"Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood." ~Oscar Wilde
I was racking my brain trying to think of a decent way to begin this story, but I failed.
She was a tall African girl who had an arsenal of wigs. Generally these wigs were ratty and not really flattering to her. You could see upon a casual glace, that these wigs were well worn. Her natural hair was cropped short close to her head and she always put a nylon sock over her head first, before the wig. There was one wig that I thought looked the best out of the selection and this is the one she wore most often.
She really was a pretty girl, however for some reason she didn't do very well. I couldn't figure it out. When the customers would come down the hall to see who was there they always sidestepped her window. Sometimes I was not in my booth and I could see her sitting in hers smiling and waving, yet the customer would leave quickly. What was it they saw that I didn't?
Did they have previous experience with her that lead them to pass her by with haste? Could they see something in her smile that scared them away? It is true that often she was surly. In fact, that is putting it mildly. She tended to be rather explosive, verbally that is.
There were countless times when I had been scheduled with her that she would explode in a tantrum to end all tantrums. She would throw her shoes, throw her brush, cuss like a sailor and stomp her feet like a child. Generally this happened while I was performing a private show. My door would be closed yet her anger permeated the private booth. My customers could also clearly hear the commotion and sometimes they seemed rather frightened.
One such time I was entertaining a customer when from out of no where there was a sudden loud shout.
"Motha Fucka!"
This was usually the cue that there would be a barrage of obscenities to follow.
My customer startled, jumped back from the glass and was clearly rattled. I hadn't flinched in the slightest, as I was used to this.
"What was that?" He asked a little frightened.
"Nothing sweetie, don't worry about it." I answered. I didn't want him to run off.
"That.... That sounded angry. Um.... You sure it was nothing?"
"Yeah, you tend to get used to it darling. Don't mind it please." I made sure my sexy smile stayed firmly planted on my face and had a manor of calm about it. I had hoped that if I played it off as nothing than he would relax.
Just when we started to get into the show and he was relaxing, there was a large thump at my door. My guess is that she had thrown her shoe again. This meant that it was a mother of a tantrum indeed.
"Um, what was that?" He asked.
"Probably a shoe hitting my door. Come on sexy forget about her." I said.
"Okay, we can pretend she is my jealous girlfriend catching us in the act." He said with a nervous smile.
"Perfect, I think you are very clever and imaginative indeed. I like your style."
We continued on, he even put more money into my acceptor.
The acceptors were rather loud when they suck the money in and this sound can be clearly heard outside the door. This brought another explosion of obscenities and more thumps from her now stomping the wall that separated our rooms. My back had been against the wall and I could feel each time her foot connected with the wall. She was beyond furious and raging with jealousy. She began screaming.
"Motha fucka! Motha fucka! What the fuck is this? Why ain't I gettin no motha fuckas in my booth? What the fuck? Fucking skinny ass white bitches always get the customers. It's because I am black. Motha fuckas scared of black women. Racist. They are all racist motha fuckas up in here. I ain't got no damn money and motha fuckas ain't payin my ass."
At this point, I could tell she was trying to scare my customer away. I wasn't going to let her have her way. It was irritating but I tried to keep my composure so that my customer would not loose his interest.
"Wow your girlfriend sounds really scary. Do you think she could break this door down?" I asked him trying to play a role.
"No, don't worry about her. She is just jealous because you have my cock and not her." He said getting into it again. "Just ignore her, she is out of shoes to throw."
I liked that guy.
After the show was finished, I waited some time before opening my door. I was afraid that she may be standing there with a knife or something. It wasn't uncommon and certainly not an unheard of logical fear.
I opened my door to see her on the stairs of the stage crying in her hands. She just sat there crying out all the rage that she had bottled up inside her. She had on her blond wig and silver micro bikini with her clear barbie like shoes. Her nails were long and red with little fake diamonds glued in the tips. She looked like a showgirl but at the moment, a showgirl who knows the end is near. I sat in my booth quietly not saying anything to her for w while.
"What the fuck?" She asked. "What the fuck is all these people's problem? Ain't I pretty or is there something wrong with me? Do I have a booger in my nose or something written on my fucking head?"
"I don't know. I can't tell you why or why not girl. I am just sitting here doing what I always do. I can't help that they come to me. I am not going to turn them down, I am here for money too."
I answered. It may seem as though the response is rather cold, but that is how it is. She appreciates honestly anyway.
"Well then that's that right? You gettin all the motha fuckas as I be sitting here on my ass like I am here for fun. Even the brothas be buyin shows from you. Why ain't the brothas coming to me?" (Brothas= black men)
"I have no idea. I can't tell you why." I answered. "I didn't think it was cool that you were hitting the wall and throwing your shoes and cussing like that. You were calling me `all kinds of bitches and shit` and I think that was rude." I said, using her favourite complaint to her.
"Yeah well I am fucking sick and tired of not makin any fuckin money when I come in here. It just ain't right I sit up in here for nothing. Not a single note."
"Yeah well, I am sorry you are having such a bad time, but it isn't my fault. So don't be pulling any more tantrums when I have a customer. I don't do it to you, so wait until they leave."
"Fine then.''
She was always like that. One minute she would be pretty much homicidal and raging, the next sensitive and crying. You never really knew when to expect her moods because it didn't always take a trigger to set her off. It could be nothing.... It could be that there were cheap people in the stage who wouldn't tip her.... It could be someone she perceived to look at her funny.... She even came to work that way sometimes.
The girl had problems. I could somewhat sympathise with her predicament (being homeless) but I still didn't agree with her tantrums.
