I can think of few jobs more distasteful than that of a poker room masseuse. To have to put your hands all over a sweaty, stinking, unshaven, fat old man should justify one for combat pay.
Worst of all is the scalp massage. Running your fingers across some guy’s greasy hair and zitty scalp makes me want to reach for the barf bag.
At Pendleton last week, I saw one intrepid soul working on a guy who was sitting backwards in his chair. His tee shirt had ridden up from his saggy pants, revealing a most unappetizing butt cleavage. I immediately had two thoughts: (1) Say no to crack (but unfortunately too late for that); and (2) I was reminded that I need to have somebody move my refrigerator.
2 comments:
I think the same guy should clean it 1st
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