Hard Luck for Wen Tso

San Francisco ~SF~ The Way Down

There is no real difficulty that requires outward movement. -- I Ching - Hexagram 40 - Jie (Liberation)

Wen Tso sat at the bar on her legally proscribed break nursing her diet-soda and taking a load off her aching feet. She was four hours into a six hour shift serving as a cocktail waitress at a trendy night club called the "Way-down." Before last night she had never heard of the place until her friend Amelia had suggested she apply there for a easy job and fast cash. She reflected moodily that she had needed both badly after quitting her last job at the Middle Kingdom restaurant down in China Town. That job had come about through another friend Luna who wasn't talking to her at the moment. Therein lay the problem for Wen Tso she couldn't keep friends or jobs for long.

From her perspective she was just unlucky. Unlucky in school, unlucky in employment, and definitely unlucky in love. That was the reason her friends all called her HL, short for Hard-Luck, and the sobriquet had stuck starting in middle-school all the way through to her first couple years of college. Her family had tried to discourage it without success and it had been cute in her tween years. But the nickname had already started to sour her life prospects by high-school and now that she was in her early twenties it had become a curse that followed her where ever she went and whatever she did.

Wen's reverie and break were shattered by the rude slap of a serving tray on the bar just in front of her. Laura the bartender, a pretty gweilo blond a few years older than Wen was busily loading it with drinks. When she started to get up and move away the blond's blue eyes seemed to capture her and she froze. The woman smiled frostily and said:

"Your in luck. Do you see that corner booth on the other side of the dance floor. Yes, that one. Those seven young men are exchange students from Tokyo, they are already drunk and have money to burn. They have requested you to be their server tonight. I think they like the look of you in that little French maid's outfit the boss-lady picked out for you. So keep the drinks flowing and keep'em happy and by 2am you will be rolling in dough. And princess, don't forget to smile!"

And with that said Laura put the tray of drinks in her hands and turned to help a rowdy group of women dressed like superheros in sprayed on latex.

Wen grumbled to herself

Wen Tso worked her way across the main dance-floor of the Way-Down as she dodged the groping hands of the lonely and desperate on the one hand and the gyrating crowd on the other. As she did so, she marveled once more at the club's decor, a blend of arabesque, classical and post-modern which somehow implied the otherworldly rather than seeming presumptuous and contrived. The dance-floor was a cloud of constantly changing shadows under the shifting patterns of amber and lavender lights.