It’s the Night Life After all…

“Hey gorgeous, would you be interested in being ‘Den Mother’ on the 26th of this month?”

That was how I ended up working last night at the branch, and how I end up filling in as “manager” on any other given night.  To the general public, a lesser-known place, but to it’s regulars, Bullbranch is wildly infamous.  A place where “where everybody knows your name.”  Instead of Sam Malone, we have Sam Gravit, and instead of Kirstie Alley, a far sexier head mistress: Anne Scott Cardwell.  Often, this place is known to even have out-of-town celebrities guest appear:


However, when I am acting “Den Mother,” it is usually a whole other kind of “entertainment.”

Let me give you an example.  One Saturday night a few months ago, it must have been a full moon, but I was situated at one of the tables on the floor of this restaurant watching the standard eclectic Branch crowd sip on their cocktails and make small talk over the strains of the usual “late night mix.” At the stroke of midnight, on this particular night, instead of turning into a pumpkin, I ended up turning into a “firefighter.”

Let me tell this fiery tale…

I was sitting at Table 4, when I looked over and found two girls dirty dancing to the Archie’s.  If you’re pictures beautiful, slender blonds, stop.  Think country-bumpkin and try again.  It was like watching a car wreck, you don’t want to look but you can’t help yourself…so the couple I was sitting with had a few chuckles at these inebriated girls expense, and then a few more, and then I started to wonder how long I should let the bump and grind go on…when one girl dropped it like it was hot and didn’t get back up.  That was it.  I walked over, pulled her up, and told both girls to calm down; this isn’t a night club, and if they insisted on dirty dancing I’d have to ask them to leave.

First fire out.

I was going to head back to my table when I look over and see a guy in a Halloween mask, just standing around, holding his rum and coke.  Really???  I walk over to the guy, pulled the mask over his head, and said, “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t really care, but it isn’t October 31st and if you want to wear a mask you can do so out on the street but this is a mask-free zone.”  Kid looked surprised, probably at me so aptly pulling the mask off his face, but agreed to acquiesce and used his free hand to hang on to his Godzilla mask.

Second fire out.

Making my way back to the table, I am stopped by Sam, who informs me that some guys girlfriend and her friend went to the bathroom a while ago and had not yet returned.  Fantastic.  See, part of my job is not just cutting individuals off who drink too much but cleaning up broken glass, vomit, fielding drunken patrons who are being denied entry into the bar, and breaking up lesbian love in the bathroom.  I walked into the two-stall bathroom to the sound of silence.  Sweet.  What are they doing…I looked under both stalls and sure enough, there were four feet in a stall that really should only hold two.  Great.  I decided to “busy” myself moving some candles around on the vanity stand and in the process of sliding the napkin holder two inches to the left, the bathroom stall door swings open and there in all its glory is one of my dirty-dancing girls backsides; about as big and as white as the moon that night.  “Aww maaaaan,” I say,” See…now I HAVE to kick you out.”  I shut the door, and told the girls they had 60 seconds to pull their pants up…silence.  “Thirty seconds.”  More silence.  “Okay, let’s go girls.”  I open the stall door and before I know what’s happening, the smaller of the two girls launches her entire body weight at me and throws me against the wall.  “Whoooje the F*** are yooouu N’yway!?!?!” she slurs at me.  I grabbed her arm and flipped her around so she was against the wall, “Tonight, I’m the manager, and you’re leaving!!!.” I turned to get her “friend” and as I did, Zena tossed me into the vanity.  Stunned for a minute, I grab full-moon girl and pull her into the dining area with me, plowing my way to the front door.  I yank her into the street and indicate to the door guy that I don’t care where she goes, it’s just not going to be back inside.  Then I ask him if another girl came out.  Blank stare.  Nevermind.  I turn on my heel and head back in, just in time to see my assailant making her way through the bar crowd to the door.  I step aside to give her leave, and as she passes me her boyfriend looks at me with wild eyes, and shouts, “Don’t you think you’ve done enough??”  I follow him out on his heel and say, “Don’t get mad a me because you just found out your girlfriend is bisexual!!”  We all spill out onto the sidewalk and I cross my arms and watch as they stumble down 11th street to who even cares.

Third fire out.

At this point, I’m thinking, what else could possibly go wrong?  I walk back in, to find out that Zena had left me in the bathroom with her friend to go to the bar and try to pay her bill.  Apparently, someone said something she didn’t like, and she had head-butted them; that was when I caught up with her leaving…

What you should know is that Bullbranch is never known to have such badly behaved people in the restaurant.  This is largely because Scott happily bans people like this from her restaurant, solidifying their fate in her “black book.”  If you end up in the black book, you end up never being allowed to come back in.  If it had been up to me, this girls name would be written in the black book of Bullbranch eternity; but I was just acting “Den Mother.”

Thankfully, last night was more of a “reunion tour” than the circus tale I just told, and I was grateful; but what can I really expect either way?  It is the night life after all…


2 thoughts on “It’s the Night Life After all…

  1. Lol…ahh…yes…the story hasn’t changed much! I do think that was the night when a black guy was walking out the door, informed us he had just got back from the military. According to him, “niggers can only do three things: shooting hoops, selling crack cocaine and fighting in Iraq (EYE-rack!).” There was another black guy standing at the bar, with his Maker’s on the rocks, and shouted after him, “OR you could got to COLLEGE.”
    These are the stories of my life…

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