Dec
21
2010

Diaries of a cigarette girl: Part 4

—Chelsea

Guest writer Chelsea regales us with her first forays into the wild world of booze in this multipart series.

The Peachy Puffs were a motley bunch of tough, loud, beautiful, shit-talking night owls, who would do almost anything for an easy buck. And by easy I mean, not requiring 40 hours a week behind a desk, a Bachelor’s degree, or getting out of bed before noon. These girls were hustlers. The maximum amount of money in the shortest amount of time was the goal, and many also took work as alcohol promotion girls, models, gogo dancers, and drug dealers—as long as the pay was in cash and under the table. The turnover rate was high, as the job can be intense. Many girls quit after one or two nights. But there were some stalwarts who became my nightly companions.

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Dec
16
2010

Diaries of a cigarette girl: Part 3

—Chelsea

Guest writer Chelsea regales us with her first forays into the wild world of booze in this multipart series.

Despite my novice status as a drinker, alcohol quickly became my fuel, pushing me through the insanity of each night as a cigarette girl. I knew nothing about cocktails so I usually asked the bartenders to make me something they liked themselves. The beautiful brunette tending bar at the upscale dance club on Broadway made me an ultra-sweet concoction in a martini glass called a Purple Hooter; the friendly, scruffy-faced guy at the dingy sports bar made me a SoCo and peach schnapps atrocity called an Alabama Slammer. The geeky bar-back who clearly harbored a crush always greeted me with two shots of Fernet, one for me and one for him. And the aging, chubby queen behind the bar at my favorite gay dive made me a large juice glass filled to the top with his secret recipe for a Vanilla Cosmo, which he refused to reveal. I didn’t know what I liked, so I would try just about anything. I never had to ask for a drink, as bartenders tended to have some affection for the cute Peachy Puff girls, and offered booze freely to us. I enjoyed the camaraderie I felt with my fellow night workers, and they, along with the drinks they shared with me, were my only comfort during each night of stressful, fast-paced, disorienting work.

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