‘Right…but you’re wearing pants.’

The reminder is necessary surprisingly often.

While customers are acutely aware that I’m not wearing any pants, they seem to forget that they still are.  Perhaps seeing a scantily clad girl reminds them so much of happy naked time that they forget they are still clothed.  Or maybe their brains just shut off entirely.  Both are plausible.

When I first started working at the club, I would bring a little cloth with me to put on the chairs before I sat down.  There were many reasons for this, two of which are mentioned below, but I stopped doing it because it resulted in conversations like this:

I saunter over to his table and put my hand on the back of the chair next to him, ‘This chair looks like it could use a hot chick!’

He chuckles, ‘It sure could.’  So, I lay my cloth down and sit next to him.

‘Why do you do that? Is it really that germ-y in here?’

It is, but I avoid that question by answering only the first question with only the partial truth.  ‘I don’t like sticking to the chair when I get up.’

‘I never stick to the chairs here.’

‘Right…but you’re wearing pants.’

Another time, I had just brought a guy into the back and nuzzled up against him while we waited for the next song to start:

I put my hand on his thigh, and he puts his on my knee.  ‘You’re freezing!  You have goosebumps all over.”

‘I know!  It’s so cold in here!  At least now you can warm me up!’  Almost everything I say at the club is heavily punctuated.

‘Yeah, but why are you so cold?  I’m not cold at all.’

‘Right…but you’re wearing pants.’

Yet another time, in the dead of summer, I had just approached a group of guys who were there for a birthday party:

I congratulate the birthday boy and give him a hug.  As I stand at the bar next to him, his friends bustling behind us, I startle as I feel something brush up against my ass and turn and swat away at…

The air.

He looks at me as if I’m high.  I try to explain, ‘The flies have been so bad this summer!  They’re driving me crazy!  They must like my new perfume because they’ve been all over me today!’  I lean in and toss my hair so the rich bourbon vanilla envelopes him, embraces him, intoxicates him.

‘Shit, you do smell pretty good.’

I smile and thank him.  Then his friend chimes in, ‘We’ve been here for a while, and no flies have bothered me,’ he says with an eyebrow raised.  He really thinks I’m hallucinating.

‘Right…but you’re wearing pants.’

Come on, guys.  Think before you say stuff because you’re making it really hard for me to be the dumb one.

~W~