I’m a Concession Stand Diva

Okay, so.  I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but TB is in the high school band. It has basically Taken. Over. Our. Lives.  It’s all band, all the time in the Mouthy House these days.

 

One way it’s taken over the lives of TWH and me is the concession stand.  Holy Fuck!!  Y’all… I have always prided myself on the fact that I work with the pub-lick daily and have never managed to kill anyone to death with a blunt object.  The concession stand may just change all that…

 

Because THIS concession stand is in Tha Redneckhood.  And these motherfuckers are PICKY. Like two-year-old-in-a-restaurant PICKY.

 

And with just a mere 3 shifts, I was banned from ever working the window and dealing directly with this portion of the pub-lick.  For. Life.

 

See, it happened like this:

 

I’m in the back, handling the fries when TWH, who is working the window, yells back “We need a cheeseburger with FOUR pickles!!”.  I said “You need a WHAT!?!?”. He said, again “A cheeseburger with FOUR pickles”.

 

Oh Sweet Baby Jeebus. I did the only thing there was to do at the point. I looked at the girl working the burger station and yelled, LOUDLY “WE GOT A COMPLICATED ORDER!!”.  (I can’t believe I actually got to say that in real life. I’m still a little giddy.)  While my humor was appreciated by the rest of the parents and some of the other patrons, the lady I was pseudo-mocking wasn’t really that amused.

 

Later that night, some kid we’d seen no less than a dozen times comes up to the window and yells into the back “I want a hamburger with chili on it!!”.

 

Okay, for starters ya little shit, I’m not your bitch. I’m A bitch. I’m just not YOUR bitch.  Here’s the reply he got. “NO!!”.  He then demanded “Why NOT!?!”  I answered him simply “Because it’s STUPID. Order something we’re actually gonna make you or go bother someone else. We’re BUSY!!”.

 

The parents working the window looked a little flabbergasted. I think they were torn between keeping an eye out for an angry Momma and giving me a standing ovation.

 

A few nights later, we were in the concession stand again.  It looked like all the positions in the back were filled so I offered to take up a place at the window when a chorus of voices shouted “NO”.

 

Guess making chili cheese fries is truly my calling.

 

Because they’re never gonna let me do anything else.

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I Dressed Myself!!

Okay, so.  Last week Miss A called and asked me to walk her on the field (along with her Dad) for Senior Night. OF COURSE I said “Yes”.  Tuesday morning I packed my suitcase and drove up to north Mississippi.

 

I wasn’t sure what I wanted to wear so I packed a dress and a pantsuit.  When I got to the hotel, I showered and tried on each outfit, took selfies, and sent them to Miss A, TWH, and T to ask their opinions. Miss A didn’t answer, TWH just texted me back telling me I was HAWT, and T picked the dress. I then realized I had no shorts to wear under the dress (chub rub yo) and I thought I looked thinner in the pantsuit so the pantsuit won out.  What?? I have my vanity…

 

Anyway, I got dressed and headed up to the High School where I met Miss A.  I went into the guard room to help Miss A get ready. She totally had her shit together so I just pitched in where I could.  At one point Miss A comes up to me and whispers “Zip your pants woman”. Oh Jeebus…. I’ve been walking around with my fly undone. Shirttail’s out, no biggie. It was (mostly) covered. That’s what I’m telling myself, at least.

 

Senior Night goes off with only a very small hitch (the announcer calls me by my ex-husbands last name thus causing his current wife to be all sorts of bitchy. I laughed my ass off), Miss A & I meet back up and go for dinner.

 

THAT’S when I noticed I’d been walking around with my shirt buttoned one-off all freaking night.

 

I then texted my ECB and told her “Alright… I get to the band room and Miss A has to tell me to zip my pants. I realized at dinnerthat I’d missed a buttonhole on my shirt. I can’t decide if I’m the worst representative of folks my age or the best one ever…”.  She texted me back and told me I was the best ever.

 

My nagging question is: If I can do that fucked up a job dressing myself stone-cold sober, what kind of hot mess would I be if I tried to dress myself when I’d been drinking??

 

Maybe I’ll find out in Mexico…

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