You can leave your hat on…
Current mood: amused
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

I have recently embarked in a new career…cocktail waitress/ bartender. Okay, it’s not exactly a career; it is in fact a second part time job, making my combined jobs the equivalent of one full time job. Some might say that’s a bit of a drag, but honestly, I think it might be okay. I work mornings and nights, leaving my afternoons/evenings free to spend with my kids, which is by far more important than money… or sleep. Another upside to this new venture is the fact that I will have less time to eat, which is an awesome thing. But I digress.

This bar happens to be the bar we go to for karaoke. I’d say we go at least once a week, sometimes twice. Every time we go, it’s like Cheers. Remember Cheers? “NORM!” Yup, that’s us… “Hey! It’s Tommie and Anacris”. It’s actually pretty cool.

I was asked to go in for training last Wednesday. Wednesday happens to be ladies night at this particular bar. And what that means is that the first 25 ladies get a rose and the first drink is on the house. But that’s not all it means. It also means men; large biceped, small waisted, well muscled, lean, shirtless wonders, hired to tend to each woman’s every bar related need.

I’d never been to a ladies night at this bar as, well, I’ll just say it. I wasn’t “allowed”. Something having to do with the shirtless wonders…I think. And yes, FINE, I’ll admit that if the roles were reversed, Tommie wouldn’t be “allowed” to go either. There I said it. Happy now? So there it was, my first night of training on a “ladies night”. I clocked in and spent the next two hours learning about how to bartend. It was pretty slow for a ladies night or so I was told. So I was released with all of one dollar in tips hoping that this was not a sign of things to come. I am assured, it’s not. I called Tommie as he had mentioned he might stop in after work, to ask if he wanted me to wait for him there or just head home. He opted for the former and I obliged. I went to our regular table and sat with our friends. One of waiters came to my table and took my order. Believe that the fact that he was only about 4 years older than my daughter was not lost on me. But after a few minutes, they disappeared… or so I thought. Engrossed in conversation with my friend, I failed to notice the three chairs that appeared in front of the stage. Quite suddenly, the music silenced and the DJ announced that the guys would be dancing for us. “Duh dih duh dih duh duh da da…. dih duh dih duh da da…duh dih duh….da da da, doo doo…doo, you can leave your hat on….” The music started blaring as the three men made their way around the room. Much to my dismay, yes dismay, one stopped right in front of me and grabbed my hand. What? Oh no, I can’t go up there. (Tug, tug)…”C’mon Anacris, just go” from somewhere behind me. Is Somebody Kidding ME? I can’t get up there… no wait…”Please let me sit back down”; Which I did, but not at my table. I found myself in front of the stage facing a room full of hooting and hollering women as these guys proceeded to “leave their hats on”. I could feel the heat rise to my cheeks as the guy dancing in front of me asked me to help him remove his shirt. I sat there, hands in my lap, totally unprepared and completely unable to help him. The hooting and hollering only serving to tinge my cheeks an even deeper crimson than I had imagined was possible. I finally reached up and pulled the shirt off of his shoulders, praying that Tommie would not walk in right at that moment.

Alright, a few things here:

1) I am by no means a prude. I had been to a ladies night before. But sheesh! I was like 24 at the time and NOT married. This was just a little bit different… a lot different. I don’t think I’ve ever been more embarrassed. Had there been a way for me to slink off that chair unseen, I SO would have done it.

2) I am not a fan of strangers encroaching my personal space. Something I am realizing I may have to overcome working in a bar, as “bar people” don’t understand the three-foot rule which reads that unless you know me personally, you may not enter into said space. Especially not if you find it impossible not to spit on me as you talk (which is what kept happening last night after Mr. Spitty McDrunkypants asked my husband if it was okay if he danced with me. To which my husband responded “If she’d like to that’s okay, just don’t over step your boundaries.” Well just in case you weren’t paying attention; entering into my 3 feet of space IS over stepping the boundaries! Thank goodness for Ms. Brenda (the owner) at the end of the bar, who Mr. McDrunkypants is a bit fearful of. I’ll have to thank her for saving me from any additional dances with Spitty.)

So there I am sitting in front of the stage, with the shirtless wonders dancing directly in front of me. I was holding the shirt, thankful for it’s pliability and it’s usefulness in giving my hands something to do. And as I sat there eye level with this man’s rear end. It occurred to me, that next to feet, someone’s butt is the LAST thing I want in my face! Forget Spitty and having to keep pushing him back out of my space every time he tried to pull me in while dancing; Could somebody get this man’s BUTT out of my face please!?!?! From that point forward, all I could think was, “I hope he didn’t have beans today…or cabbage, or broccoli, or gawdforbid…eggs.

And that’s all for now.

Ciao! Hasta la pasta baby!