Hustler Mama Jo

Mama Jo was a little tiny thing. Cute full-Filipino chick around 4 ft 5in, 26 years old. She made more money than any of the other hostesses at the restaurant and she had a spice that no one ever dare cross. Her 2-year-old daughter looked nearly half her size, no one could believe she birthed a child – her blazers were from the tween sections of department stores. She smiled sweetly and always held your hand when she talked to you seriously. I was working day shifts at first, alternating my online summer semester around the hours they gave me. Noa had an in at the front desk, so naturally, I tried to stay close to him being we shared a car, cash and I was scared to be too far away from him in that City of Sin.

The striped-dressed men in the gondolas drifted by me every hour and the Italian opera playing throughout the hotel was calming in compared to the Treasure Island, Paris or Ballys right around it. I really did not want to move there. The dry air, the ugly billboards with boobs popping out everywhere, tar ash lined ceilings, used car dealerships left and right, it was real life Pinocchio and after awhile … the new thick skin I grew felt normal.

I thought we’d be there a summer max, but it ended up 9 months before I couldn’t stand the casino life anymore. What’s so funny is I never learned to gamble or play cards really, despite all that time there. I was only 18 so I couldn’t play anyway, could not really make money like I would have if I could cocktail or serve - plus, I was juggling work, college, cooking and cleaning for two and of course all the affection duties of a full time girlfriend. But, at least I got some life lessons - I learned that first off, the desert is fucking hot in summer and shrill dry cold in winter (first winter I ever used chapstick every day) - although the mountains in the middle of the desert, the pockets of life, the orange sunsets have majestic beauty unlike anything I had known…more important, unlike the Aloha State, I learned most people in the big bad world are NOT your friend, everyone wants to live a fantasy to escape something, that you can’t really trust anyone, sex is the Ace card in the world by far, and of course, cash is King.

“Ok, Mama, you’re up,” Jo said to me as a larger freckled man wearing a dark blue blazer walked up to the hostess podium. “Hello, sir,” my sweet voice timid, “Do you have a reservation?” The family of adults standing off the to the side seemed impatient.

The 50 or so year-old man politely said no but pointed to the 6 top in the courtyard still without anyone seated on it. I started grabbing some menus, as we had no big parties on the books for another couple hours – Jo stuck her hand out to stop me, “You see his watch? He got money. Do like this, mama, watch my face.”

Sweet cheap cigar musk floated in enclosed, fake-outdoor courtyard, as Jo stepped up to the podium and flipped through the reservation sheets without letting it angle towards the red head – she made sure he could not peer in before she bluntly stated, “I’m sorry we have a reservation coming in. It will be an hour wait.” He glanced at the many open tables and very short line, obviously annoyed. Before he could even complain, she cocked her head confidently, “I can help you out if you can help me out.” She stuck out her hand gesturing a return-shake from him. He looked at her a whole long minute as Jo just kept her hand out, ready. Finally, he pulls out a folded $50 bill from his pocket and slips it to her with the handshake.

“One moment,” Jo sweetly smiled. She motioned me to continue with my menu grab and gently sticks the bill in my pant pocket as she whispered in my ear, “Do another ten like that, mama, and we (the manager nods at me from the corner) will give you more night shifts.”

 I have to admit I was a bit surprised at that move - being from the friend-discount-family-kine-favor-broke-808-state, I felt a bit guilty the first few times. So, Jo stepped in a little more for me when I lost my nerve, reminding me that if You don’t ask for what You want in life, your opportunity will be lost to someone else who does ask, does demand and doesn’t get cold feet. Hold my ground, that’s all I needed – she was a good teacher, hence she was the true “Mama” of the floor. I wasn’t always pulling in $50 each handshake – sometimes it was only a $5.

Regardless, I working way more nights by that next shift schedule.

*Please note that this read is meant to be entertaining, not necessarily factual