Garden Party

May 28, 2009 at 1:22 AM | Posted in Journal | Leave a comment
  Cousin Joey said we were going to "water cure" the concrete patio.  That will make it the bestest and hardest.  So he set up the sprinkler on it Friday evening, and we let it run continuously through to Sunday afternoon.  Joey came over to inspect it and confirmed that it was done, ready to use.  So he took the sprinkler off the patio.
  Just in time for the torrential rains to come rolling in.
  Sunday Detroit and I went to our friends’ house, Joe and Susan.  *I* thought we was havin us some pulled pork, but it turns out the only pork that was pulled was my own.  It was a "brunch."  Since Joe and Sue are going to France in a week, I have to assume that "brunch" is French for "no fucking meat."
  It was still okay, and parts of it were good, but I gave Sue shit about it because that is what I do, in case you didn’t know.  We sat on their patio and drank and ate and talked, and there was another couple there that we didn’t know, plus Sue’s dad was there, making the whole experience like one of those surreal dinner party things that you see in movies that usually end with either someone coming out of the closet or someone getting buried in the garden.  I did neither. 
  Collette was the chicka from across the street, and he boyfriend was…uh, Tim?  She was pretty, and Tim was nice, but quiet.  Since I had an audience, I opened with a story from the previous evening at Domino’s.  Kim wanted me to tell it, and then she tried to start, and I shushed her– "Buh-buh-buh-buh!  It’s my story!"  Never take another hack’s material, especially right in front of him.  I had to start with some background for the folks.

  "So, I work part-time at the Domino’s in Chesterfield.  I’ve been with Domino’s off and on for over twenty years.  Last night, I’m running the shift, and Mike takes this call first.  She ordered online but called because she was pissed that it wouldn’t allow her to use her free bread coupon.  That’s because they are expired.
  "Mike tried to explain it to her, but she was a bitch.  She wanted to talk to a manager.  The store manager was there, and I’m the assistant.  But I said, ‘Oh, let me.’  I get on the phone.
  "’Thanks for holding this is Bryan can I help you.’"  It’s hard to convey in print but I had on my ‘I’m-not-giving-in’ voice.
  "She went through her spiel.  The coupon has no expiration date, blah blah blah.  She had a snooty, snippy attitude, which I just adore.  I told her we stopped taking them in January.  ‘But there’s no expiration date!’  I said, ‘That may be true; however, as you should know, nothing lasts forever.’"
  "And the whole thing was, it was all about her attitude.  She started right off being a bitch.  I would have given it to her if she had been nice."  In fact, later that night I gave a chick at a hotel a free breadstick just because she was from out-of-town and she sounded sweet.
  "So this was all on her.  She wanted to escalate further.  Was there another manager in the store?  No, not for her.  She was going to call corporate then.
  "I said, ‘Please do, because I’m following *their* guidelines.’  She said, ‘I’m sure corporate would want you to take care of the customer first,’ like she can read the minds of a bunch of suits."  What I didn’t say at the garden party party was that she wanted my full name.  In the age of identity theft and looking up people on the internet, I said, "I’m a private citizen.  If tell them my name is Bryan, they will know who you mean."
  "She said, ‘You are making me cancel my order.’  I said, ‘This is not my decision, this is yours.  I’m not *making* you do anything.’"  There was another funny line in there that I don’t remember, and then Detroit was urging me on.  "Come on, get to the punchline already!" 
  I continued.  "She said, ‘I’m going to call corporate and tell them that I am no longer going to be a customer of Domino’s Pizza, and that it is all because of you.’
  "I answered, ‘I always wanted to make a difference in peoples’ lives.’"
  The way I told the story, I got some good laughs.  If I can remember that second-to-the-last-line, I’ll include it.  But I did end with, "And the moral of the story is, ‘Don’t piss off the pizza guy; he knows where you live.’"

  It was a good opening, a good ice breaker.  If I can just do an opening monologue–say five minutes–then I’m good to go, and I can get the party rolling.
  We ate, we drank, we chatted, we had a good time.  First Sue’s dad left, then Collette and Tim left.  Detroit and I didn’t want to hang around too long unwanted–you know how that is.  If you’re the last one, the hosts are secretly thinking, "Fuck me, when will they leave?"  But Joe and Sue were happy to have us.  I heard from Cousin Joey that the patio was ready, though, and I was anxious to get out there and try it out. 
  Even though we had off and on rain, I was compelled to drag the grill out and set it up, and at least cook some hot dogs on it, dammit.  Have my own garden party.  In the rain.

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