Saddle Ranch
Tuesday, October 13, 2009 at 11:45PM Now that I’m a lady of leisure unemployed, I have time to reminisce (and catch up on my Bravo shows). I'm still doing my short-term mystery gig, but it's making me remember my first year in L.A, partly with giggles, partly with half-puke and diarrhea. You know when you move to a new city, where you don’t know anyone, you really have to take whatever job you can find. You don’t have any “ins” or any “hookups.” And when I moved to L.A., I knew no one and jack shit about the city.
I was going through a break-up; I didn’t have any friends; I was jobless, penniless, and so I started out on foot (a term in no Angelinos vocab) to find a restaurant job. And this is how naïve I was—I walked down the Sunset Strip, dropping off resumes at restaurants and bars. Good lawd, I’m embarrassed to even type that.
For those of you who haven’t been to L.A., the Sunset Strip is lined with monstrous restaurants, bars and hotels, all designed to lure and trap Hollywood tourists, raping them of all dignity and savings. It rivals the Vegas strip in cheezwhiziness and on any given night you will see frat boys from Illinois puking on the sidewalk and stretch Hummers dropping off a gaggle of thong-showing bachelorettes.
You might see this on any given night.
Three months into my job search, (with no more money and my diet now consisting of boiled potatoes and packets of ketchup I scored from 7/11) I landed a job at the one, the only, Saddle Ranch on Sunset Blvd. You might’ve seen Saddle Ranch on Sex And The City, yeah, that’s as glamorous as it gets. Saddle Ranch’s mission statement is to get women good and drunk and convince them they’ll be irresistibly sexy if they ride the restaurant’s bucking mechanical bull.
2500 people applied for the job, to work at this devil circus. We were interviewed in groups of 500 and the interview consisted of being pointed at and then having to stand up and say our name. If the owner told you to sit down, you were hired; if he told you to leave, you were not.100 people were hired; I was one of them. 50 were fired within the first week; for better or worse, I dodged that guillotine.
Oh but it gets so much better. In our orientation it was explained to us that there were only three rules at Saddle Ranch:
1) No wedding rings at work because you are always single and horny while working.
2) We are human vacuums, sucking the money out of our customers so they have to go to the ATM located on premise to get more money, which we must then similarly suck out. And, 3) no blow jobs in the bathrooms. I thought this contradicted rule #1, but didn’t want to interrupt. I flashed on my summa cum smarty pants college diploma and felt as though I should mail it back to my University. I was now a horny money vacuum. How’d this happen?
Horny money vacuums. Like our uniforms? Um, yeah.
During my 3 months employment at Saddle Ranch, I found myself waking around noon to smoke marijuana, then going into work, with my water bottle filled with vodka, working till 3am and then going to coworkers’ and partying till dawn.
Needless to say, those 3 months are a haze. I spent most of the time tacking sheets to my bedroom window to hide from the incessant L.A. sunshine, listening to Radiohead, crying and doing drugs. Unconsciously I had hoped that moving away from everything that was familiar would help me answer that fundamental question of who am I? I think most people find themselves looking into that same well in their 20s. I was no different.
But instead of finding an answer, I whirled around in a nebula of self-loathing. “Who am I” fragmented and became a hundred splinters off the same branch: what is my history? What do I really want to do with my life? And, why am I so lost?
I quit Saddle Ranch. One night at work I crumpled to the floor in pain, most likely from a rush of toxins running through my body. Thinking that they would make me go to the hospital, I left work and gave my notice shortly after. I knew if I continued at that pace, I would die. I had to get out. So I quit and once again had no place. Because even though you might be miserable at a job, it’s still nice to know that you belong somewhere.
Eesh, totes sorrs, that took a serious turn. Up next on HHH does L.A. circa 2003, hand modeling…
Reader Comments (19)
Brutal. I would have been fired immediately. I mean, come on. No blow jobs? Really? ;)
Yeah yeah yeah, blah blah blah, can we talk about how hot you look passed out in that photo?!!!!! nice thong????
Titty, you KNOW I feel your pain and was right there with ya when I first moved to L.A. I mean my life has changed so much now I don't know how I used to live like that (chomp chomp, eating doritos for breakfast because we have no food in the house because we're broke and I found this bag shoved in a backpack, chomp chomp). Totally different lifestyle now.
It takes a lot of guts to move to a big city like that, with no $$, no connections, and being that age. I think doing that, though, shoves a person's quest into 'who am i', into fast forward. I know people from highschool who never left the nest they grew up in, and they are typical, provincial,narrow, small-town, small-minded people, which is according to me, a form of evolutionary suicide. It always amazes me what the human spirit, not to mention the body, can endure. People seem to do one of 2 things, they either take responsibility, make changes, and go forward, or, they blame the world, and check out. And check in at the maggot hotel, to quote a certain 6 year old I know. There's alot of crazy, checking out goin on in the world right now. But the Saddle Ranch? Don't know how you lasted 3 months there, which can be chalked up to extreme youth, and like you said, no other options at the time. So who is the guy in the pic you point out??
'Lady of leisure' can be a challenging position but easier than the up-side-down spread eagle on the sidewalk pose.
Where DO you get these photos!/
Holy crap girl, you've had an interesting life! That part sounded excruciating though. A Saddle Ranch employee sounds like what a Hooters Waitress does when she grows up. I don't know how those girls handle the oogling and the loathsome clientele. I'm sure you met some fantastic idiots working at a place like that too. Yet, I'm all for experiences that broaden horizons or teach you fascinating things about humanity, good or bad. I don't think you can appreciate happiness till you've experienced desperation. Or a good job until you've done a bad one.
Now if you'll excuse me I have to go lie down as I'm obviously ill and not producing anything from my sarcasm glands. (not code for boobs)
I remember interviewing for my first bartending job in NYC. The famed Bryant Park. I basically had no experience and there I was sitting in front of the GM with an interview. Towards the end of the interview she asked if I knew any good jokes. For some reason, probably out of nerves, the only joke that popped into my head was a black joke. She was African American. I stuttered for a minute hoping anything else would come up but of course it didn't. So I told her I didn't have a joke. She must have really liked me because she hired me anyway and put me at the best bar in the place. A few weeks later she fired me for some rediculous reason. I probably should have just told the joke and saved myself the hastle...
I can't believe those "guidelines", so ggrrooss!! First year in LA is the WORST, but you made it girl!!
Jules: I know! Right?!
Boober: I thought you'd like that pic. ;) Seriously, how do we live like this?!
Benjies: I love your comments. And you're totally freaking right--so much checking out going on. And I love the maggot hotel quote. :)
Zoots: Is that not the most ridiculous pic ever?! I mean, how could I not put that on here?! Ha!
Veggie: SO TRUE! You have to really experience the shit to appreciate the good. Amen sista!
Kneebucks: Holy crap, fuckin hilarious.
Caroline: The worst right?! How did we ever survive?!!
Holy shit, you worked there?! I never would've guessed. That's fucking hilarious.
I cannot get over this story. Unbeeeelievable!! You're a trooper, damn!
I can't believe you survived the nightmare that is Saddle Ranch! The smell alone of that place makes me want to vomit. Did you wear a cowboy hat? I can't even imagine it...
Wow. You just described my first year in Hawaii. I think. What I remember of it. It's kind of a haze of booze and drugs as well.
Wow, the Saddle Ranch....brings back memories of when i used to hang out at the Saddle Rack, in the Bay area, same deal....i didn't even work there and i felt emotionally and sexually assaulted, and sleazed....i dunno, it had its weird appeal for a short while. definitely a 20's thing. i once worked as a cocktail waitress at a rock n roll bar with live bands every night. i lost some of my hearing working there, and some of my sense of self, what little of it i had back then, from the ogling, and butt pinching, etc. i never cocktail waitressed again after that. but the moral of the story i guess, is you live and you learn. by having all the things you DON'T want, and having loathsome experiences up to your neck, you make CHOICES, more conscious choices, that is. thanks for sharing so graphically, it does have its impact in the 'oh yeah, i do have it so much better now' department.
Jeff B: It's hard to believe right?
Ronny: It is pretty unbelievable!
Jenny12: The smell is horrendous! You're totally right. And no! No cowboy hats on this head! I wore a "Shut Up and Fish" hat. Ha.
Colby: Where did you live in Hawaii?? For how long?
MasterThis: DEFINITELY a 20s thing is right! And omg, cocktail waitressing is THE WORST. I did that in SF too. I'm surprised I didn't shank some dude. And amen about the more conscious choices!!
Great story! Sounds like it could be a movie or TV show. Did any waitresses get fired for giving bj's in the bathroom?
Adam: Thank you!! And yes, can you believe it, a couple of people got fired for just that! Outrageous.
No BJs? I'm assuming hand jobs were allowed since that wasn't in the rules. :)
Sounds like a horrible but great learning experience. I think you should put all your stories in a book; some chick lit that can beat out all of those British books - Shopaholic etc. Thanks for sharing! xo
Holy shit, that's a good story! I hate that place, even when I was young and partying I felt like a dirty lab rat in a maze every time I'd go in there. You should write a book of stories about your experience moving here, or maybe you already have, it's like Bright Lights Big City meets Coyote Ugly. Awesome.
C Ros: HO LEE crap, I never asked about HJs! ;) Oh dude, I'd love to write a book about all this shit. Thank you so much for the vote of confidence!
Steamy: Dirty lab rat is the exact feeling! Just absolutely fucking disgusting. I'd loooooove to write a book about all the shit shows I've experienced here!! You need to write one as well. And that's absolutely mandatory. :)