Google
 
Web www.stripclubserver.blogspot.com

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

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

25 Comments:

Blogger Dave said...

I would SO hang out with them! I have a feeling I wouldn't be able to keep up with them though, and I'm probably your mother's age. They sound like a blast. Rock on mom!

1:53 PM  
Anonymous Ellis said...

That was absolutely wonderful! Reminds me of my family.

3:35 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Your family sounds exactly like my family =)

Happy Turkey Day Waitress!

4:17 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

LOL! That's hilarious and I'm sure your mom will love the mention:)

4:22 PM  
Blogger Tracy said...

Waitress, that's hillarious. I would love to meet them! The accident prone portion really reminds me of my family (read: ME!).

http://detourdfromsanity.blogspot.com

4:58 PM  
Anonymous Kiz said...

That's so sweet... in a really weird sort of way.

You're not getting back at your mother for telling embarrassing stories about baby you, by telling embarrassing stories about clumsy her, are you? K

5:34 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

We do miss you when you're gone. ;)

11:01 PM  
Anonymous Stephen said...

I was very, very afraid that you were going to say that you found your mother in the back getting a lap dance when she disappeared.

8:51 AM  
Blogger itsmyparty said...

They sound like a kooky bunch!

9:08 AM  
Blogger St. Dickeybird said...

Sounds like a great family! You should be thankful that they're supportive of you, I'd bet it's rare.

Great blog, by the way. I've just found it, and am delving into your archives.
:)

10:35 AM  
Blogger Seth said...

The joys of being bilingual.

Sounds like your family of spazes is very happy and close.

My mother and grandmother wouldn't even dream of going intro a stripclub.

10:51 AM  
Blogger Wide Lawns Subservient Worker said...

Waittress, I had no idea we were sisters!!!

5:19 PM  
Blogger Marni said...

That was great! I'm glad they are so supportive - even if it is a pain in the a$$ sometimes.

7:57 AM  
Blogger Big Orange said...

I've decided I want to trade my family in for yours. When do you wanna swap?

7:16 AM  
Anonymous Gypsy_jo said...

OMG waitress, I can TOTALLY relate! My mother tried to come in one time when I first started dancing... well she came in, but I was gone...(thank gawd!)
afterwards, she wanted to know what the weight classifications were, LOL, guess her dancer experience was with a heavy weight :P
just HEARING your Mom is there is enough to make you cringe, isnt it?

hope yours was a wonderfly fattening holiday!
GJ

7:26 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

borracha

10:56 AM  
Blogger Johnny Wadd said...

Wow, your mom is all bad ass, i wonder if she can drink me under the table?

4:17 AM  
Blogger Busty Gal said...

so funny! I love that your mom and grandma were so unfazed by their visit to a titty bar

8:06 PM  
Blogger Historical Wit said...

sounds like T-day on the farm! Great entry. U roc it waitress.

3:51 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

interesting story... i think i'd be mortified if my mom did something like that.

mG

PS: Please contact me backchannel when you get a chance.

7:40 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Not to be a pain in the neck, because I really do appreciate your knowing Spanish and all.

Just a reminder:

In English, you say, "This is my mother and she's drunk."

in Spanish, "Esta (this) es(is) my mother (mi madre) and (y) she's drunk (está borracha...in this part, you don't have to say "SHE is drunk" anymore, becuz we know who you are talking about.)

Anyhoo, 'bout time you posted something!!

10:50 AM  
Blogger BikerTigger said...

FUNNY!!!

Visit me @

http://tiggerstwins.blogsome.com/

1:32 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

It's 4am and I just woke my wife up laughing my head off. I love your family.

3:59 AM  
Blogger Diana said...

any update on your friend Jo and her dog?

8:42 PM  
Anonymous bigTrue said...

Found your blog from Waiter Rant. Seems interesting.

Got some questions/comments about the last few posts I read through. Please bear with, and maybe things are just different in Detroit:

Here, we have private dance areas. Some clubs have small, mostly closed off rooms to the side, others have a line of semi-curtained couches or benches behind the raised up last row of booths. There, you pay 10-20 bucks per song and get a grind-in-your-lap-dance, plus tip. You keep mentioning "Never Touch The Girls" which seems a bit weird. The more songs you buy, the more crazy the dances get. I've had girls get freaky with me after on the third or fourth song, hands in your pants, putting your hands on their ass, etc. This is where the girls make the money here in D-town. Almost nobody tips a girl on the stage, except maybe giving her a pre-tip on a busy night to make sure the girl you want comes to your table before getting snagged by another patron right after her stage set.

As for if the rules are different for female patrons, some places they are, especially if you head to Canada. Clubs in Ontario cater to couples (Try the couples clubs in Windsor or Toronto) and a lot of times the private dances end up with a mutual heavy petting session going on while the guy watches. These stories get out, or a small percentage of clubs have dancers into it, and suddenly every drunk frat boy thinks every dancer and every club is like that. They're too stupid to go hunting for the places/women who cater to special things.

I'll keep coming back. Like what you write. Plus, I love strip club stories. Strippers seem to the smartest flesh peddlers out there. No sex, and they make more money then anything they could be doing otherwise while in school.

As for hitting on the shot girl, I can't help it. Most of the time they look more real then the overly made up, bottle-blonds on stage. Plus, I like a girl who's a bit thicker in the curves, and none of the clubs in Detroit get dancers who fall into that category. All the shot girls seem to be that way though.

8:02 AM  

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home

Free Counter
Web Site Counters