Can’t a brother just look at some ass?

It’s 5:00 pm on Saturday and the joint is filling up fast. I walk outside to grab a quick smoke before all hell breaks loose. Puffing away I spy a spandex clad girl jogging towards me. Ah, I smile inwardly; I’m in for a treat – its Gym Babe.

Gym Babe, a tall, twenty five year old, drop dead gorgeous brunette, whose health club chiseled body defies attempts at description, runs past my place every day. This girl has been known to cause traffic accidents. I never miss a chance to see her.

Now I’m pushing forty, so acting like a slobbering teenage schoolboy is beneath my dignity. That’s ok. I’ve long since mastered the art of scoping chicks without making it look like I’m scoping chicks.

I turn away, face the picture window fronting the street, and catch her reflection as she flashes past. Mmmm nice. I reverse spin, flip my butt into the street, grab a glimpse of her spandex covered rump, send a prayer of thanks heavenwards, and continue my turn back towards the front door…….

……..when I come face to face with an angry looking bald man.

WHUMP! I feel a tremendous blow to the chest. I’m wondering “Why am I looking up at the sky?” when, with a crash, I land on my back, tumble over a few times, and come to a stop in the street.

Ouch.

Bleeding, I leap to my feet. Pumped full of adrenalin I find my attacker. A short, bald, heavily muscled man, muttering to himself, “That’s what you get motherfucker. That’s what you get.” as he walks away.

A demonic voice rushes into my ears. “KILL!” it thunders. My vision tunnels. I acquire my target. I step forward, ready to dish out some serious hurt.

Then, screeching down from the heavens, my good angel rushes to my side and whispers urgently into my ear,

“Fighting never solved anything.”

“Oh no. Not you again.” I say to my Celestial Jiminy Cricket.

“Listen. You will only escalate the level of violence and make a bad situation worse. It’s not worth getting hurt or arrested over.” she lectures.

“Screw you.” I reply.

“He’s bigger than you. He’ll kick your ass.” she warns

Angel has a point.

While I’m having this little supernatural moment, a meter maid, seeing the whole incident, calls the police, and chases down my assailant in his Parking Authority golf cart. The police arrive in seconds and take Baldy into custody.

It turns out Baldy is a 45 year old misfit on disability who lives at home with mom. His only occupation is working out – explaining why he could toss my 200 pound ass into the street like a rag doll. The reason he did it?

I “dissed” him by getting in his way.

Baldy gets a ticket for misdemeanor harassment and goes home. I bandage my wounds, swallow my pride, and head back indoors. It was a tough shift that night.

The next day I’m back at work. Looking around to make sure the coast is clear I go out to have a smoke. As I light up, Gym Babe runs right past me.

Since I’m caught off guard I have no time for my patented smooth move chick scoping maneuvers. I just gawk.

Gym Babe looks over her shoulder, smiles slyly at me, and waves saying “Caught ya!”

I’m left standing on the sidewalk slobbering like a teenage schoolboy.

Damn.

Porn Janitor


It’s a slow shift. Rizzo and I are sitting in the back drinking coffee and reading the papers. I’ve only been a waiter a few months. The reality of my situation is sinking in.

“This job sucks.” I say simply.

Rizzo lowers his paper and says, “You think it sucks because you lack perspective my brother.”

“Perspective?”

“Perspective.” Rizzo repeats.

“Ok. I give. Enlighten me Obi-Wan.” I counter.

Rizzo puts the paper down and stares at me earnestly.

“Listen there is a guy named Vinod, he’s just off the boat from Bangladesh. Do you know what his job in this great country is?”

“Tell me. I can’t wait to hear.” I deadpan.

“He’s the squeegee guy at the all night peep show on 42nd Street. He cleans up all the garbage and jizz in the stalls. And you know what? He’s grateful he has that job. FUCKING GRATEFUL!

“Ugh.” I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

“Yeah so while you’re bitching about working here, some guy who left a mud hut in some shithole is busy wiping up pervert spooge all day and he’s grateful. So stop your bitchin.” Rizzo declares, returning to the funny pages.

I think about that for a moment. Yeah I guess it could be worse. Yet, I can’t help wonder about “Vinod” and his custodial job at the porn shop………..

————————————————————————————————-

Big Al’s Nude Dance Emporium

Live Girls 24 Hours! All Nude!

123 East 42nd Street

New York, NY 10017

Purna Raychoudhuri

Mud Hut No. 2,999,857.234

Sylhet, Sylhet Province, 3100

Bangladesh

Dearest Sister:

America. Great Country! I have job. I am chief custodian at Mr. Al’s Dance Emporium here in the greatest of cities. New York! Yes the Huge Apple. Oh Purna it is so exciting! Mr. Al is very kind. He pay me $1 an hour! So much money! I sleep in the back on the floor. A real floor! Wonderful! Mr. Al very kind. He lets me eat the popcorn free and beats me only once a day. I work very hard.

The dancing here very strange. Not like the dancing at home. Mr.Al tells me it “performance art.” The dancers very nice. Funny they all named “Amber” and all from Russia. How funny! I work hard. Soon I be manager. I will bring you and mother here to work when I get money. Al has not paid me yet. I know he will soon. When you can buy a pencil write me. Best to mother.

America Great Country!

Love,

Vinod

————————————————————————————————

Hmmmmm.

I look up at Rizzo and say, “You’re sure he’s grateful?”

Without looking up from his paper Rizzo says,

“Bet your fucking ass.”

The door chimes. Some customers walk in. Rizzo and I get up and go back to work.

I guess it is all about perspective. Hey, at least I’m not the squeegee guy at Big Al’s.

Sorry Vinod.

Would you like a shot of George Orwell with your latte?

I go into Starbucks to get my pre shift daily fix when I notice a strange plastic object hanging over the register.

“What’s that thing?” I ask my nose ringed tattooed hipster barista.

“A video camera.” he replies flatly.

“A what?” I say incredulously.

A video camera with a live feed to corporate in Seattle.” he says with the perfect blend of surliness and cynicism I’ve come to expect from Starbucks employees.

“Is it to make sure you guys don’t steal from the till?”

“That and to observe customer buying habits.” he replies looking bored.

“Does it cover the entire store or just the register?” I wonder.

“It covers the employee area and customers at the register. It even has audio. Seattle can hear every thing we say.” Grinning he looks up at the camera and loudly adds, “Those assholes.”

I look around while the kid gets my coffee. Several soccer moms are chatting. A student looks up from his copy of Camus to scope chicks. A tired looking man slumps in an easy chair pecking away on his laptop, studiously attempting to look busy. Ray Charles plays softly in the background. Everyone is drinking over priced caffeinated chemistry experiments trying to look like what some marketing hack in Seattle tells them is cool. They are being watched, analyzed, and dissected down to the last dollar and they don’t even know it.

Suddenly I don’t like Starbucks anymore.

I get my coffee, throw some change in the tip jar (to insure my waiter karma) and flip the camera the bird.

“Later man.” I say to the barista. He is smiling. He flips off the camera too.

Screw Starbucks. Next they’ll be putting “Soma” in the brew. Patronize a local coffee shop and give them your money. Check out this guy who is doing something about it.

Nice Shift

Got off a few zingers tonight………..

“Waiter is the tiramisu any good?”

“Why sir it’s one of our most popular desserts.”

“It didn’t ask if it was popular I asked if it was good.”

“Well sir if it wasn’t good it wouldn’t be popular.”

“Oh……..”

What a shithead

——————————————————————–

I am walking down the aisle and a man snaps his fingers to get my attention. This is a major faux pas with us waiters. I ignore him.

When I pass by a second time the man snaps his fingers again. I stop, look at the floor, do a 360 degree spin, then look under his table. His wife has nice legs.

“Waiter what are you doing?”

“Why I’m looking for your dog sir. Is he lost?”

———————————————————————-

Otherwise a very nice evening, I waited on William Hurt. He was gracious, well mannered, and tipped well. He didn’t snap his fingers. Introduced himself as “William.” Very cool. Girlfriend a complete babe.

Stone Cold

I am waiting on a table of three hotties. They flirt, they drink; they’re loud and obnoxious. I keep the happy smile plastered on my face – their check is $300.

As they leave I pick up the check and look at my tip.

Zero. Zip. Zlich. Nada.

I am pissed. The ladies, laughing hysterically, have piled into a convertible parked directly outside the bistro. I go up to them and say,

“I am sorry to bother you but you forgot to leave a gratuity.”

The ladies laugh even harder.

Flummoxed, I repeat, “You forgot to leave a tip.”

The driver just waves dismissively, starts the car, and drives away. I hear their laughter fade into the distance.

Burning up, I walk back inside. I head toward the waiter’s prep area. I grab a cell phone from the pile and dial 911.

“Anytown Police Department – what is your emergency?”

“Yes I would like to report a drunk driver.” I rattle off the make, model, tags and direction.

“We’ll get on it.”

I hang up.

To this day I don’t know if they caught them. Probably not. I never saw them again.

I can be one stone cold son of a bitch.