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Mack^* is an elderly man who has been visiting the club I work at for years, well before I began working there. He’s lost all of his teeth except one lonely upper incisor which never fails to distract you when he opens his mouth to speak.

He’s an excellent tipper, always sliding twenty dollar bills across the table to me in the middle of our conversations. I always pause, smile, say “thank you,” and let him continue his ramblings.

As an ex-military sniper (or so he says), the stories that poor from this man’s lips are both interesting yet disturbing. It’s obvious his mind isn’t as sharp as it may have once been; he stumbles through his choice of words and repeats details over and over again every time I see him. But I will always smile and act shocked when he lays out the tale yet again of the enemy arms he was required to sever back in the day. His eyes dart back and forth feverishly as he describes the torn veins, the ripped tissue, the sound of the bones splitting under the chain-saw blade which was apparently so loud, he could hear it over the roar of the motor.

His facial expressions change dramatically under the flashing lights of the club while reliving his past. He often leans forward to yell in my ear, thinking I’m unable to hear him over the music. His breathe always smells of sour beer, what hair remains on his head always matted down in a knot, never combed.

I’ve come to the conclusion that all he wants and really needs is someone to talk to. No pets, no wife, no children – his days are spent mostly alone, probably smoking up a heavy storm in his musty house, watching reruns of old shows he once loved, never getting dressed unless it’s to come to the club.

Of course, these are just guesses but I do know one thing for certain – he appreciates someone who will simply sit down, drown out the world around them, and listen tentatively to what he has to say, even if it’s a bunch of drunken words slurred together with no real meaning. It would make sense why he tips me more than the other dancers who see him tipping me at the table. They’ll flutter up, kiss him on the cheek, flash their chest, and giggle wildly hoping that it will get him excited. He smiles politely, hands them a $5 bill, and turns back to his beer and his story (which he usually starts telling once more from the beginning, forgetting where he had left off ten seconds earlier).

One night he tipped me a total of $220 in twenties and before he left, I gave him a heartfelt hug and thanked him on his way out. A wave of confusion invaded his face as he looked at me in the eyes and asked why I was thanking him. I replied that I enjoyed his company and appreciated the tips. He shook his head for a few seconds, pushed his 50’s style eyeglasses back up his nose with his misshaped pinky, then blurted out that he was the one who should be thanking me. I asked why and he smiled, his lone tooth twinkling against his gums. “You have a good heart and you’re going places, young one. Thanks for letting an old man smile again, even if it’s over trivial things.”

I decided that night that I really like Mack. If I am truly making him happy, I hope I never let him down.

——-

^* names have been changed to protect identities, obviously.

I’ve been back in school for a week now and already I feel as though I am in way over my head.  Do you know how many books I had to purchase this semester?  12!  That is so beyond ridiculous to me!  But then again, all my pre-med buddies keep telling me “Just wait ’til you’re in med. school.” Touché.

I’m not surprised I’m already swamped with homework.  In fact, I’ve already begun the research process for a few classes because there are many oral presentations I must be prepared for.  HPV articles, novel reviews, new drug information, you name it.  I don’t think I’ve done over three oral presentations before in a single semester.

The only non-science class I am taking this fall is quite a nice change, I must say.  I’m required to read seven novels, all Asian American literature.  Finished The Kite Runner today, very depressing book.  I actually had to put it down several times because I was becoming too wrapped up in the story.  Very haunting novel, I highly recommend it.

As far as work goes, I forgot how much I hate working at the strip club while going to school.  On the days I work, I’m there until 2 o’clock in the morning.  Waking up for class after sleeping just four or five hours has always proved to be quite difficult on my part.  Almost impossible, in fact.  I’ve never been a morning person and signing up for an 8 o’clock class this semester was such a bad idea.

The club has been quite dead lately and it’s turned most of the girls who work there into money hungry savages who are willing to stomp all over you just to make a dollar.  You learn real quick who your friends are and who is willing to throw you under the bus.  But there’s nothing more you can do but put on your best smile and keep yourself looking sexy yet classy.  I’ve learned that it’s the gentlemen who tip the best and classiness is always appreciated.

My old lab partner from school is thinking about auditioning at the club.  I think she’d be a great asset seeing as how she used to be a go-go dancer in California a few years ago.  I hope she decides to audition, she’d be a blast to hang out with when it’s slow.

Halloween is coming and I’ll be working that night.  Time to start searching for costumes!