10:48pm
Welcome to hell. I'm standing in an empty, freezing room listening to the worst techno of my life, and I'm trying to write humorously about it, but my hand is so cold that I can barely hold my pen.

11:30pm
This is how slow and cold it is in here. I just spent five minutes in the bathroom running my hands and wrists under the hot water until I could wiggle my fingers enough to write this. I've been here two hours and I've made $5. I'm starting to reevaluate my occupation.

I'd rather be home putting some hardener on my nails. They feel a bit soft.

<counting> Eight people in the room who don't work here. Did I say room? I meant club. not. How can they call this room a club? If I hammer a drum and press orchestra hit on my Yamaha, is my bedroom a club?
Maybe I'll try looking on the bright side. Let's see…what's the bright side to being cold, forced to listen to music I hate at the most unnecessary volume, and be making NO money when I could've hung out with my friends? Yeah. Not finding one. I think they actually have the air conditioning on even though it's 27 degrees out. I HATE BEING COLD.

11:46pm
Just made $1.50. These three unbelievably generous women left me their quarters. Now I can buy that house I always wanted.

You know, this would be okay if I had a laptop here connected to the internet, and I could catch up on emails I need to write.

11:59pm
Two hours to go. I'm kind the kind of cool where you can't believe you've EVER been hot.

12:41am
New DJ - good music, and the room is filling up. Thank God.

1:45am
I'm tired of arguing over these waters. If this girl weren't so endearing, I'd fight with her on it, but I don't care. I just gave her a bitch smirk after she said she really appreciated it. A look of 'Take it and fuck off.'
Some asshole who paid with a credit card left a 50 cent tip. I mean, he had to sit and WRITE .50 into the spot. Anyone else see why that's fucked up? Why bother?

I hate when people think tipping 50 cents is noble. They fucking hand it to you like they're about to change your life with it. All proud and smiley, "Here ya go!!!"

Thanks. asshole.

2:27am
Well, I put everything away, cleaned up, and was actually ready to leave at 2:15am, but at THIS club <cough, room>, we have to wait for one of two men (the managers) to come and collect the money. They manage four clubs. They are NEVER coming up here. I'm goin to be here forever. I really want to start crying. I made $50. Last night I was optimistic about the $50. Tonight, completely depressed. I cannot believe this shit. Tears brimming. They're brimming. I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE.

2:37am
If there's one thing I value in this world, it's organization. This place has none. I'm going insane. I cannot believe I'm still here.

2:45am
And now I'm crying.

Epilogue
I left about ten minutes later. Each minute crawled by like an hour. The room is so cold because they pump the rooms with cold air since it gets so hot when it's crowded and people are dancing. Now, they are preparing for hundreds of people, dancing, drinking, generating a LOT of body heat, not to mention the bartenders running back and forth. It can get surprisingly hot. Problem - no one showed. The room never had more than 50 people in it because our DJ kept disappearing, and every time he left, everyone left with him. So, the room is pumped with air conditioning (in the dead of winter), and me and the other bartender are just standing still under the vents. When you have a long, unsuccessful night, sitting around waiting for people and not being able to leave until they arrive is a nightmare. I then came home to my house being freezing as well because, as I explained on the main page, my roommates think that 62 degrees is good for the thermostat to be set. I'm sorry, but I give that a no-fucking-way. I'm considering setting that shit for 69 and breaking it so no one can turn it down.

Anyway, I was starving when I got home. I was in a horrible mood and wanted to be warm and left alone. The house was crawling with people because one of my roommates had six friends over. They're all very nice people, but they're people, and seeing people was the last thing I wanted in the world. All I wanted in this world was to crawl under my covers with a koala bear.

Looking back on the log, it doesn't nearly convey how I felt. I didn't have much time to really articulate the frustration because it took forever to write when my hand all cramped up, and if one or two people came near the bar, I'd have to stop writing.

There was a perk. The barback brought us a full steaming cup of hazelnut coffee. It was the nicest thing. We're supposed to tip out 20%, but I probably tipped out 25%. I had to. That was above and beyond the call of duty, and it was everything I needed at the time.

There were also more assholes I would've loved to talk about if I had more time to write. I got into an argument when the bar was closed with a man closing out his credit card. He was fighting with me about giving him water. See, let me explain this. The club will NOT give you water. We're not even supposed to give you ice in cups. You have to buy water. At this particular spot, the water is only $3. At the other place I work, it's $4. Anyway, they fight and fight, "Can't I have just a glass of tap water?"

"No, I'm sorry, I can only sell you bottled water."
"You can't just fill up a cup with tap water?"
"No, I'm so sorry, but I have to sell you bottled water."
"I don't have any money." (I'm sorry, you're at a club. You should have brought some.)

The argument goes on for a significant amount of time. Sometimes I take the approach of, "I don't come to your job asking you to break your company policies, don't come to my work and ask me." Sometimes, "I think it's horrible that you have to pay this much, and I would LOVE to give it to you, but I'm really not allowed and there is nothing I can do." - that's if I'm feeling very patient. Super impatient is, "Look, there's nothing you can say to make me give you water, so you buy it or you leave me alone."

Back to this guy, he's begging for water, and the kind barback is doing the fight for me. He says to the asshole, "I'll give you water if you tip your bartender REALLY well." So, he writes on the tip line $5 on a $26 or $27 check. The barback asks, "Did he tip well?" I said, "A little less than 20%, but you can give him water." So the asshole says, "What, I tipped well?"

"You tipped standard. Tipping well would be MORE than 20%, which you should have done if we're breaking a rule for you."

"Good service gets 10-15%, and more if it's exceptional." I wanted to fucking jump over the counter and kill this guy. So, I said he was locked in 1982, that he was a cheap asshole, that I can't wait for him to get laid off so that he has to get a job doing what we do and then maybe he'll understand how important 20% is, and then to get the fuck out of my face because the club was closed and I hated talking to him. The funny part? When he went to grab the water to drink it, he spilled it all. Hehe.

Anyway, bartending has its perks, absolutely. You can make upwards of $900 in a weekend, but you can also make $150. $150 a week won't pay bills. Definitely won't pay for heat in the winter.

That's my night. I hope yours was better.