Too Little, Too Late
Saturday was a beautiful day for a wedding. I woke up at nine forty-five, which was way too fucking early. The only thing I had to do was buy a glass for the brides to step on. The wedding started at five and I had to be their early to help hold the chuppah. I thought about washing the glass before bringing it, but since it was only gonna be stepped on, I felt it was like sterilizing a needle before putting a prisoner to death. The wedding was at Palisades park near the rose garden with forty chairs set up. Once everyone arrived, we got the show on the road.
When I got to the wedding, I found out that the glass would not be stepped but draught from. I have no problem drinking from a glass straight out of Pottery Barn, but many, including the brides, have a far higher standard for hygiene and sanitation than I. A bottle of Arrowhead did the trick. I was standing in back holding the chuppah with the sun beating down on me. As one who perspires freely, I tried to will my pits not to sweat through my jacket, to no avail. Since the wedding was in a public park, bystanders stopped to watch which was super cool. The musical accompaniment was provided by Doug and at one point he played James Taylor’s, “You’ve Got A Friend.” We were all invited to sing along but; alas, I don’t know the words. I sang something like, “Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah. You’ve got a friend.” It was the perfect crime. After the ceremony which had a couple references to “No on Proposition 8,” we headed down to James Beach for the party.
I didn’t know how they would fit the entire party into the back house at James Beach, but it worked. My former neighbor Sarah, who was once affectionately referred to as “Messy Sarah” by Julie’s nephews, decorated the tables and did an amazing job. For the record, Julie’s nephews named my “Crazy Dave.” I don’t know where they got that name from, but I hung them upside down off of my balcony until the took it back. Call me crazy, I don’t think so. Although it seems like I’m made of money, what with me driving my ninety-seven gayata to the supply store every six months or so to buy a new pair of cargo shorts, I’m not. Thus, I gave Kimi my happy hour, but had to work from eight-thirty to close. I had almost two hours to guzzle booze and shove as many hors d’oeuvres in my pie hole as I could. Normally, if I’m at a party before work, I don’t drink, but I made an exception. I had a couple of cocktails and a glass of Veuve, which really suits my gayata lifestyle. Julie and Mary had their first dance to the theme of the Odd Couple. During which Julie asked the eternal question, “Who is Oscar and who is Felix?” All I know is that when Julie and I were neighbors, she was Rhoda and I was Mary, and that has made all the difference. The Odd Couple theme segued into “Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now” and we were all invited out to dance. Never one to shy away from a McFadden and Whitehead ditty, I knocked over a two nieces and a great uncle to get to the middle of the dance floor. After leaving a puddle of sweat, it was time to get to work.
It was nice showing up at eight-thirty. My energy was up, I was feeling great, too bad we were lacking customers. In the immortal words of Milli Vanilli, “Blame it on the rain, yeah, yeah.” The combination of not having a good crowd for game three of the world series and a rain delay which pushed the game until close to eleven, basically fucked us. It’s an important lesson in the bar business. Getting a good crowd early is the only way to fly. If only the Red Sox had beaten the Rays and been in the world series, Saturday would’ve been huge. In our race to emphysema, Tim and I took turns at cigarette breaks. Each time I hoped that I’d have to put it out halfway through, because a mob was about to flood in. Instead, I ended up smoking many a filter. Not only was it slow, but the customers we did get drank a lot of water. For instance, a couple of times people would come up and order, “Can I get a Stella and three waters?” I wanted to ask, “Do you mind if I stomp a mud hole in your ass, you cheap cunt?!” One guy ordered a soda water. No tip. He got a refill from Tim. No tip. He asked me again. I replied, “You gonna tip this time?” I don’t want to start charging the price of a coke for soda water, but if you’re gonna be cheap, you’re gonna pay more in the long run.
We eventually got busy. Too bad it didn’t happen until twelve-thirty. Now if we were in Chicago or New York, we would have had several hours before last call. Instead, “We in that sunshine state with a bomb ass hemp beat,” and only had an hour to bang it out. For how low our expectations sunk, the night wasn’t a total loss. It was just too little, too late.
It was either going to be The Odd Couple Theme or The Love Boat, FYI.
We love you!!