June 16, 2012
When I'm asked for a recommendation, it's usually for a burger not a strip club that is eighteen plus. Ironically, because of my vegetarianism (yeah, let's go with that), I am much more helpful with the latter. When I'm asked for a burger recommendation, I hum and haw for a few seconds before admitting my meat-eating ignorance. However, when some recently graduated high school seniors come to me, desperate for a way to start their adult lives off with a bang, I am ready to go. I'm sure these guys expected me to blush and giggle nervously when they even mentioned the word "strip club." However, I'm not that kind of girl. I'm the kind of girl that immediately rattles off the name of the local strip club, as well as its more commonly used nickname ("The Shitty Titty"), along with some clear and concise directions on how to get there from the restaurant.
The only thing that a girl like me lacked was knowledge on their age admittance policy. Luckily, the guys were not discouraged by my inability to ensure that their voyeurism would be satisfied. After a quick Google search on an iPhone, one of the guys found the number and promptly called them. It was not my idea for the boy to begin his query with "Is this the Shitty Titty?" but I certainly didn't condemn him for his creative introduction. He was promptly hung up on. Still not discouraged, he called back and used the same opening. This time, a girl picked up. When told the nickname of her place of work, she responded, "That's not nice!" (I like to think that she was offended because she thought that her titties were under personal attack.) I guess the guy kept her on the line long enough despite his verbal toll on her self esteem, because he somehow was able to gather that The Shitty Titty was a twenty-one plus strip club.
All that effort, and I couldn't even get my guys a lap dance. What kind of waitress was I if I couldn't give my guests the impression of getting laid? I felt bad that my guys wouldn't be able to see any titties, as shitty as they may be, but a server can only do so much. This wasn't Hooters, and I was, by this time, officially bro-y with the guys anyway. I had done my best to aid their adolescent libidos; and I had to be happy that if they couldn't shove the change I had given them into a G-string, at least they could still spend it on alcohol.
These dirty plates aren't the only thing that's a hot mess. #servergirlstruggz
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