“You girls work hard,” Sam the Consultant said to me last Friday night. “I don’t get down here very often, but when I do, I like to care of you hard working ladies.”
I smiled and relaxed back into the plush leather recliner. “Oh thank you Sam! You made my night!” He did. Christies was dead for a Friday night. I raised my virgin mimosa, toasted to boobies, and took a swig of the sugary concoction. After my hangover the previous day, there was no way I was consuming alcohol that night.
“But I really don’t think I work that hard as a stripper. I mean look at me, I’m sitting back, feet up, sipping champagne, getting to know with Sam the Consultant. After having to teach 36 ten year olds long division, this is a piece of cake!” I said.
It’s true. I’ve had a lot of J-O-B-S in my lifetime. I started babysitting when I was 12. I worked a prize wheel on the boardwalk the summer I was 13. Then I waitressed the breakfast shift down the Jersey Shore from the ages of 14-17. As soon as I was legally allowed to serve alcohol at the tender age of 18, I started bartending and worked as a beer tub and shot girl at the clubs on Delaware Ave in Philly. In college I schlepped heavy trays of sizzling fajitas up a flight of stairs at Cactus Cantina in DC. The right side of my face had perma-zit from all that splattering oil. I’ve taught 1st-8th grade. I’ve also worked as a personal trainer, run a fitness center, and taught group exercise classes for 11 years.
Sitting on my ass talking to someone does not qualify as hard work in my book; nor does a busy shift of 20 table dances per hour. I chuckle whenever someone counts working as “exercise” too. I count a standard 5 hour shift of dancing as walking. I do 12 hour shifts on Fridays. Maybe 12 hours of walking is exercise to some people…but they’ve never seen the training regimen Jack LaLaine runs me through at the gym.
But as I’ve learned, working hard doesn’t get you anywhere. I got my car washed a few days ago. It cost me 12 dollars. As I waited, I watched the assembly line of 15 Mexican workers dry off, then methodically Armor-All the interior, pull it forward, then Armor-All the exterior, polish the wheels….GROWN MEN! Our neighbor’s kid just quit his job at a similar car wash, yet here are 15 grown men trying to make a living at a car wash. I tipped them $5. Not much split 15 ways, but every little bit helps.
My good friend Lauren from Mr. J’s decided that she “can’t” dance anymore. So she’s working her office day job, which never makes ends meet in Orange County, and a string of part-time night jobs. First it was a clothing store, then Lowe’s, now Ralph’s Bakery. She has no time for a social life, no time for dates. The girl is beautiful! She looks like Sandra Bullock, but she has convinced herself that no guy will take her seriously if she is a “stripper.” At least as a stripper she had time to meet men. Now she’s just eating donuts.
Eons ago in college, Rich and I watched The Bronx Tale. Robert DeNeiro plays a hardworking City Bus driver who’s trying to keep his son, C away from the local Mafia guy, Sonny. C idolizes Sonny because he’s got lots of money, flashy cars, etc. I don’t remember the exact quote, but DeNeiro says, “Your Dad is the hero, the working man, the man who gets out of bed every morning and works 10 hours a day to make an honest living. That’s the hero!”
Great working class movie. Too bad the age old ethic of “work hard” only lands you with no time to enjoy the wonderful things that life has to offer.
I feel blessed that I have the job that I do. It’s an honest job. Some religious zealots may disagree with that statement…but most religious zealots are pretty fucked up in the head anyway. I don’t lie, I don’t cheat, I don’t steal. Like Sam, I am a “Consultant.”
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