Saturday, July 9, 2011

Praise Jesus, Yankees in Suspenders

Yesterday I was waiting for customers to show up, which I do a lot of lately.  Cue three fat bastards walking through the door.  They had beards, and one had a straw hat, and suspenders.  They were smiling and waddling and I think they thought they were rolling in for Wednesday, our all-you-can-eat day for ribs. 

And they were mine.  All mine.

I approached the table, spoke a few words, and one of them immediately picked up on "my" accent, which I think is just the Proper Way to Talk, but they seem to think is an "accent."  One of them mocked me; he repeated "like" the way I say it, which is heavy and long on the vowel.  They seemed the jovial sort though, so I didn't send them straight to the bowels of hell or, you know, suck on a piece of ice before I plopped it into their drink.  (You like the words coming out of my mouth?  Here. Try this.)

I was taking their order, and one of them remarked on my curly hair.  He said, "You hair sure is curly."  I said, "Yes, sir.  It is."  (What the fuck do you say?  It was a statement of fact, not a compliment, so I couldn't very well say thank you, but I had to acknowledge it somehow.)  Anyway, another one of them takes his hands off the menu (they were all gripping the menus like the Dead Sea Scrolls version of the Word of God, which, honestly, for these men, I can see that this was probably close to the case) and starts rubbing his head, saying "Yeah, I had curly hair!" (there was barely any left), and me, being the quick cookie that I am (and quickly judging the table for openness to this sort of thing) said, "Oh? So does that makes this one Larry and this one Moe?" pointing to the other two men in turn. 

They loved it.  My work was done.

They commented that I wasn't old enough to know "The Stooges," started throwing out numbers like "21" and "22" and I said "Add ten years." and they made a big deal over not believing it and I turned red because they'd already mentioned my curly hair and were now on to my age, and I can't be talked about or, generally, noticed in public without turning red. 

I did crack one more joke when it looked like I was going to hit a server in the head with my tray.  One of the guys tried to get me to miss her, which I did, and was going to anyway, because I know how to wield a tray, but I said, "Oh, don't worry, it won't do any more damage than's already been done." 

They loved that too.

They loved pretty much anything I had to say, as long as I drew the vowel out and kept their drinks filled and smiled. They were nice and friendly and jovial and they were yankees in suspenders. 

They left me $20.  That's $20 for three easy-peasy yankee-ass men. 

When's the next boat to the Bronx?

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