When I moved to L.A., I took several crappy jobs, including being a night logger for a reality show. My job was to find clips where the girls called each other “whore” and “bitch.” I also worked at a sushi restaurant, where I had a psycho boss and customers who regularly wondered aloud if I spoke English. I set out to become a cocktail waitress. They made bank in tips. So what if you had to wear four layers of makeup, almost no clothes, and show off your boobs? Oh, wait…boobs. I didn’t have any to show off.
A friend of mine who worked as a waitress at the Standard hotel on Sunset made $300 in tips on a good night. That’s like a million bucks to a broke person. She told me they were looking for a new girl to work the evening pool parties. My friend was a D cup and had blond hair and a deep tan. There was no way that I was dyeing my hair blond, and I don’t do tanning beds. But fake boobs? Sign me up!
I decided to stick inserts into my padded bra, but they looked fake. So I got creative. I filled two small balloons with olive oil, vegetable oil, and vinegar and stuck them inside my underwire bra. That’s right: the poor woman’s silicone. The day of my interview, I applied hookerish makeup, wore a dress two sizes too small, put on heels that guaranteed calluses, and inserted the balloons into my bra.
When I stepped into the lobby, I immediately noticed approving stares from men and women alike. It was as though I’d been initiated into the Big Tits Club, a not-so-secret society whose members seemed to dominate Southern California.
As the bar manager at the Standard, introduced himself, suddenly everything went blank: I lost my balance and landed face first on the shiny Standard floor. The boob balloons hadn’t just fallen out of my bra. One had popped. All over me.
I stood up reeking of oil and vinegar. My chest and dignity deflated, I went in search of the valet.
Just then a bunch of rapper-looking guys pulled up in an Escalade. One took a long look at my ass and exclaimed, “Damn. Asian girl got booty! Must be all that rice.”
I shot back, “C’mon, this is L.A. Nobody eats rice.”
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