“What’s the wage for a bartender?” I inquired. “We pay $5.00 an hour plus you’ll make tips. If you dress a bit more like the dancers and less like grandma, you’ll make more,” he said with a grin. “When can you start?” he asked before I could respond to his jibe about my outfit.
“Would tomorrow work?” I asked.
“No, Saturday nights are packed. How about you come in on Monday and we’ll get you trained. Here’s a schedule and a formal application. Fill this all out and bring it with you so we can report your earnings properly.”
“That’s it, I have a job?” I asked hesitantly. “Yep, you’re young, hot, and these guys have been drooling over you since you came in the door. Go to this store and buy some outfits to wear to work,” he said as he wrote down the name of a store I would later find out was a sex toy shop.
As I left the bar happy and giddy, the bouncer walked me out to my car and made sure I was safely locked inside before stepping away. I drove home with the music blaring and the windows down on my pickup. I just got a new job. I burst through the door, but Marco was gone. There was a note on the table. “Couldn’t find you at work, so when you get this, call me.”
Shit, he knew I skipped out on work. I figured I was definitely going to be in trouble. Before calling him, I noticed the mail was on the table. There was an envelope from my employer, the grocery store. I opened it happily thinking it was my hefty paycheck. It was my paycheck, but despite doing two 40-hour workweeks, it was barely $300. How disheartening. Working full-time and studying full-time was hard enough, but working for peanuts was the last straw.
I called Marco, but he didn’t answer. A few minutes later, I heard the garage door open and the motorcycle being parked, so I patiently waited for him to come upstairs. He was smiling, in a good mood after having a few hours of banter with his friends at the pub. “Where did you go? Where have you been?” he asked while removing his shoes. “I got a new job. I start Monday,” I replied as I jumped up and gave him a huge hug.
“You smell like cigarettes. Were you smoking? Yuck,” he said while kissing me gently.
“No, it’s the bar I was just hired at to bartend. It’s a smoking bar,” I assured him.
“Oh, a bar? A strip club?” he inquired.
“Yes,” I answered, as I watched the expression on his face change into a more serious look.
“Will you be removing your clothes for money? Does that excite you?” he asked with a grin.
“No, I am bartending and serving beer only. They do smoke inside, and the manager did tell me this outfit wouldn’t work, but just to wear something a bit more revealing for better tips.”
“Why do you want to work in such a dirty place?” he asked, somewhat annoyed. “Don’t you make enough money at the grocery?”
I laughed and handed him my pitiful paycheck. “That’s not very much for all the time you spent working, is it? You know, I find it sexy that you would be working at a strip club. I would like to see you strip for me, and for other men—” Marco responded with a kiss before we made passionate love.
This was hardly the reaction I was expecting.