Waitress/Stripper Mad At Me???

So I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) tonight just to stay away from home.  The pickins this night were slim, so I thought I would drink my coffee and drop a couple bucks to see some titties before I go back out into the night (and get a ticket to Saturday's roller derby friendly before going home).

There is a girl there -- actually she's a mature woman who nonetheless has huge tits and a forward personality, so I like her -- that gave me my coffee, even though I don't ever remember her as a stripper who also helps out as a waitress on the side.  While I was getting boobies waved in my face, she told me she wanted to talk to me in private.  Oh, what could that mean?!  Could she finally be inviting me to one of her house parties?  Or could it be bad, like she's leaving the bar or even the life itself?

What it actually is something worse, because it's something neither bad nor good, at least not now -- it's unresolved.  See, when I was able to pry away from the stage, she told me that the waitress who was working tonight -- one who still dances on the side and has this move where she intertwines her nipples like she's making a knot (pretty freaky for an older dancer, you know?) -- complained about me.  I always get coffee, but lately, whenever she brings me a cup of coffee, I'm not around to give her the money for the coffee.  She now thinks I'm stiffing her out of the money for the drink.

That's fucking insane.  The bar and have got a pretty good vibe going.  So much so that oftentimes (thought not all the time) when the waitress gives me the coffee and I whip out my wallet, she goes, "Don't worry about it."  And then it happened enough times that I have assumed that they're just giving me the coffee that takes, like, two cents to make.  I figured that if any of them wanted me to pay for it, she would tell me.  That they didn't made me think I was a true regular, someone who has proven he's been good to the girls there and therefore can drink a cheap cup of coffee for free.

But apparently this waitress doesn't think so.  I guess she thinks that I always have to pay regardless, even though I swear that she was one of those waitresses who told me on occasion that the coffee she gave me was on the house.  If that's the case, you blame me for being surprised when it seems as if she didn't feel as good about you as you hoped she would?  Do you??  And besides, there have been several times where I take my wallet out of my pants and start to reach in for the dollars before she says, "Hey, don't worry!"  But it's not OK now, for all of a sudden?

But I need this place.  It's somewhere I can just be myself -- a pathetic, perverted loser.  I thought I could let all my inhibitions rot on the floor while I romp around in a stripclub (especially this one) hoping to get laid.  Without that, my social life is in the shitter.  So I sort of relent.  The stripper girlfriend who got in the middle of this helped me settle on four dollars with a dollar tip.  She thought that this would be enough to make it up to her.

But what if it isn't?  Before I left I saw her at the bar, not looking at me.  I have no idea what I did to set her off like this.  Moreover, I'm kind of disappointed of this stripper girlfriend I know.  She is trying to be a peacemaker, but this "scene" only should include me and the girl telling a proxy telling me to either clean up, eat it up fast, or leave.  By being a middleman she doesn't know firsthand what I or her need done.  Also, I'm guessing that that will almost certainly distort intent, one of the features of language that are both recognizable and corrupting.

And that's why this scene is "unresolved."  The pay is great (I get paid nothing), but the power behind the scenes may affect whether or not I get to appear in front of the camera.  I don't want to jump to conclusions, but biding my time probably means that her character will have moved on to another customer, and I'll just go to a place all too familiar to her -- a casting call.  And we don't know out of context

Eventually I left.  But I didn't want to start any awkward situation, so I went through the side door instead of the front.  Not dignified, but if it means you don't get into a fistfight, that's fine.  But this means that every night we want to go, we will see him and so we will need to find a way to avoid even making eye contact ... for the rest of our fucking lives.

I am crashing.  I need to go to bed.  I may not even understand all the shit I wrote just now.  I'm leaving.  Sorry.