RUDE!

Normally I love what I do. It's fun and interesting, reasonably challenging without being terribly demanding, and you can't beat the hours. And then there are days . . . .

Today was one of them. It started out rough because I worked in two places yesterday, and didn't get into bed until 3 am. Roughly 3 1/2 hours later, I was awakened by a mighty urge to pee (this normally never happens) and a driving desire to write about recycling. And no, it's not that time, and no, I'm not preggers. Then I would up spending $77 on a doctor visit for kiddo's unrelenting cough, and $40 on antibiotics. Ted told me what he had spent on kiddo's Santa gift, and it was 3 digits. And there is another part of the gift that needs to be bought. And then I got to work late and the bar was empty of anyone but girls.

Ordinarily, I am very patient and forgiving when men say weird, bizarre, or just plain rude things. In all my years of dancing, I have learned that silence is usually the better part of discretion. But given the circumstances, I think any reasonable person can see why my fuse was a tad bit short today. Note I said a reasonable person. We had a shortage of those today. Here are some excerpts my night at work.

Me: Thank you for those two dances, I had a wonderful time. (Lie, lie, lie. This guy was handsy, smelly, and all over despicable. He slobbered on my neck.)
Him: Let's go have another drink.
Me: Let's settle up for those dances first.
Him: Didn't I already pay you?
Me: No.
Him: Yes I did.
Me: Nope, sorry. Look in my purse, I don't have any money.
He grudgingly produces payment for one dance.
Me: No, that was two dances.
Him: No, it was one.
It just goes on from here, with lots of "did not's" and "did too's" with the end result being that I did not get paid for the second dance. Funny thing is, I had a premonition in the middle of the second dance that that was going to happen.

Me: Hi
Customer: I don't want any dances, I'm here to forget someone.
Me: Sweetie, a few dances with me and you'll forget everyone.
Customer: She was a dancer. I hate dancers.
In my thought bubble: Then why on earth are you here? This is the only bar in Crown Point that has dancers.

Me: (After some random chit-chat) So, let's go have some fun!
Customer (who is around 55 years old): I don't want a dance with you. You know what I see when I look at you? I see a middle-aged woman who . . . (trails off after scathing look from me)
Me: Yes? Who what?
Him: Uh, uh. Well, middle aged, you know.
Me: And you know what I see? I see one homely m*ther-f*cker who I wouldn't even give the time of day to, if I wasn't at work.

Same customer, who is not content to let me be but chases me down and attempts to continue the conversation:
Customer: (in confrontational tone, grabbing my arm) I wasn't trying to be rude.
Me: No, you were succeeding at being rude.
Customer: What did I say? I mean I didn't want to hurt your feelings or anything. I was just being honest.
Me: I don't consider 38 middle aged. (Turning away now)
Him: Well, don't go away hurt. I don't want to hurt your feelings. You ARE middle aged.
Me: (Losing patience now) Dude, neither you nor any other man in this bar matters enough to me to hurt my feelings. Only one man matters to me right now. He is six years old and believes Santa is going to bring him a hideously expensive train set which, thanks to cheap asses like you, I cannot afford. If you want to apologize or make me feel better, you can buy a dance. C'mon, let's go.
Him: I wouldn't get a dance with you, you're old.
(This same asshole then contented himself with tormenting the bartender for the rest of the night.)

Some young guy, possibly a friend of the last guy: I can't get a dance with you, you would not be able to handle it.
Me: I can handle anything, baby. Let's go find out.
Him: If you saw my c*ck, you wouldn't know what to do with it.
Me: Eye roll and walk away
In my thought bubble: What in hell makes his schlong so different from all the other ones I have had time to see in my advanced years? Does it do tricks?

What is is about the holiday season that makes men act this way? Every year about this time, the bars fill up with mean people, the physically grotesque and socially stunted, who possibly cannot even pay escorts to spend quality time with them. So they come into bars full of attractive women who would ordinarily never have any thing to do with them and anyway who are NOT there to get a date, and act in the most obnoxious way possible to guarantee that even if there were a remote chance one of us might have once considered leaveing with a customer, it would not, in a million years, be with them.