Longtime readers know I encounter some of the strangest people in the most bizarre situations. New readers probably think I make this shit up or I exaggerate. I don’t have that great of an imagination and I’m more of a “just the facts, ma’am” sort of gal. Seriously, you can’t make this shit up.
Saturday night some people came in to eat right at close and as I stood at their table and took their order, a huge commotion broke out in the ladies’ room, which is about 2 steps out of the dining room. One woman from the bar ran into the restroom, quickly followed by another. A few minutes later Betty Boop, ran down the hall and started pounding on the restroom door.
Everyone at the table stopped talking and looked at me as if I had an answer for what was going on. I shrugged and said, “Bar folk”. The customers are locals so they know the bar gets a little wild sometimes. They started ordering again, and we all heard the restroom door open and some “blah, blah, blah” then, “IT’S RUNNING DOWN HER LEG!”
WTF?!
That is just not a sentence you want to hear coming out of a restroom.
The woman in the restroom told Betty Boop to go away, I finished taking the order and went back in the kitchen. I cooked the order, as well as a couple more from the bar, and forgot about the bathroom scene. At around 9:10, I heard pounding on the kitchen wall, which is also the ladies’ restroom wall. MDR (who is no longer my roommate so I guess he’s My Drunken Former Roommate–MDFR) was in the kitchen and I asked if somebody was fighting in the restroom. He said, “The Dormouse busted her leg and she’s having a fit.”
I walked towards the front of the kitchen and before I could get a deer-in-the-headlights look on my face, The Dormouse banged through the swinging doors from the dining room, yelled, “He’s going to call the cops on me!”, straight-armed me out of the way, hauled ass out the back door, and slammed through the patio gate. (Good thing the gate wasn’t latched or she would have worn it as a hat.)
I stood there wondering what the hell was going on. MDFR said The Dormouse “busted her leg” yet she certainly hauled ass through the kitchen. I heard the swinging doors open and The Dormouse’s daughter appeared in the kitchen.
“Where is she?”
Mouth hanging open, I pointed towards the back door. She went out to find her mother.
Then The Dormouse’s husband popped out of the secret hallway from the bar. “Where is she?”
I again pointed toward the back door, but by then I had found my voice. “You need to take this shit somewhere else! My kitchen is not a short cut to the parking lot!”
I was working on a full on rage. I don’t hang out in the bar, in fact, I avoid it as much as possible because it’s just drunken drama all night, every night, and it’s always the same people involved in the same ridiculous bullshit. I find it tiresome. The last thing I want is those assholes bringing their middle school antics into my peaceful kitchen.
The phone started ringing and it was Big Jim, who was in the bar, yet totally unaware of what was going on in the kitchen.
“Is the kitchen still open?” he asked.
“NO! AND PEOPLE NEED TO STAY THE FUCK OUT OF MY KITCHEN (and a whole bunch of other lunatic ranting that I don’t remember) because just then Betty Boop popped out of the hallway and asked where The Dormouse was.
“GETOUT!GETOUT!GETOUT!” I screamed at her and hung up on Big Jim.
I went over to the bar to tell Big Jim I had customers in the dining room who were getting a full on look at Crazy, but he was on the phone with Sharron asking her to come over because he suddenly had his hands full in the bar. Betty Boop was in the middle of the screaming match between The Dormouse and her husband, and MDFR was trying to get her out of it before The Dormouse knocked her on her ass. Big Jim is in a wheelchair, so unless he wants to start tasing people, he has to be an unwilling spectator.
I walked back to the dining room to see if my customers were okay or if they had fled. “Do we pay extra for the dinner entertainment?” the young man asked.
“No, unfortunately it’s free.”
I started cleaning the kitchen while trying to ignore the screaming fight going on right outside the back door. Finally Sharron arrived, bringing The Dormouse with her. The Dormouse was a hot mess, crying, pissed off, drunk and injured. She pulled up her pant legs and both her knees looked as if she had fallen on broken glass. There were 3-5 crisscrossing gashes in each knee, and I advised her daughter to take her to the ER NOW to get them stitched.
“I have to sober up first,” The Dormouse slurred.
We finally got her calmed down and doctored her knees as best as we could. Her son showed up and she started the hysterics all over again. He asked what happened and she shrieked, “I fell down and Daddy got mad.”
I nearly pissed my pants laughing at the pathetic drama all around me.
Sharron and I finally got the kitchen cleaned and everyone out the back door with it locked behind them. We have to exit from the bar, so when we got over there she offered to buy me a beer. We sat down at the bar and asked each other what the fuck just happened. Then the back door flew open and The Dormouse came in followed by her two adult children. Let me say right now that my adult children would NOT put up with this kind of shit. They wouldn’t allow me to embarrass myself or them for hours at a time. My daughter would have given me a good shaking and forced me to go to the ER. My son would have made me go home, puke it up, and sleep it off. Neither would put up with drama-mama for more than an instant.
MDFR started yelling that he threw The Dormouse out once and she needed to get out again. She ran to Big Jim and threw herself on his chest, sobbing, snotting and making a mess out of herself once more while her kids stood there at a loss and Jim looked around for rescue.
I finished my beer and went home. Honestly, there is better drama on TV.
