Chris looked happy today. The DJ had obviously put some effort into his appearance before he had set off to work. His unusually cheerful and optimistic demeanor was so strong as to be instantly noticeable.
Chris was Caribbean decent but would stress that he was Canadian. He was a guy that seemed to be always desperate for just a little luck. Like all he needed was for life to just to give him a break, just once. Chris the Crackhead he was called, but he liked Carlsberg Beer and an occasional joint, not crack. He was disliked by his co-workers, even scoffed at by other DJs. Yet I always liked the guy, The Boss liked him too. I guess that’s all you really need in your corner where you work is The Boss.
There would be times when I’d be behind the bar and the DJ that was spinning that night would make a comment like: “So I hear you’re working tomorrow night – with Chris!”
Too which I would reply “Sure why not. Chris is OK.” But I’d wonder why he had so much negative voltage directed at him. As far as I was concerned, and I’ve worked with him for a long time, he had more negativity hurled at his head than he deserved.
Chris is a starving artist. His art is DJing. He must DJ as he is incapable of doing anything else. His preferred music is old school funk from the 1980’s. People put him down for his taste, but again the Boss (and myself) found it refreshingly different than the usual rap, R & B, or rock that the other DJs normally would play. Chris never has money. And he never seems to be able to get many work hours in a week. He begs for more shifts but sometimes the shifts just aren’t available to give. Occasionally he would find a gig at another bar for a night or two a week and he would talk about it and how it may lead to some decent income, only to learn that nobody in their right mind would work for said club. He would tell the stories of the insanity he witnessed and abuse he took at these places and how it drove him to ultimately quit. And again he would be back, asking The Boss for more shifts.
His lack of money had landed him well in the pocket of The Boss – who would constantly give him cash advances. Chris lived on cash advances. He was constantly hungry and would try to supplement his lack of meals with what he could hustle from the cooks in the kitchen. When The Boss wasn’t around, Chris would play a long break song, and then run off to visit the kitchen for any scraps left to be scavenged. These bits of food could be from the cooks cooking too many fries for an order, or maybe a left over chicken wing that never made it into the last order. And if he was really lucky, they would occasionally hook him up with a sandwich.
But today Chris looked sharp. He was cheerful (which was strange – stripclub DJs are never cheerful), and he looked like he was coming somewhere good, or going somewhere better. Since his shift ended at 2AM and he was just arriving (the time being 7PM), I figured maybe he had a date, or an interview, or a life, or some luck for a change. He walked by with his shoulders a little straighter, and at a quicker pace, and he said hello. I looked to Jess, the other bartender, and we both shrugged.
Ten minutes later Chris came walking by my part of the bar. His nice, button up shirt, while still wrinkle free, was splattered completely with some kind of dark liquid.
“Yo Chris! What the hell happened to you?”
“Fucking Gina threw her coffee at me!” He seemed beyond angry.
“Why?” I asked – although I knew the answer would not make sense.
“I asked her to get ready to go on stage next – which is part of my job you know – to tell the girls when they’re on stage – and she didn’t like that – she threw her fucking coffee at me for me doing my job!” He stormed off, probably to find Jimmy the Manager.
A few minutes later I saw him walking by the bar again. Still wearing his nice shirt horribly stained by a direct hit of what must have been a completely full mug of coffee, probably with a bit of cream because none of dancers drink black coffee. He wasn’t smiling now. He looked like he had been given a sharp wake up call. He looked like any optimism he had arrived with today had been ripped out of him, and that once again, he was acutely aware that his life sucked, and that his overall situation was unlikely to improve anytime soon. His shoulders were back in the standard-for-Chris slouched position. Nice shirts just aren’t enough to keep the relentless stupidity of a low end peeler bar at bay. Chris learned that you can try to pass yourself off as a winner, but winners ultimately do not inhabit this place. His face showed this final understanding.
This got me thinking. The bar physically shields me from what occurs on the floor. I can listen and witness and watch the blatant and obscene foolishness, and as long as I don’t screw up someone’s drink or their change, I am free from the problems that seem to plague both my fellow employees (and customers). I’m still a tourist in this place. Despite working here all these years I’m pretty much the only employee that doesn’t need this job. If I lost this gig my day job would easily carry me. But what if a place like this was my main source of income? What if I was dependant on a career like this? How would I feel if I walked into the office of my day job tomorrow and someone threw a cup of coffee at me, and I had to sit at my desk the whole day in a ruined shirt, knowing the perpetrator would ultimately be unpunished? And that somehow, in this world, it was commonplace to mistreat your fellow employees by lobbing coffee at them. What if you were so low down that those things most people take for granted, like dignity and respect, were simply non-existent and beyond your expectations?
Jimmy the Manager came out of his office and sat at the bar. He started doing nothing. He was just sitting there looking at the wall, or one of the lights or something.
“See what Gina did to Chris?” I asked. I was putting away some clean glasses. It was early and still slow.
“Yeah.” He was shaking his head, similar to how The Boss shakes his head.
“Are you going to tell her off for that?” I inquired.
“Yeah I am, but not now.” He was still doing nothing. Just sitting there.
“You should dude, Chris doesn’t deserve that shit. Nobody here does.”
“I will, but not yet.” He was still doing nothing. Like he was waiting. But then he noticed me looking at him and said:
“She has a fresh cup of coffee again. I’m going to wait until she’s drank it.”
Wow. Smart. No wonder he’s management.
