Ya gotta be tough

Ya Gotta Be Tough
It was another slow Sunday-morning opening shift. The three dancers on shift were all sitting on the edge of the stage, on the rack, chatting among themselves. The bartender had a single customer, who sat with his butt to the stage. (It’s odd, but after more than a year in the business, it has become “butt” rather than “back.”) The jukebox was still playing; there has to be a song on at all times in case someone pokes their head in the door. But it was turned down, so the dancers didn’t have to shout.

Two of the dancers were talking about a dancer who wasn’t on yet, while the third one spaced in and out of the conversation. Suddenly, the third dancer started paying attention. “What did you say about her? What happened to her?” she asked the others.

“Oh… she got beat up really bad. Someone hit her with a cue ball.”

“Oh shit! Why?”

“She tried to break up a fight and some chick turned around and nailed her with it. That’s why you haven’t seen her in a while. She’s totally black and blue. It broke her eye socket.”

They exhausted that episode, and moved on to one closer to home. Several years ago, one of the dancers in this club was beaten up. She was walking along the bar, where a couple sat talking animatedly. She was saying something to another dancer over her shoulder, not paying attention to the couple at the bar. The woman at the bar overheard her, and in her alcohol-altered state, she thought she was being dissed. She yelled something at the dancer. The dancer turned to her to ask her what she was saying. She saw the woman reach back to the bar, like she was going to pick something up for her. She did….

The woman picked up her pint beer class and round-housed the dancer in the face with it. The glass broke, and blood spurted from the dancer’s face. Amazingly, she stood… long shocked moments while the entire bar stopped and stared in disbelief. She swayed and stared at the woman, blood flowing from her face, then tried to light into her. But by then the bouncer was there, other dancers were there, several customers were there, and the woman went down in a heap on the floor before the dancer could get to her.

Eventually the cops were called, an ambulance was called, and everyone got sorted. Alas for the dancer, she had broken bones in her face in addition to a 2-inch gash. She didn’t dance again for over a year, while everything healed and the scar faded. It was a sobering lesson on the volatility of life in an alcohol-fueled environment.

July 22, 2008