That was what a roughly 55-year-old short, stodgy attorney asked me at the PJ bar and grille in South Jersey last week.
He took out a wad of cash, removed a crisp $100 that looked like it was straight from the bank, and pushed it toward my bright orange, Leinenkugel tank top.
“My girlfriend’s boobs would look great in it,” he said to me, pressuring the $100 bill onto me when all I wanted to do was play a stupid card game with him so he’d buy some Leinenkugel beer, the brand I was promoting that night.
I am one of those girls. The kind of girl who walks around bars in tight shorts and tiny tees, smiling and giggling with free drinks or a game to play. We give out T-shirts and can openers; beer cozy’s and hats. You love us because we distract you from the boredom that sometimes ensues with the same old friends at the bar. You love us because we give you free stuff. You love us because we’re pretty, flirty and smile a lot. And oh yeah, some of us have large breasts.
There was the time one man asked if my boobs were real. I nodded and smiled. “Remember that Miller High Life is only $1.50 on special tonight,” I could always say in response.
And then, my friend who met the massouse during one of her shifts. “I do house calls,” he told her. “Your first massage session is free.” Um ew, gross.
And then there are the nice ones. “Where do you go to school?” “How much does this job pay?” “Do you really LIKE this beer?”
I feel good talking to them. I’ve distracted them from the stress they may have come to the bar in order to forget. I’ve learned a bit about a new person, gotten a name and a genuine compliment.
There’s something about those booty shorts and breast-hugging tees that leave me feeling empowered. As if behind my uniform, I’ll always know the real me. The girl they will never know— and that’s a good thing.
Because I don’t have to ever care about the indecent comments, or accept $100 (which I really, really needed and wanted) in a cheap and shameless way.
I promote alcohol for money. So what?
*posted by Sammy D
