Fifty150
Call Me a Cab
- Messages
- 2,147
- Location
- The Barbary Coast
It was the debut of Remy Martin XO. A bottle of which cost more than a day's wages.
It was also the debut of the new POTUS. An old cowboy actor who was famous for working with a monkey. He raised the minimum wage from $3.10 to $3.35, and introduced a new economic theory. I never left home without my American Express.
The DJ was spinning the latest version of a 20 year old song. "Ue o Muite Arukō"
Uso Jessie, the off-duty cop was still educating me on how Asian culture works. We were joined by a cousin of his. A female deputy sheriff. At the time, she was the first female Asian American Pacific Islander to work behind the bars of the local county jail. No doubt because she was as big as a linebacker, and could smack down any inmate who wasn't going with the program. Their family would, generations down the line, dominate professional wrestling. Ironically, her name was Jessica. We had a banquet table for 10, with 8 empty chairs. And she chose to sit on my lap.
The DJ played Jessie's Girl. To this day, whenever that song comes on easy listening radio in an elevator or at a dentist office, I still get fond memories of my lapdance with a 200 lb Samoan girl.
"Those red envelopes all have twenties. The girls come in, and have to pay up $20 to you, your Uncle Gandhi, and The Mama San", before they can start their shift. "
But wait a minute. They gave envelopes to Uso Jessie, and the Patrol Special also. They fork over $100, to come in the door. And they don't get paid by anyone. Now, it's up to them to hustle tips from the customers.
"Yeah, yeah. That's how it is. Don't worry. They're making more than you. They have to kick up. It's the cost of doing business for them. Every time somebody wants to come to our table, and have a drink with us, it's also $20. There's usually a dozen girls every night. We'll drink with maybe 10 or 15 people. We'll toast them and wish them prosperity. They'll all say that we're in the same boat. Then they give us red envelopes. At the end of the night, your Uncle Gandhi & The Mama San will each give you an envelope also. It's not much. You're only getting twenties. Just tea money. Coffee money. You know, so that you can go 'yum cha'. Billy Jean, your lawyer, will catch up with you later next week, to settle up what they owe you for professional services."
My mind was spinning. There was a two hundred pound Samoan in my lap, wiggling her hips and causing unavoidable arousal. My left hand had already absentmindedly dropped and was now caressing her ample derriere. 25 or 30 red envelopes every night, stuffed with twenties. That's what someone makes in a month. It's about what this cop makes every two weeks. I'm getting this on Friday and Saturday night. And it's just "tea money".
It was also the debut of the new POTUS. An old cowboy actor who was famous for working with a monkey. He raised the minimum wage from $3.10 to $3.35, and introduced a new economic theory. I never left home without my American Express.
The DJ was spinning the latest version of a 20 year old song. "Ue o Muite Arukō"
Uso Jessie, the off-duty cop was still educating me on how Asian culture works. We were joined by a cousin of his. A female deputy sheriff. At the time, she was the first female Asian American Pacific Islander to work behind the bars of the local county jail. No doubt because she was as big as a linebacker, and could smack down any inmate who wasn't going with the program. Their family would, generations down the line, dominate professional wrestling. Ironically, her name was Jessica. We had a banquet table for 10, with 8 empty chairs. And she chose to sit on my lap.
The DJ played Jessie's Girl. To this day, whenever that song comes on easy listening radio in an elevator or at a dentist office, I still get fond memories of my lapdance with a 200 lb Samoan girl.
"Those red envelopes all have twenties. The girls come in, and have to pay up $20 to you, your Uncle Gandhi, and The Mama San", before they can start their shift. "
But wait a minute. They gave envelopes to Uso Jessie, and the Patrol Special also. They fork over $100, to come in the door. And they don't get paid by anyone. Now, it's up to them to hustle tips from the customers.
"Yeah, yeah. That's how it is. Don't worry. They're making more than you. They have to kick up. It's the cost of doing business for them. Every time somebody wants to come to our table, and have a drink with us, it's also $20. There's usually a dozen girls every night. We'll drink with maybe 10 or 15 people. We'll toast them and wish them prosperity. They'll all say that we're in the same boat. Then they give us red envelopes. At the end of the night, your Uncle Gandhi & The Mama San will each give you an envelope also. It's not much. You're only getting twenties. Just tea money. Coffee money. You know, so that you can go 'yum cha'. Billy Jean, your lawyer, will catch up with you later next week, to settle up what they owe you for professional services."
My mind was spinning. There was a two hundred pound Samoan in my lap, wiggling her hips and causing unavoidable arousal. My left hand had already absentmindedly dropped and was now caressing her ample derriere. 25 or 30 red envelopes every night, stuffed with twenties. That's what someone makes in a month. It's about what this cop makes every two weeks. I'm getting this on Friday and Saturday night. And it's just "tea money".