Up Shit Creek

“Where the fuck have you been?” Was the first thing I heard as I entered the front door at work. My Manager was pissed and worst of all, the owner was in town and had taken a sudden interest to how the whole place was running. This did not create an enjoyable working environment when JP was pissed. Mark…. Oh fuck….Mark (the owner) was as useless as tits on a bull. I shit you not. For one to understand Mark, I would need to describe him.

Mark’s English was really bad, I mean really bad. His accent was a mix of French and Middle Eastern. Mark was very short and dressed like an Italian mobster. Lots of Adidas jump suites, gold chains, rings o’plenty, sunglasses (in a dark bar) and the classic slicked back dark hair that was dripping wet with hair gel.

Yeah I was in shit from the gods of the strip club world. I guess my little escapade of taking off for a weekend worked out so well. I was hung over, I was sunburnt to the point where it hurt when I moved, I was in a foul mood, and I had the “littler mobster” yelling at me.

“I cannot run a respectable business when the help will not show up” or it actually sounded like “emfknmdvrdfkvdf fvpervpdv ermpemjvpoe 3repvcere” but you learned to decipher the meaning of most things as you spent more time around the “Little Mobster”

I was sent home to think about what I had done and to consider if I wanted to continue working at this club. I was more than happy to go home and sleep. Ohhh, the sleep.