And Waiting...

I’m playing the waiting game now. When I re-applied for my license, they said it would take 5-7 business days for the criminal record check to be completed. I called 5-7 business days later, and they told me it takes two to three weeks. I know, I know, you’re shocked at how municipal bureaucracy works.

My best friend June was shocked that I had to get a criminal record check. She thought it was the most redundant thing she could imagine.

“If you’re a criminal… why would you go get checked? Doesn’t that demonstrate your lack of respect for the law? Why wouldn’t you just go do it illegally anyway. Annnnd, if they denied your application, does this mean that they expect you to not go ahead with it? This is stupid.” I love June.

Another question that arose was what kind of criminals were denied. What if I had insider trading on my rap sheet? Does that rule out hooking?

The promise of future money inspired me to give notice at my current job. I fucking hate it there. I have come to the conclusion that the reason I don’t fit in there is because I’m not white trash enough. And there is proof of this. My boss likes to add the name Lynn on to the end of every one’s names. Even if they’re a dude. So it would be, “Tammy-Lynn…” or something like that. Lynn does not add nicely to the end of my name. I don’t love it when she does this. However, new hilarity has been added to this after watching Ted. White Trash.

I forgot to tell you that one of my customers tried to poach me to come work at his bikini bar. I wish I could tell you the name of it. It just oozes class. He was trying to convince me I’d make way more money. I highly doubt it. It is located in a very industrial neighbourhood, and I highly doubt that these guys would tip higher.

I said to him, “If my mom found out I was working in a bikini bar, they wouldn’t kill me, they’d kill you!!”

He left it alone for a little while, then a week later followed up with me again. I told him that I would need a lot more than servers wages to wear any less than what I was currently wearing. He gave me a look.

“I’m kidding!” I said to him.  There’s no way in hell I’d work in a bikini bar. My boobs are not that big! And I have serious touching issues. I can’t stand it when guys put there hands on me in any non-consensual way. Not cool.