Join the Crew

TowelBoy is still completely worn out from getting his PRIDE on. That's perhaps the reason that I haven't written in ten days or so. (Or perhaps TowelBoy is extremely lazy; I've never been one to JUDGE, people. Unless you're a co-worker, a customer, or a drunkard. But I digress.) Every CP savant knows that the craziest time of the year at the tubs is the ten days between the winter solstice and the new year. Thanks to Pittsburgh's revamped PRIDE celebrations, mid-June is getting dangerously close to eclipsing jolly old Santa Claus. The night of Pride in the Street, in spite of unpleasant weather, was indisputably Club Pittsburgh's busiest night since New Year's Eve. (A special note to meteorologist Jeff Verszyla: What the fuck is going on? I would like a refund for both May and June. We're mere hours away from July and I'm wearing a hoodie. Please do better.) We were packed to capacity with prideful revelers, and there was excitement (and drama, of course) around every corner. Undoubtedly, the most exciting thing to happen to me during the PRIDE pageantry was my close encounter with a Pack Attack-er.

But it is me we're talking about, so of course it ended badly.

I'm about to tell you that I almost had a biblical experience with one of my biggest porn crushes. And you're thinking, “Hmmm....who could that be?”. Admittedly, I'm easily smitten. I've gone through the list of porn stars that I've drooled over in the past year alone, and apparently I've already laid claim (pun intended) to more husbands than Elizabeth Taylor. And much like Liz, I can't even remember their names right now. (Jeremy Hall. I remember that I definitely love Jeremy Hall. Email me sometime. Please. PLEASE.) Any-who, we have this Chi Chi La Rue video at CP called “The Big Dick Club”. I'm assuming from the title that you get the idea. (Young, attractive, and enormously endowed.) One of the Big Dick-ers is this tattooed cutie-patootie named Jason Crew. What I love about Jason is that he shares TowelBoy's unusually lanky body. Admittedly, and perhaps with good reason, there aren't a lot of guys in mainstream porn built like I am. Jason is lanky and hung, with a curious grin and bedroom eyes. I was delighted when a new Pack Attack video arrived with Jason as a featured performer. Much to the delight of the entire Pack, Jason's endowment is so large that he can penetrate himself. Pretty nifty, huh? After Pride in the Street, Club Pittsburgh was overtaken with studs from RentBoy.com. There were so many of them that we ran out of lockers. They ended up leaving their clothes and belongings in all sorts of exotic areas, including the office where I was slaving away. That's when I catch what I first believed to be a mirage in our office: big dicked pack attacker Jason Crew dropping his drawers!

I ask my boss if it is indeed Jason Crew. It is indeed! I confess my crush to my boss, who tells Jason. It turns into that Heather Locklear shampoo commercial where she tells two friends, then she tells two, friends, and so on... (Welcome to Club Pittsburgh, people.) A flattered Jason Crew approaches me with a hug. As much as I enjoyed a naked porn star wrapped around me, this just flipped poor TowelBoy's switch. I had a bathhouse full of calamity and my cognitive functions came to a screeching halt. Crack may be whack, but for me testosterone is really a very dangerous concoction. I continued to ''work'', however, counting the minutes until I could be out of my clothes and into conjugal chaos with Mr. Big Dick. (At that point, three hours and thirty-seven minutes, unfortunately.) I'm aware that my mind is no longer tuned to serving the gay masses with a clean towel and a smile. A half hour later, Jason makes a new offer: let's have sex right here, right now. I have fantasized about this moment a million times, just not “this moment”. (Thanks a lot,Alanis. Now I'm really glad I pirated “Flavors of Entanglement” from the internet instead of buying it. Now I can spend that money on my quivering ironic ass.) Sadly, I have no choice but to declare my professional mantra (I have a mortgage to pay, Sally.) and turn Jason down. For now.

I am technically a free agent at 7 AM on Sunday mornings. It is not unusual for me to race out of the office and into a towel. An increasingly tipsy woo-woo Jason continues to make his offer every ten minutes for the rest of my shift. I, of course, am so incredibly turned on that I seriously fear my own spontaneous combustion. (Oddly, my brain confuses horny and hungry, and I frequently experience them in tandem. Seriously. In the moment, the only thing equally appetizing to Jason Crew was that fucking Jenny Lemon Cake. If I didn't have as much sex as I do, I honestly believe I'd look like Chris Farley in a do-rag.) Any-who, the clock ticks on and the party winds down. The porn stars leave. The Rent Boys disappear. My boss goes home, and Patches takes a powder. I change the music from Thump-Thump Kribitz to Marjorie in the Morning. (Alanis, Enrique, Rob Thomas – my Sunday Morning Happy Place.) The vending machine is now completely empty, and I have what appears to be blueberry filling on my shirt. The next shift of employees show up, almost the entire gaggle of hungover hooligans leave...

And sexy Jason Crew remains.

6:37 AM he's sitting in the TV lounge. 6:46 AM he comes to the window for a new towel, and he makes his offer again. 6:54 AM my hands are shaking and I can't get my fucking credit card receipts to balance. 7:06 AM I decide there will be plenty of time for balancing after fellatio. At 7:10 AM, I rush out the office door with a towel in hand...and discover Jason standing at the check-out window dressed and ready to make a hasty retreat. He says he's just making a quick run to the hotel for some smokes and a Viagra. He'll be back in fifteen minutes, he promises. Keep balancing, he says.

Obviously, he never returned. Happy-Fucking-PRIDE, TowelBoy.

You can check out what I missed at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOlGwMyZAkc&feature=related

Now that PRIDE is over, we've focused our attention on some other pressing issues. I'd like to mention our complete frustration with maintaining the facility and equipment. We've gotten tons of complaints about various problems ranging from the endless repairs in the 5th floor shower room to the broken sink in the 4th floor bathroom. As I've mentioned before, our facilities and equipment have been used & abused 24/7 for the last seven years. There's never a ''down period'', the equipment never gets any rest, and there's never a good time to close an area for upkeep and repairs. Sometimes, while we're attempting to solve one problem, five new ones unexpectedly creep up on us. Example: Approaching PRIDE week, our wonderful maintenance guy and our manager were working diligently to make sure everything was in tip-top shape for the celebrations. This included special attention to the shower area, the sink, the water fountains, etc. Two days before the festivities officially began, a housekeeper noticed a leak in a hot water heater. The club's hot water comes from two large commercial tanks. We had one rupture earlier this year at a replacement cost of over $7000. Once a hot water tank is leaking, there are no repairs; the only option is to replace it. At this point, we are forced to choose – do we give our time and energy to completing the shower project, or do we replace the water heater? Obviously, it's a BATHHOUSE, and hot water is paramount to just about everything. So we spent our resources replacing the water heater. We frequently have to make these ''priority'' choices. Unfortunately, the customers don't see what has been repaired, only what remains broken. Another issue is that a lot of the hardware (shower heads, hot tub equipment, etc.) was either designed especially for us, or its commercial availability is limited. That is the issue with the 5th floor showers. The shower heads are unique to us, and we're still waiting to receive them from the manufacturer. The situation with the bathroom sink is similar – we're waiting for a special washer to arrive. Speaking of washer, can you imagine how many loads of towels our washers and dryers launder each day? Those machines are the hardest working whores in Pittsburgh! Obviously, they require a lot of maintenance and repairs. I know it's frustrating to see something broken and nobody is repairing it. Frequently, though, we're using our resources to repair a more urgent problem that you can't see. (You like clean towels, don't ya?) We're working overtime on the showers and the sink, and hopefully they'll be ready for you to enjoy soon.

They do not let TowelBoy do maintenance. I would be more than willing, but after that table saw accident in college, our insurance company forbids it.

So I have turned my post-PRIDE efforts to recycling. I am turning Club Pittsburgh into the epitome of GREEN. Obviously, we produce a big gay mountain of trash every week. Plastic bottles from cleaning products, detergents, & bleach...tons of cardboard boxes from things ranging from Guide magazines to Jungle Juice...and lots of cans & bottles from the vending machine. Manufacturers put a nifty number on plastics to indicate if they can be recycled. The city of Pittsburgh recycles 1 through 5. I am very serious about this, and I've been scavenging around the club looking for things to recycle. Someone left one of those Rascal Douche kits in room 312, but I guess Mary douched the number right off, because I couldn't find a number on the douche or any of its attachments. I unfortunately had to put it in the trash. (If this was yours, Sally, could you please find greener method of cleaning your cavern?) I've including the GREEN theme in my personal life too. I traded my gas-guzzling Malibu for a fuel-efficient Cobalt, and I'm buying lube in the industrial size to reduce packaging. TowelBoy hopes to become the Queen of Green. (I had that title once, actually, but I'd like to give a shout-out to UPMC-Southside for...oh, well, this is TMI...) I hope you'll join us in our efforts by recycling your cans and bottles while your in the club.

Last time, I promised you some good stories about calling 911. (Fry-With-Pam, are you out there?) I'm still thinking of ways of titillating you with tales of debauchery without getting sued. My guess is I'll have it figured out by Thursday, unless All My Children is really good this week. Let's talk then...

Go Green!
TowelBoy