For those of you who don’t know, I work at an anarchist co-op coffee shop.
Apparently, all the Chicano/Cholo boys in my neighborhood have caught on the the fact that I sneak food and stuff to all the little punk kids and homeless kids at the coffee shop.
There are three in particular who call me Mom.
Not Mami, not Ma, Mom.
The rest refer to me as “Miss”.
They’ve decided to always have one of the three of them there with me on my night shifts. (Especially after they witnessed the last bad shift where I had to kick a bunch of tweakers out. Said tweakers lit my fucking bulletin board on fire.)
Tonight, one of the boys actually charged up a crackhead who wouldn’t get out when I told him to leave.
About an hour later, I was emptying bus tubs when that same lovely boy walked in and wetted a wash rag. I asked what he was doing and he told me not to worry. So, I went about my business, doing dishes, bussing the main dining tables, etc.
I’d left a broom in the smoking room and a fresh trash bag in the bathroom for once I was done with the dishes.
When I walked out, everything was spotless and the trash had been replaced. He’d wiped all my tables, swept, mopped, and emptied all the ash trays.
He’d also picked the lock on the bathroom so his friend could take out the trash for me. (Which I’m not sure whether I should scold him for. Haha)
They snuck around and did my closing shift duties to thank me for keeping them warm and fed.
One of the funniest things I ever experienced was when I went to go see John Mulaney live, and halfway through a bit about how expensive college in the States is, he looked down at the sleeve of his suit jacket and just. stopped. dead halt, mid sentence.
And after like three seconds, where we’re all trying to figure out the punchline because the story clearly hadn’t ended, and John Mulaney quietly says, “Has there been tinfoil on my buttons the whole goddamn show?”
He’d taken his suit to the drycleaner, and they’d wrapped the buttons on the sleeves and the coat with tinfoil to protect them, and John Mulaney didn’t notice until half-way through his set, and was SO FLABBERGASTED that he never did finish the story about college and instead did five minutes on how stupid it was that his buttons were reflecting the light and he just didn’t notice, and in that moment I understood more about John Mulaney as a person than I ever have.
during one of his portland shows, he noticed this like 7 year old girl in the front row and asked her (and her parents) if she ‘is aware that she is physically here right now’ or if she was just brought along. turns out her favorite john mulaney bit is the “and I’m new in town” bit and that she’s seen all his stuff. He was so shocked and discomforted by the fact a SEVEN YEAR OLD has seen his shows, that he couldn’t get through a bit about donating to charity without interrupting himself at least three times to import good life lessons on this small child, as if that makes up for all the horrible things he’s said that she heard
When I saw him in Ft. Lauderdale, there was a bar in the lobby that people kept leaving to go to. At one point, a guy in the front row just got up and BOOKED IT to get drinks. John Mulaney looked over at a woman who was next to the empty seat and asked, “Are you with him? What’s his name?”
She was, in fact, with him, and she did tell him her date’s name. John Mulaney considered this, looked around, and unplugged his microphone. Leaning in to us, he told us that we were going to trick this guy so fuckin hard. He said, “At some point during the show, I am going to stop and say, ‘Well, you guys know what they say here in Ft. Lauderdale,’ and then you guys are all going to scream back ‘WE LOVE MILKSHAKES!’ He’ll be so confused.”
He then continued on with the show as normal, the drinks guy returned to his seat, and that was that for quite a long time. We thought he had forgotten about it until, at some point during what I believe was his McDonald’s drive-thru bit, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “You guys know what they say here in Ft. Lauderdale…”
Naturally, we erupted with “WE LOVE MILKSHAKES” and John Mulaney SWUNG around to face the drinks guy and said, “I bet you’re real confused now, huh, JASON?!”
Did I ever tell the story on here of how we accidentally ended up staying at a gay resort for my grandmother’s funeral.
*drops into cross-legged position in front of systlin, ready for the story*
So. This is about my Awesome Grandma, who I still miss deeply. The Awful Grandma is still alive, kept upright by sheer spite and hatred of everything.
But my Awesome Grandma passed away a couple years ago, at the ripe old age of 89, peacefully and in her sleep. I was devastated. The whole family was. She was an amazing woman.
So, I’m a mess. I get bereavement leave from work for the funeral, and the condolences of my boss and coworkers, and we start trying to figure out logistics.
Dad was her estate’s executor, and he was already up in Wisconsin staying at her house because we’d known it was coming (she’d been ill for some time). Now, Grandma and Grandpa’s house was and is quite small. So, Dad was staying there, Mom was staying there, and my aunt and her husband were staying there, and the house was full up.
My other aunt and her husband who lived nearby opened their house to the family, but their house wasn’t huge either and so of course their children who came home got priority.
Long story short, we needed to find a hotel. And I’m a wreck, who can barely pack a suitcase in between bouts of sobbing, so my hubby stepped up.
“I’ve got it,” He says. “Don’t worry, I’ve got everything.” He’s good at finding hotel deals and stuff, so this is great.
Grandma lived in Baraboo, WI. This is a short drive from the Wisconsin Dells, a popular tourist trap that has a ton of hotels. Grandma died in October, which was off season for the Dells, so there were plenty of good deals. Kev booked a room at a place called Rainbow Valley Resort, which had excellent ratings on Expedia and was inexpensive. We didn’t think twice about this, because every hotel in the Dells has a name like Whispering Pines or Mountain Valley or Pleasant View or Springbrook or whatever.
Anyway, we show up, and find it fine, and pull up to the office which is also the bar.
The bar is named Captain Dix.
This still doesn’t click in my brain, which is running on adrenaline and espresso at this point. And my husband is in Get Shit Done mode, which means he’s wholly focused on getting checked in and then to Grandma’s house to meet up with my family and stuff.
So we walk in, and finally a little pilot light goes on in my brain. Because the walls are PAPERED in Brokeback Mountain posters, Pride flags, and posters of extremely hot shirtless men.
“Oh.” I go. “OH.”
The dude at the desk is cheerfully checking us in, and he is Obviously Gay. In that, he’s wearing a T shirt, literally, that says “Gay” and has a rainbow on it.
There’s a sign on the wall listing the events that they hosted over the summer. I’ve still got a pic, I’ll find and attach it in a minute.
My worry at this point is mostly “Oh man I don’t want these dudes to feel like we’re intruding” but we’re like the only people there because, again, off season.
So we get checked in and get to our room, and I turn to husband.
“Hon.” I said, “We’re at the gay resort.”
“What?” Says Kev.
“Hon,” I said, and then pointed out everything I just listed above, and oh yeah they also had a clothing optional area by the pool.
“Oh.” He says. “Oops.”
But, I mean, the rooms were lovely and comfortable and spotless, and too late now.
Anyway Grandma’s funeral was that afternoon. And by the time we got back, I was a cried out mess, and I wanted a fucking drink. So, we went to the bar.
The owner was the barkeep. We get to the bar, and he smiles at us. “Hey folks, I’m Gary. What can I get you?” He asks.
“Whiskey.” I say.
“Sure, what kind?”
“Brown.” I’ve been awake for 37 hours at this point, and words are hard.
An eyebrow climbs, but he just grabs a Jameson bottle. “Sure hon, anything with it?”
“More whiskey.”
The second eyebrow climbs.
“We just got back from her grandmother’s funeral.” My husband has better people skills than me.
“OH.” Gary upends the bottle at this, and pours an extra couple fingers into my glass, thereby making him my best friend in the world.
Anyway, my husband the People Person strikes up a conversation with Brad as I drink. Turns out Brad and his husband own the place, they don’t mind us there a bit since it’s a slow time of the year for them, and by the end of the night he and my husband are best friends and Kev, the professional locksmith, is repairing a minor problem with their door for them and chatting about cooking.
I’m bringing this back because I just found out from my husband like 2 days ago that after I went to bed and he went to settle the tab, Gary flat out refused to let him pay for my 3 whiskeys-with-extra-whiskey.
“No, she had a rough day, poor girl, losing a loved one is rough, you folks seem nice anyway and you fixed that door we’ll call it good.”
I just had the best encounter with a child at Kmart. I was in the aisle shopping, and this girl and her dad come around the corner. The girl sees me and excitedly exclaims “There’s a human here!!” to which the father replied “Yes, there’s humans everywhere.”
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