Chapter 8 Chapter Eight - Gabriella
The lights are flashing, the music is pumping, the drinks are flowing, and I’m drowning in tips.
Let’s be real, how many people can say they have a job that is genuinely fun and exciting? I know it’s a pretty common practice for people to hate and complain about their jobs, but I love mine. I get to spend paid time somewhere that’s like a second home to me, surrounded by all my friends and for the most part, really nice patrons. I’m either working behind the bar, or I’m up on stage dancing like there’s no tomorrow and gracing the crowd with the voice nature gave me. I couldn’t imagine being stuck behind a desk, or worse, working retail. I shudder at the thought.
The music transitions into playing that summer banger from a few years back Rush by Troye Sivan and almost immediately I see several shirts come off on the dancefloor. My eyes lock with Cassandra who is working behind the bar with me, as we begin to sing and dance along while we serve the customers.
“Can I get two Singapore Slings?!” A patron yells out. I nod and get to work on making his cocktails while I continue to groove along to the music.
As I’m mixing away, Cassandra gives me a few hip bumps which I happily return as I slide the drinks across the bar. I put his order into the machine, then hand over the POS machine and allow him to tap his card on it. As he takes his drinks and walks off, I print out the receipt and see he left me a $10 tip. With a big grin on my face I circle the tip on the receipt in green – my most hated colour – to indicate the tip was for me and then put it in the back of the till.
When Derrick took over as manager he implemented a colour code system for tips. He doesn’t believe sharing tips is fair because someone who did less work shouldn’t be rewarded with the money that was freely given to someone who did more. So, when we get tips, if it’s on card we have to identify using our coloured markers who the tip goes to, and if it’s in cash, we each have a designated jar behind the bar. There was one little bitch who used to try stealing other people’s tips, but Derrick installed a security camera under the bar which put a stop to it. Also firing her ass helped as well.
The music eventually transitions into the dance mix version of No More Tears (Enough is Enough) featuring the iconic Barbra Streisand and Donna Summer, and when I tell you the gays are losing their shit, I mean that wholeheartedly. The Glitter Hole doesn’t shy away from playing classic songs from gay icons and I couldn’t be more grateful because they just don’t make music like this anymore.
I continue to serve drinks, but when the chorus drops Cassandra and I simultaneously lose our composure – if we had any – and bust out some classic seventies dance moves. I reach out for her hand, which she takes as I spin her into my arms and spin her back out with smiles plastered on our faces. Everyone is cheering and hollering, loving every second of it, that is until my shoe catches on the rubber matt, and I end up flat on my ass on a sticky as hell floor.
Sticky asses aside, I can’t get back up because I’m too busy laughing, and Cassandra can’t help me because she’s too busy keeping her thighs clenched in an attempt not to pee herself.
“You went down harder than most of the customers have in the bathroom tonight!” she cries, laughing hysterically.
I lay back on the ground with no regard for my dignity, clutching my stomach as I continue to laugh. “Stop it, I can’t get up,” I say between laughs.
“She’s fallen and she can’t giddy up,” Cassandra taunts, only making herself laugh harder with a resounding snort. She clutches the bar trying not to fall down as her body is wracked by laughs, and at this point, I’m fucking gone. That epic snort that would shame a farm of pigs was the final nail in my coffin.
“My god you two are hopeless,” I hear a familiar voice tsk on the other side of the bar. That shouldn’t be as funny as I find it, and yet all I can do is laugh like a hyperactive dolphin.
I manage to take air into my lungs and slowly get up off the ground and wipe the tears from my eyes as I look at Dan, who is the manager on shift tonight.
“We were just having a bit of fun,” I say as I finally gain back my composure.
“You should try it sometime. I guess I don’t need that ab workout tomorrow,” Cassandra chuckles, making me snort in amusement. I love this girl.
“Well, when you two are done giving yourselves an on-the-clock workout, I need you, Ella to go and serve a couple of patrons up in the VIP lounge. They’ve ordered ten shots of tequila and ten shots of whiskey,” he says, snapping his fingers.
I stare at him in confusion, “Um, why are you asking me?”
He blinks for a moment and looks off with a befuddled expression, “Huh, I actually have no idea.” He shakes his head straight and focuses on me. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m your boss tonight, so if I tell you to go serve a couple customers, then you go serve them.”
“I’m a bartender, not a server. Bartender means I tend to the bar, it’s literally in the job title,” I argue.
“It’s not going to kill you, and you might even make a good tip. So quit your whining and just go and do it,” he says, tossing his long brown hair over his shoulder – hair extensions by the way – and walking off.
“That guy needs some serious dick. Maybe then he’ll stop being such a bitch,” Cassandra mocks.
I smile and get to work pouring the drinks and placing them on a serving tray. “He’s just one of those people with a power complex. He’s too chicken to try that shit when D is on shift because he knows my boy would eat him alive,” I say proudly.
“Nothing makes my night more than watching him read a bitch to filth,” she says, raising her hand to the sky in praise.
“I’m just going to take these upstairs; will you be good for a few minutes?”
“You mean will I be okay making all the tips for a few minutes? I think I’ll manage,” she says cheekily.
I smile at her, carefully lift the tray, and make the arduous trek through the crowd and up to the VIP lounge trying not to spill twenty shots of hard liquor on myself or anyone else. The club has three dimly lit VIP lounges, each small and intimate, decked out with silver cushioned lounges forming a U-shape around the room, lined with pillows and if that wasn’t enough padding, the walls themselves are covered in velvet silver cushion padding for an intimate aesthetic that also helps dampen some of the music. The ceilings are fitted with lights to give it this galaxy effect, and speaking from experience, getting high in one of these rooms and staring at the ceiling is a fucking trip.