beach house

today i was sitting with a customer who, like many customers, felt compelled to brag to me about his personal fortune. it's so weird when people say, "i'm worth three million dollars," or whatever amount they pull from the ether. first of all, no you're not. second of all, why you gotta phrase it like that? it sounds so literal, like your entire being is worth x amount of money. maybe i am a nut, but i am uncomfortable putting a specific monetary value on a human life.

anyway i was sitting with a customer who was telling me how rich he was "in california." he just moved here and had "closed on a house today." hmm. last time i checked banks weren't open on sundays. and tomorrow's martin luther king day on top of that. but he had a weird hawaiian shirt and jeans on that could've been the outfit of a rich eccentric, and i was waiting to see if he'd buy some dances. so i sat with him and listened to him talk about his malibu beach house. "haha you have a beach house....CD," i joked. he didn't get it. he'd never heard of beach house the band, and i don't think it occurred to him that i was doubting his story. he was so committed to telling it, clearly relishing his own inventive details.

well then i got back up on stage and he continued to sit at a table, while seeming sad to see me go, which i assumed meant he didn't have money to sit at the tip rack. my hunch was confirmed when i looked over at him and he was texting on a giant old flip phone.

i guess you can tell a stripper any story you want, and though most guys tell regular old stories dripping with mundane truth, there's always gonna be your poor guys claiming to be rich, your married guys claiming to be single (and trying to get your number), your community college teacher who says he's a surgeon. just another day in the fantasy cave.