It's A Family Thing

So, earlier today I was on the phone with my mother, and she mentioned that she is quite upset at my lack of recent posts.

I know, you've all missed me! Sorry, I've been swimming in a sea of theory papers...

That is why I have decided, in order to placate my mother and defer her from bugging me about the blog, to write about what happened two weekends ago.

It was another busy Saturday night. Ever since State U's football team has been on a winning streak our bar has been packed on Saturdays. Remember what I said about testosterone?

I had just taken a round of beers to a table in the corner when I heard CEO's voice over the speakers.

"Waitress to the front door, waitress, the front door."

I looked at him quizzically as I hurried to the door, figuring it either Boyfriend on the phone or a group of Latino's that needed translating.

"It's your mother," CEO said to me on my way to the front.

"My mother?"

I swung open the front door and there was my mother. And my grandmother. With three people I have never seen before.

"Hi!!" My mother was ever cheerful, decked out in a full length fur coat, as was my grandmother.

"Um, hi?" One of the women with my mother snapped a picture of me. I am not looking forward to seeing how that one turned out.

"We met these people at the symphony," my mother gestured to the two women and a guy with her, "and so we all decided to come up here and see you!"

"Lucky me," I thought to myself.

If you're thinking it might be strange for someone to pick up three random strangers at a symphony concert and drag them to the titty-bar, you don't know my family.

I let them in and they headed for a table in my section. My mother stopped me on the way.

"They are on their own tab, okay?"

"Yeah, no problem mom."

I let them get situated at the table while I made another round, anxiety beginning to creep up the back of my neck. When I made it back to the table, they already had drinks and my mother was in the process of telling them God-knows what about me when I was a baby. (Her favorite thing to do.)

My mother, always the flair for dramatics, leaned forward to emphasize some point she was making, and slid off the satin lining of her fur coat and fell on the floor.

My grandmother, in an attempt to catch my mother, fell off her chair and landed in my mothers crotch.

I just turned and walked away.

Now, some of you may be thinking "wow, waitress, that's kind of harsh, walking away while your mother and grandmother are dog piled on the floor."

Again, you don't know my family and their penchant for accidents. For example:

One Thanksgiving, my Grandmother was standing on her dining room table, cleaning the chandelier, when she took a step back to admire her work. Only she was on the edge of the dining room table and when she took a step back she fell off the dining room table.

Then there was the time my Grandmother broke her wrist trying to skate backwards at the skating rink.

Or the time my mother was hit with the bow of the sailboat and fell out of the boat.

Or the time my mother was chopping wood at the river with a machete and cut her finger off.

I could go on and on. But I won't.

So I left my family on the floor and went back to waiting tables. I could hear my mother in the background.

"She pulled my chair out from under me!" She was laughing, "my daughter pulled my chair out from under me!"

Sure. If that's what you want to go with.

I noticed that in all of the commotion my grandmothers fur coat had fallen on the floor. I picked it up and hung it at the front door.

"I hung your coat at the front door, Grandma," I said to her in passing.

"Waitress," she said, motioning for me to lean down, "be careful, it's real."

"Yes, I know."

Shortly after that I was standing at another table when my mother walked up to me.

"Your Grandmother thinks you stole her fur coat," she said.

"Oh, you're kidding me," I replied, "I told her I hung it up at the front door."

"I know, but she's worried."

I left my table and returned the fur coat to my grandmother.

"We're leaving soon," my mother said to me, "can I pay my tab?"

"You don't have a tab, mother," I replied, and headed to the table behind her to see if they needed drinks.

My mother decided to follow me to the table and introduce herself.

"Hi, I'm waitresses mother. She's my daughter, isn't she pretty? You should give her some money."

"Great," I thought to myself, "my mother is pimping me out now."

The table just looked at her blankly. Lucky for me they didn't speak English.

"Todo esta bien," I said to them, "Esta mi madre, y ella esta muy buracha."

They smiled and laughed a little. My mother looked at me blankly.

"What did you say to them?" she asked.

"That you were pretty," I responded, and headed over to the bar before she was any the wiser.

I sat down at a friend of mine's table for a cigarette and a moment's peace when my grandmother headed over.

"We can't find your mother," she said.

"Great," I responded. "I'll go look for her."

I headed to the front door and asked Champ if he'd seen my mom.

"Oh, I've seen her," he replied.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," he started, "she walked outside with a drink in her hands and I said to her 'you can't take that out there,' and she went back inside. Then she came back out, except she was attempting to smuggle the drink under her fur coat. Here's the glass, by the way."

"Oh, you're kidding me," I said, even though I was sure he wasn't.

I headed outside and found my mother fanning herself.

"Grandma's looking for you," I said.

"Ok, tell her I'm outside. I need to pay my tab, don't let me forget."

"Mother, you don't have a tab. Why are you out here anyway?"

"I'm hot."

"Well, take off the fur coat!"

My mother gave me a look that said "if you knew how much I paid for this thing, you would understand why I can never ever take it off."

I convinced my mother to come back inside. When we opened the door and looked at the table, my Grandmother was nowhere to be found.

"Where's your grandmother?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," I replied, looking around the club.

My mother went off to track my grandmother down, and I went to the bar to have a drink.

A few minutes later they emerged from somewhere in the back.

"Ok, we're leaving," my mother said. "Did I pay my tab?"

"For the last time, you don't have- oh never mind," I said, exasperated. "Yes, mother, you paid your tab."

"Good," she said, kissing me on the cheek. "We're leaving, I'll see you later."

I watched my mother and my grandmother head out of the titty bar and back to their normal lives.

I hope I can still bar hop when I'm that age. (Hah! Mom, that's for you!)

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Always,
Waitress

Show Me the Pussy

There's a psychological effect that happens to a man's body when his home team wins. A long, long, time ago, when men used to go out and do battle, when they would win it would cause a raise in testosterone levels. Now a days, since we no longer "get out and do battle" as we used to in warrior times, men have placed those same emotions and triggers into their respective football teams. So, naturally, when a man's team wins a game, his testosterone levels increase-- and then he thinks it's a good idea to come to my bar and bug the shit out of me.

Last Saturday, State U had a home game and we crushed the opposition. Shortly there after, my bar was full of hopped up men, adorning themselves from head to toe in State U colors and screaming "WOOOOOO" at the top of their lungs every few seconds.

One group, two men and two girls, took a seat at one of my tables directly across from stage one. I headed over to make my greetings and take their drink orders.

"Hi," I said, cheerfully, "what can I get you guys to drink?"

"Are you our waitress," one guy asked, eyeing me up and down.

Like I have, so many times in the past, I bit back the urge to say "No, I'm just some random person trying to make a few extra bucks."

"Yes, yes I am. Can I get you something?"

"You're not a waitress," he insisted, "you're wearing too many clothes."

I knew then that this table was going to be a problem. I finally convinced him that I was, indeed, a waitress, and finally got their drink orders.

I brought their drinks back and set them on the table.

"Hey," one of the guys at the table said, "will they get mad if I start screaming 'show me your pussy?'"

You've got to be kidding me, I thought.

"Yes, that will probably anger the dancers," I replied.

"So, it's not a good idea?" He looked hopeful, as if maybe he could live out this long held desire.

"No, not a good idea if you want to stay in here."

I walked up to the bar and told Raymond what was going on. When I got to the part about showing the pussy, Raymond smiled.

"Hey, why don't you ask him if he would mind if all the dancers started yelling "Little Dick Motherfucker" and pointed at him?"

I smiled, and was about to respond, when I heard CEO's voice come out of the speakers.

"No touching the dancers," he said. "There is no touching allowed."

I cringed, turning, and there was my table, looking perturbed while standing at stage one.

Everyone else made it back to the table, but LDM (little dick motherfucker, for short) still stood at stage one, with a dollar bill in his hand. The dancer on stage was in front of him, dancing, and he was still attempting to put the dollar in her G-string. The charade went as follows: LDM would hold up the dollar, the dancer would dance in front of him. LDM would reach for her, she would stop him and pull away. LDM would still hold on to the dollar.

This is called "teasing the dancers" and it's not a nice thing to do.

I headed over to make him stop when he started back towards the table.

"So," he said, sitting down, "we can't touch the dancers?"

"No, no touching," I squatted down at his chair to put us at eye level.

"Even the girls?" He pointed to the two girls in their party. I don't know why some people think that the rules of the club don't apply to members of the female sex, but they do.

"No, even the girls. There is no touching in here; and it's not just this bar. Touching the dancers is against State law." Usually, this works to defer them from attempting anything else. Usually.

"What about lap dances?"

"They can touch you," I patiently explained, "but you can't touch them."

"What about VIP?" This guy was persistent.

"Same rules apply," I said, looking around the club. I was wasting so much time at this table I was afraid my other tables needed drinks. These guys were already getting on my nerves and I wasn't about to lose any money.

"What if I gave them some extra money?"

"Look," I said, standing up, "there is absolutely no touching in this bar. I don't care how much money you have, or how much you're willing to give away, you will never, EVER, be allowed to touch any of the dancers in this club, OK?"

He looked up at me, pointedly.

"What about you?" He grabbed my thigh when he said the word you.

I slapped his hand away and leaned in, grabbing his chin with my hand until we were practically nose to nose.

"If you want to be able to walk out of here, I suggest you never fucking put your hands on me again," I said, flicking his face out of my had, turning on my heels and walking away.

"I'm done with that fucking table," I told Raymond when I made it back up to the bar. "They can die of thirst before I wait on them again."

Raymond smiled and went back to what he was doing.

Shortly there after I heard CEO's voice again, over the speakers.

"No dancing. Unless you are on that stage there is no dancing allowed in this bar."

I looked over and there were the women from my table of assholes, dancing around with their version of a strip tease. I started to head over when they finally sat down, this time in their boyfriends laps and attempted to give them uncoordinated lap dances.

"It's going to be another one of those nights," I mused to Raymond while debating whether to go over there and make them get up.

"Yeah, but at least you'll have something to write about." He smiled and rubbed my shoulder. "Now go make some money."

Hey Ya'll!

Just letting everyone know I'm still around, I still have stories to tell, I just have another week where I have a billion tests and papers due. I promise I will post soon! :)

Waitress

We Got A Response

This response from the "humane" society was forewarded to me earlier today. I figured I would post it for all to read.

I promise, though, I do have some stories to tell that I will post tomorrow.

Thank you all for your support, and I will continue to update you on Tucker when I receive more information.

Always,
Waitress


Thank you for your email and your concerns. Although the HSBC cannot comment on the details of the case due to potential litigation, I don't believe taht the details in your email are entirely accurate.

Generally speaking, as an open admission shelter receiving 7,000 animals a year, the HSBC makes every effort to balance three competing masters: our desire to find a good home for an animal, the law, and limited space. Animals that are permitted to stray without identification, license, microchip, have no lost report filed, or get no personal visit to the shelter to look for the lost pet during the 48 hour legal holding period face the very real possibility of adoption, or worse, euthanasia as soon as the legal holding period has ended for most of the year at our shelter. Pennsylvania law is quite clear about the obligations of both shelters and pet owners. Owners who allow their pets to stray without fulfilling their obligations, both under the law and ethically to their pets, place their own animals and every other animal at our shelter in peril through their own irresponsibility.

The HSBC is works with all parties to ensure that everyone's rights and obligations are fulfilled under the law: the animal, the adopter, and the person who may or may not have originally owned an adopted pet. Ultimately, if a fraction of the effort that goes into arguing about the disposition of a lost pet went into the simple act of providing a license or microchip for a pet, these cases would rarely, if ever, occur. I am certain from your heartfelt email that if your old dog ran away you would not let it do so with no license, ID, microchip, or without notifying the local shelter(s) for several days, as some people choose to do. Nor would I. Thank you again for you email and best wishes.

Karel I. Minor
Executive Director
Humane Society of Berks County
Berks County's Leader In Animal Welfare
1801 N. 11th Street
Reading, PA 19604
Phone: 610-921-2348 ext. 10
Fax: 610-921-5833Email:
kminor@talon.net
www.berkshumane.org

A Small Request For A Big Dog

Again, I am overwhelmed and amazed at the amount of support and e-mails I have recieved on behalf of Tucker. They have all been sent to Jo, and she greatly appreciates it.

I am now asking that anyone who has a blog, please link to this story or just link to the BCHS with a version of the events to spread the word further. Jo is going to contact craigslist and other media outlets to try and get the word out.

I couldn't imagine if this happened to me. It's the equivelant of someone kidnapping your child, and yet most people don't see it that way.

There is a special place in heaven for all those who are helping Jo, thank you all again.

Waitress