dolphins. Boppers. Cherries. Obviously many professions use code to describe customers: car salesmen have “tire-kickers” (non-serious buyers) and flight attendants have “spinners” (people who can’t find their seats), but due to close customer proximity and our relative youthfulness it’s more prevalent in this profession than others. It would be useless to explain actual terms because they vary from place to place but if you happen to overhear a worker speaking cryptically pay attention. It’s really not hard to decipher and you will benefit from their seasoned assessment. Also useful for locations: “nowhere,” “the dungeon,” “the bat cave.” If you know where we’re talking about then you will know where the party will be.

We get to meet large numbers of women from all over the world and develop fairly accurate mosaics of slutiness based on where she’s from and where she chooses to travel. There are a few combinations that consistently produce rates at  the high end of the bell curve:

American women studying abroad (bonus points for those who choose South America) Southeast Asian girls who choose tourist hotspots (Bangkok, Phuket, Bali, Boracay) American women who frequent the Caribbean.

It should come as no surprise that America is ground zero for whores and sluts who vacation with a constant wetspot in their g-string, and it becomes easy to see why Caribbean guys are so laid back—they have a never-ending supply of rich white girls flying down for sex. Side note: I only know one girl who studied abroad in Africa and she was almost a school-wide joke for the amount of dick she took. With such a small sample I can’t draw conclusions but if you have wider experience with this demographic please get in touch, I’m curious if my suspicions are true.

Planeloads of cute little jaw-dropping sluts from all over the world arrive weekly during the season and if you only speak English you are at a major disadvantage. Being American is not impressive in any way to many foreigners and is in fact often detrimental. Europeans, Asians and South Americans have seen too many of our drunken frat boys and whoring, slutty co-eds to have any respect for us just off the bat. That is until you tell them about the drink specials and ask them how their flight was in their own language. Then suddenly the table of pouty, teenage dreamboats straight off the plane from Madrid is at your full attention. Your value has just increased tenfold and eight eager little smiles greet you whenever you walk up to them. Virginities will be taken before the trip home.

The model quality Prada-toting 18-year-olds from Paris open up her legs pretty wide after you drop some French and wine knowledge on her. And by open up I mean they open it all for the taking. You now are in control of every orifice she claimed to own. If I could do college all over again I would opt for the highest-level language courses available and switch out my electives for a second language.

Not every resort is like this but the crazier ones certainly are. If you haven’t worked in one I would recommend you give it a try for a season. Also, I wouldn’t advise guys to allow their girlfriends to go to these places alone. If you do accompany her, don’t go to bed early if she’s staying up because odds are she is having her cage rattled a few times.

—- Rolando

————— End Of Email Message ———–

Next time you go to a resort somewhere in the world pay attention to the people around you, especially the employees of the resort. They just might be trying to tell you something and you might even like it. This is a fun game for me no matter where I’m at, people watching gets better the older I get. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this tiny inside peek from one of thousands of resort employees. Having a few friends in the cruise ship industry I need to get ahold of them and ask them if the same things are going on, which I can be very positive it is. So, that’s it for now, get busy and plan your next resort vacation, remember me because you know we want to hear about your adventures and see all your great pictures.

You’re Bitching Up The Wrong Tree

Okay, visitors here know in a past not so distant life ago I was a bartender in a full nude strip bar. Many of y’all still ask me why. Why? The money was great and the scenery wasn’t that bad either. As well, many (not all) have judged my morals or judgment in career options, mostly I was told how I glorified the world of stripping when strippers are really disgusting slut whore beasts and are the lowest form of human on the planet, right after the douchebags who go to strip bars and pay to see naked women dance in their face. Yes, I simplified it for y’all, forgive me, but I never understood how or why people judge strippers. Strippers strip for whatever reason, I’m not real sure how many of them want to shake what their momma gave them in front of strangers for money. But, I know for a fact that there are reasons women strip, every single one of them has a reason. Some of those reasons have been explored here in the past, and I always get told that I’m very biased because I “lived” in their world too long while working as a bartender. How can that even be true or make sense.

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I thought that since I received this great example from an angered reader who wanted to reach out with her own information that this would be the perfect opportunity to take another moment to discuss choices of employment, perhaps motivations, and of course to glitzy lure of stacks of cash. In a moment, y’all will read the email I got yesterday explaining to me that I needed to be more clear to people so others who do strip or want a career in stripping have information so they don’t get fucked, literally. As far as my past posts, they are my own personal experiences OR experiences that were shared with me by real life strippers while I was a bartender. And, look people, again knowing from personal experience, some of the choices for employment are harder than others. So, read the email below, catch back up with me afterwords. If you ask me, the writer/sender was/is a stripper and got burnt somehow, I would assume she sued or attempt to sue her place of employment because one of her patrons tipped her with information instead of dollar bills. Just my humble opinion.

Begin email———————————–

1. Strippers, exotic dancers, showgirls, lap dancers, peep show dancers, & erotic entertainers are EMPLOYEES of the club they work for.

Stripping is a J-O-B. Strippers will never be independent contractors. It doesn’t matter if the boss calls a stripper an independent contractor or if it’s a term she applies to herself.  The reality is that the way strip clubs operate, the strippers working in can only be employees. It’s because management must exercise a certain amount of control over working conditions or else there would be chaos. Some might argue that management creates more disorder with their policies than order. Management need to figure out which dancers are going to work on any given shift; how many shifts there are in a day; how many hours each shift runs; many decide what dancers may wear at work; how many dances she perform on stage, and so on. The reason why strip clubs misclassify strippers as “independent contractors” is to dodge their employer obligations. The irony is that clubs say you’re an independent contractor but actually treat you like an employee.

2. Strip club employers must pay all their workers minimum wage, at a bare minimum.

Strip club employers must also pay into social security, worker’s compensation, employer taxes, & a slew of others good things that workers in any other industry are guaranteed as employees.  Personally, I think that strippers should get paid far more than minimum wages.  After all, not every chick is willing to take her clothes off in front of random strangers & gyrate on their laps to arouse them!  The management like the money strippers make for their business, but they don’t want to pay these women for their labor.  THIS IS ILLEGAL.

3. State labor laws state that it is illegal for an employer (here, the strip club owner) to take any portion of his/her employee’s (here, the stripper) tips.

To add insult to injury, management charge strippers for the privilege to work!You know:  those stage fees, quotas, commissions, piece rate system, locker fees, booking fees, etc, etc…. It’s also illegal for employers to require strippers to tip other employees (DJ, House Mom, Manager, Bartender, etc).  Management minimally pay non-stripper staff and expect strippers to underwrite the remainder of their wages.  Why are these fees-to-work illegal?  Because strippers earn their money through tips that customers provide for them.  Strippers use their tips to pay management these illegal mandatory fees. THIS IS ILLEGAL. Lets review by answering the following questions for yourself.

Were you misclassified as an independent contractor while being employed as a stripper?

Did management fail to pay you minimum wages while you were a stripper?

Did you have to pay management to work while you were employed as a stripper?

If you said “yes” to one or more of these questions, your labor rights were violated. Take action to assert your labor rights!

End of email——————————————-

**** On a very special note. The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog has not, will not, and cannot provide any legal advice. Visitors of this blog should consult with their own lawyer for legal advice. The information provided was for informational purposes ONLY. I claim no legal knowledge in regards to topics discussed here. Now, you’ve been warned and informed motherfuckers! ****

In reality I don’t care what people do with their lives, how they spend their money, or who they choose to see naked. I can, however, say that every single person who walks through the door of a strip club (employee or patron) has their own reason for being inside those walls. I mentioned before, my goal was to make money, as much as I could as fast as I could. Now, having a 8-5 job during the day and then working another 8+ hours afterwards as a “part time” sucked, I won’t lie, it made for long days/nights. As well, it was a 42 minute drive for me personally which racks miles up on the vehicle as well as adds just a few more hours each day. Yes, once at work the scenery, in general, was pleasant. The work environment was a bit weird because my involvement with the business of the club were pretty nil. I did, however, meet some very nice people along the way while I worked there, I’ll leave that part right there. Want to know more just read around this blog a little and you’ll see what I mean.

Getting back to how I or what I write about glorifies the occupation of stripping, because, lets face it together, I get accused of never writing about anything but strippers using their nakedness to separate men of all ages from their money in the shortest time possible. What y’all have got from me is the brutal honesty, not the fucking fairytale la la land some people seem to live in. I guess my point is simple, working as a stripper is what it is, it’s a choice someone makes, and often enough people get judged because in someone else’s opinion it was the wrong choice to make. Trust me, I’m 46 years old and still get grief from my mother because I bartended in more than one strip club over the years. “How can you do that to your wife and treat her without respect by working at a strip bar?” is my favorite question to date. My wife only had one dislike about me working there and that was the simple fact that I was getting in after 1 in the morning day after day and I was tired. I was tired and didn’t want to do anything except hang out around the house, I was a big fan of not going anywhere or not doing anything. In the end, it was my wife’s opinion that made me want to quit in the first place. She asked me to quit one time, and I made it happen that day. On the flip side, all joking aside here, she was the one that said I needed to get a part time job to fill some time, make a little money, and get out more. In fact, it was a friend of a friend of a friend of one of her co-workers that my wife gave me the number to call for the job. She was informed, the moment I went to the interview, that it was at a strip club. Her answer was it was decision either way, but told me I knew I could make some serious cash if I took it. Yes, she does not about my past life, not that it was talked about much.

Luckily, at the place I worked, everyone was an employee, we all had health coverage if we chose, we could participate in the 401k, they were workers comp compliant, the whole 9 yards. However, indeed, a portion of my paycheck was dependent on bar sales, door sales, and stripper tips. Yes, now I’m the bad guy. No, it wasn’t my rule, and nobody fought it, it was just the way it was I guess. But, they did not pay to dance, they did not have fees except for one, which was if you were scheduled to work and you were a no show/no call, you were given three days off without pay as a warning to be more courteous to your coworkers. It mentions minimum wage above, um no, how the average stripper was making from $18.00 to $23.00 an hour, plus tips, plus dances, plus whatever the hell else they were doing on the side, if anything. Again, I’m not defending the industry itself, merely where I worked.

Oddly enough, during the mere course of writing this post I have received 4 more emails “scolding” me for being a sinner, supporter of sinning, and indulging in the slavery which we collectively call the “sex trades” since stripping somehow falls into that category. Maybe I truly am blind, somewhat oblivious to the blythe which is that of the life of a stripper. But, wait….. for….. it….., I don’t care, I really don’t, I don’t care what people do which their lives. Well, that’s not altogether true, I do care that I contribute a large amount of my paycheck to pay for others to sit at home on the crack pipe, on the xBox, or on the porch, instead of them getting out and getting a fucking job. We’ll talk about that another time, I read a study recently that the average person on a combination of government service programs average about $19.20 an hour. Like I said, lets get back to that another day. My mere connection with the stripping industry is purely coincidental, meaning we would work in the same building, all of us dependent on the very steady stream of people entering the neon lit establishment we called a strip bar.

But, I understand, the easy thing to do is to judge those doing things we don’t agree with. We should just be happy people are out working instead of sucking on the welfare titty all day. Until we as human beings stop looking at the opposite sex with lust in our eyes there will always be a place where we can see the opposite sex naked. Have y’all been on the internet later, have y’all seen what y’all have been searching for, and y’all call me the pervert?  Again, another post for what people’s perversions are. Your choice, fucking hate me, if that gets you though the day, great, just fucking hate me. Meanwhile, I will give you something to think about, my final thought here today. All strippers have a story, a life, a family, and although you detest their industry or them as people, just remember it takes guts to strip in front of strangers, it takes courage to get out there to earn a living no matter what your craft may be. Before we get all biblical on me, remember, I don’t by into it, so in reality it’s a major waste of both of our times. But, as usual, I will get the emails, the comments, and so forth, and I will post here on this blog the ignorance that is spewed. There is no justice in the world, we all know it, sometimes we decide that instead of running away from life, we jump on that old hag, dig the spurs in deep, and ride her until that bitch throws us or we tame the beast. Your choice.

When Cursed With Seeing Everything

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My son will be the first person to say I have a very, very, low tolerance for any degree or variable of bullshit. He will even go as far as saying I have a very active BS Meter (bullshitometer) which is represented by my left eyebrow. The higher the eyebrow goes represents the depth I believe of the bullshit. He, for one, chooses to step far away if both of my eyebrows get active. Why am I going into this at this point? There are a few reasons that have caught my own attention here the last few days and now that I have had time to reflect a bit, I would like to share.

We can start with Tuesday when I received a call in reference to a job I applied for online. I always have tried to check out company details prior to applying to get a better grasp of what they do overall, to include checking the BBB (Better Business Bureau) for complaints and kudos. This particular job was for a delivery driver who delivers custom architectural wood designs to a variety of builders and customers alike. Sounded interesting so I applied on Monday afternoon, along with about 50 other places. So, Tuesday’s call was a welcome surprise for me. The call came from a “staffing agency”, no surprise there, most places use them to select employee candidates, but not recognizing the number, I let it go to voicemail. After listening to it I called them back. They began by wanting to give zero information, just a time and place to meet for an interview. I asked about three things not mentioned prior, wages, hours, and position requirements. I was told that the information would be covered extensively in the interview. The interview was yesterday, in a Starbucks, about thirty minutes from my house.

First of all, I was just given an address, so I went to that address, this is when I found out it was a fucking Starbucks. I was instructed to text a number provided to me when I arrived and to wait outside the entrance. Very cloak and dagger, the bullshit flags were already flying by the time I got there, but I went anyway. I was met at the door by a stunning brunette, mid 30s, dressed very business like but very sexy like as well, very distracting if you ask me. Overkill on her part, but pleasant on the eyes in my opinion. She offered to buy me a coffee of my choice, of course my choice seemed disappointing to her, because I ordered an ice water, a $5.34 cup of ice water to be exact. And y’all wonder why I hate Starbucks. We sit, she slides her chair towards me, she opens her folder, and immediately starts talking. After a few minutes I sensed that this was way fucked up, she was trying to sell me an investment opportunity in an insurance company to become a licensed broker. When I finally stopped her from talking and quite literally asked her what in the fuck she was trying to pull, she began to explain, somewhat, and vaguely. Seems “Ms. Rice” was part of a recruiting team who screens candidates based on resumes that come into their office for alternative positions other than what they applied for as a gesture of good faith when the position applied for has been filled already.

Needless to say, we were done, way done, what a cunt, what a fucking scam. Sadly, two of my other applications were done through that same staffing company, at least now I know. So, pissed, disappointed, pissed, and now very disillusioned, I get back into my H1 and go home. When I pull into the driveway I get a call from the staffing agency which went to voicemail, explaining they are sorry things didn’t work out in the interview earlier and hope “we” have better luck in the future. WTF? In the future? There isn’t a fucking future with them. That takes big balls in my opinion, bigger balls than I have for sure. I need to send them a go fuck yourselves bouquet of dead weeds so they understand just how appreciative I am that they wasted my fucking morning all to hell and back. On the plus side, the stunning stripper wannabe who bought me the water reminded me that sometimes wolves wear wolves clothing to catch their prey, note to self indeed. What did I learn? One, that my bullshitometer works just fine and I should have listened to it from the get go. Two, this is about the tenth or twelfth time that someone contacted me for school loans, grants, insurance, government assistance, and other crap when all I want is a job, not more bullshit grief. And three, anyone who chooses to meet up at a Starbucks for anything already has a few screws loose and shouldn’t be trusted.

I forget what else I was going to mention, so I will conclude this post with a message. My true curse is I don’t trust people, but people are my biggest curiosity, and because of that I subconsciously always scrutinize everything, calling bullshit when it truly is bullshit. Don’t get me wrong though, there are some truly amazing people on the planet who can’t be washed over by the truly amazing liars the walk beside. Anyway, I’m still looking for a job, so I better get back to the hunt. Thanks for stopping by.

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It’s A Small World………………..Afterall

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Now that I have that song stuck in your head for the rest of the day, let me tell you just how small a world this really is. Let’s start with the fact I started a new job recently, those of y’all keeping up may have noticed my delinquent behavior here at the blog, and with every new job there is a fair share of “new hire” paperwork that has to be done. At the point when I started mine, given to me by the assistant, I realized I new her, I couldn’t place from where, but I knew her for sure. Its not a case of de ja vu either, I knew her from somewhere. It will come to me sooner or later is all I can think. Later that afternoon, after leaving work, I stopped by a strip club which was right up the street to inquire about a part time, evening, maintenance position I came across is my job searching the week prior. I thought if it were for a few hours each night it might not be a bad gig since it was a half mile from the other place. When I called, the manager said to just come it at my convenience and we could talk.

I went in and asked around for her at the bar. I was asked to have a seat and she would be out shortly. My eyes were drawn to the stage for a moment because all strip clubs are not created equal by no means. Then, a dancer caught my eye, I mean really got my attention, I had to get a closer look for sure. I got that same feeling from earlier in the day, this was truly bizarre to say the very least. When I approached the stage it hits me, like a ton of bricks kinda hit, all asses are not created equal either. It goes way beyond it being the girl from my new job, its deeper, a few years ago I had met her at the club I was a bartender at, she just didn’t show up one day, and that was that, it happens with strippers. When she turned around and saw me looking up at her she just grinned and kept going, never missing a beat. I headed back to the bar where the manager was now waiting on me. In the end, I did not take the job. Why? They wanted a janitor to clean bathrooms, not a maintenance guy. Before I left I looked for her now that she was done dancing, but never did see her, so I left.

The following morning I was bent over a pallet on the floor loading it out for delivery. Between my legs I noticed she was standing directly behind me. She squatted down beside me and asked if we could talk a second. She talked, I listened. She explained she recognized me right away the day before, but didn’t think I recognized her which is why she didn’t say anything to me then. After going down memory lane about the things she would do on my bar in my plain view and sometimes with my assistance, she asked I not mention where she works or what she does to the others. Um, okay then. Before she walked off she tells me that anytime I come by the club to ask for her because she would make sure I had free lap dances that I wouldn’t soon forget. Interesting proposal, but I doubt I will be going back, lap dances are the least of my worries in life.

Fast forward to this morning, a morning without a happy ending, but one I saw coming a mile away. To say it simply, I was let go. Why? I was hired on the contingent that I would have my Class A CDL in a timely manner. I was doing my part over the last, now two weeks, to get it, in fact I posess my learner permit now, which I got this past Friday. You see, I have been studying my ass off for this test, for this job, but they had other plans in their agenda. They hired a driver, no wait, no muss, no fuss, and they no longer had a need for me. OK, yes, this is bullshit, because I applied for a warehouse position and was being paid that of a warehouse worker which was to change at a future date. Whoops, I missed the memo that they hired someone else for the position which I did not have the credentials to fill. To hell with it I guess, I didn’t like the 55 minute drive anyway to get to work. Plus, with the new laws I wasn’t 100% positive I could get the medical part of my CDL requirements because of being an insulin dependent diabetic. There were allot of factors that could’ve fucked me in the end, so I look at it as the silver lining in the cloud. This just might have saved me allot of heartburn because there were many unanswered questions about it all. It us what it is, tomorrow I start the hunt for a job again, hopefully the next one works out better. No worries though, I’m like Tigger, I gots allot of fucking bounce left in me.

Postal Customer Fucktard

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We all know I do allot on eBay either buying or selling which involves me making a trip to the local post office at least once a week to mail out packages. This post office has had the same business hours for as long as I can remember but that never seems to please the impatient I’ll tempered big mouths who make the choice to be a bitchy fucktard. Y’all know her, she is the one pacing in line like a nervous first time mother cat. Each moment that passes one can hear her claws digging into the flooring through her flip flops. Why? Because in eyes, in her tiny little mind, her time is more valuable than anyone else’s time. Fuck you, cunt, wait in line like the rest of us peons. According to the clock on the wall it was 8:58 when the steel roll up door started moving, signaling to us in line that the postal employees were about to begin with the first customers in line. This morning there were two lines, the one I was four deep in that the people were buying something or shipping something and the other line which was for picking up packages and bulk mail which is where the twitchy big mouth bitch was standing, she was sixth in her line. She saw a problem, three people doing the outbound line and nobody tending to her line. The USPS employee closest to her was now hearing about it. Every single person in the post office could see and hear this very polite employee trying to get the lady to just push the button for the service bell. The bitch wouldn’t have nothing to do with it, yelling now, annoyed for some stupid reason, she demanded the employee’s name and to have her supervisor appear at once or “the shit was going to hit the fan” because she doesn’t have time to speak with somebody so low on the totem pole.

As fate would have it, I’m next to be called up, lucky me I get the poor employee who was getting all the verbal abuse, which is funny because she is still behind one person. In reality, both lines were actually moving quite swiftly in my opinion as it was only 5 minutes after 9 now. I was mailing 7 small flat rate boxes to 7 different states so mine might take a few minutes. Then the hitch is next in her line. The first thing out of mouth was that she had a big problem with the black woman with a mouth that won’t quit. The black woman being the employee assisting me at the moment. When he wouldn’t repremand the other employee on the spot she started in on her once again. Verbal abuse, racial slurs, postal innuendos, and even took a jab at her weight. Meanwhile, with a rather large smile, she continued to process my packages, only 2 more to go. Then, out of the blue, my bullshitometer had peaked and I found myself turning to the loud mouth bitch and asking her sternly if she “wouldn’t mind shutting her fucking pie hole for the remainder of my timenim the post office” and then it was on. Here we go, fist fight in the post office! Blah blah blah blah was all I heard at that moment, she demanded my name and that I be thrown out because of how I spoke to her. When she was denied by me and the supervisor, she informed us she was calling the police. A quiet voice a few people back in line spoke up and said “don’t bother, I called them a few minutes ago when you kept on verbally attacking everyone”. For thirty seconds she was silent and then was on her phone talking to husband I assume yelling and cussimg loudly so everyone could hear and brought up that I verbally abused her. Well, now I am done at the window, and I turn to leave, stopping briefly in front of her, and told her while I took her phone out of her freshly manicured claws ” that she was done here, right now, she needed to get the fuck out of everyone’s face and out of the post office before I was forced to assist her”.

She left, I watched her get into her little Mercedes convertible and speed away. I handed her phone to the supervisor and apologized for my own behavior. I left my name and number in case it was needed for later. He reached out and shook my hand and told me he is damn glad that her performance, both audio and visual in color, had been recorded for review. Then I left as well because my business was complete at the post office. Did the police ever show up? Not while I was there. Did she retrieve her cell phone from the post office supervisor? I don’t know and really don’t care. Why do dumb cunts act like the world revolves around them? How anal can one person really be? I really don’t like people like her because she is a bitch just to be a bitch. In reality, I should have kept my mouth shut because I probably could have gotten in some deep shit, but I didn’t, and to tell y’all the truth I really don’t regret it at all. There was no point in what she was doing, what she was saying, or how she was treating the innocent postal employee. The deep dark side of me hopes she had a terrible accident after she left. Which is wrong, I know. I do, however, wish those two women to meet once again somewhere else because I promise you the postal employee can take her in no time flat.

This is a perfect example of why I don’t go out in public much, stupid fucktards really irritate me for some reason. The older I get the harder it has become to self police and keep my big trap shut when needed. Some people just suck, and like this lady, she has made it in to a fine art. There is no reason possible to need to treat people the way we all saw. It is a want, it is a desire, and she wants the attention to focus on her. I have pity for her husband and kids if she has any. I bet their life is just one fuckednup bundle of blissful madness. So, writing this helped me work through my morning. I was a little pissed earlier today but now that I am done writing about it I feel much better. I have said it in the past, this blog is my therapy, because talking out loud to myself has always proved to only scare the people who see it. Lesson of the day, don’t be a royal bitch just because you can, make the choice to keep your mouth closed occasionally. Most of all, treat people like you want to be treated. That’s it, I solved my own puzzle, she must get spoken to as she speaks to others, perhaps at home, so she just let’s whoever the next unlucky person be the point of all of the anger. Also, this is why I am not a therapist, because I wouldn’t be able to refrain from keeping my mouth shut to the whiny self centered fucktards on the planet. Oh well, I will just keep on being unemployed for now, seems to be working wondrous for my nerves and keeping my blood pressure down low. Anyway, thanks for dropping by and giving my ol’ blog an look see, I really appeciate everyone who visits.