I had a BLAST and a half at work (at the restaurant) last night. It’s Music Fest this weekend, and that means live, free music Thursday through Sunday and lots of people milling around town. We seated people for a half hour longer past closing, and we threw a disco dance party at 9 p.m. Well, you know what happened after I was no longer needed in the dining room. Yep, I was out there dancing on the deck at the party. Actually, my services were still needed in the dining room, but I refrained from the party…until they played “Love Shack.” That I cannot resist.
I was between clearing tables and done seating people. I had had 2 homemade, pineapple tequila shots. Then, I drank a beer…fast…while I danced. So, a former line cook showed up for the party. We’ll call him Gian, and he pulled me onto the deck to dance with him (and the 4, 60-year-olds dancing on the deck.) Oh. my. and one of the 60-year-old guys knew all the words to Prince’s songs. I thought I would die…and steal him away as my new dance party partner.
One of the waitresses that I work with was cocktail waitressing after her dining room shift. She and I have had a private dance party at the restaurant before. So, she was there and dancing and getting drinks and just being her hot, fun self. Anyway, we danced and danced. I excused myself periodically for the first half-hour to clear tables, until I was excused from my duties. Party time!
The bartender would join us for the good songs. She’s way fun, too. I tried to get EVERYONE to dance – as usual. Call me the Morale Committee. I had some success. I even got the chef to get down for a few seconds. I will cherish that moment for the rest of the year. This Friday’s his birthday, so I’m hoping that it might happen again. He plans to drink and sleep at the restaurant, so I never know what to expect with those conditions. Maybe it will be 10 seconds this week. I think that my job as the one-person Morale Committee involves getting others to drink in order for them to lose their inhibitions enough to boogie. I left with one broken promise from a cook who said he would dance and a headache knocking on my window in the morning.
It was a hot, summer night topping 50 degrees when I got to my car at 12:13 a.m. My nights don’t get much hotter or more fun than this one.