They were dancing on the tables. Perhaps should explain. Once a month, our lords and masters have decreed that lo, there shall be a Cabaret Night. Wherein a singer in an ill-fitting suit will belt out a load of "soul classics". I actually normally quite enjoy them in a cheesy kind of a way (what? It's not easy being a cultural elitist all the time, y'know), I'll even cheerily sing along as I get swamped at the bar.
However, Cabaret Nights are marked by the middle-aged behaving badly. It's a fiftysomething crowd, generally out in large groups to have their Big Night Out of the month. And all power to 'em I say. The downside is that they drink. Again, all well and good, I am, after all, a bar manager, the more we sell the higher my standing. But they drink. When I was a kid, I always thought grown-ups were sensible. I now know better. Cabaret nights are like watching a room full of your aunties get pissed and try to grope you whilst some fat bloke with a radio mike cries "can you feel the love in this room tonight?"
No, frankly, I cannot, I am too busy diving behind the bar to avoid the clutching hands of a sunbed queen in a revolting minidress to feel any love. I am too busy removing the hand of a woman whose face looks like a leather wallet from my fucking crotch to feel any bastard love.
Pissed fiftysomething women of the world. I appreciate that this is your Big Night Out. I applaud your getting glammed up and having a laugh with your mates. But let me make one thing clear. I DO NOT FANCY YOU. I have a lovely girlfriend whom I adore, and who is HALF YOUR AGE. And get down from the tables, you'll break your fucking ankle.
(Caveat: I am also painfully aware that this is the sort of thing that my poor waitresses have to put up with all the time, all I will say is that I have my own dark methods of dealing with that problem)
So after that, writing 1500 words off the top of my head, with my ears still ringing from the "this is one of my favourite songs" was, uh, a little strange.
However, Cabaret Nights are marked by the middle-aged behaving badly. It's a fiftysomething crowd, generally out in large groups to have their Big Night Out of the month. And all power to 'em I say. The downside is that they drink. Again, all well and good, I am, after all, a bar manager, the more we sell the higher my standing. But they drink. When I was a kid, I always thought grown-ups were sensible. I now know better. Cabaret nights are like watching a room full of your aunties get pissed and try to grope you whilst some fat bloke with a radio mike cries "can you feel the love in this room tonight?"
No, frankly, I cannot, I am too busy diving behind the bar to avoid the clutching hands of a sunbed queen in a revolting minidress to feel any love. I am too busy removing the hand of a woman whose face looks like a leather wallet from my fucking crotch to feel any bastard love.
Pissed fiftysomething women of the world. I appreciate that this is your Big Night Out. I applaud your getting glammed up and having a laugh with your mates. But let me make one thing clear. I DO NOT FANCY YOU. I have a lovely girlfriend whom I adore, and who is HALF YOUR AGE. And get down from the tables, you'll break your fucking ankle.
(Caveat: I am also painfully aware that this is the sort of thing that my poor waitresses have to put up with all the time, all I will say is that I have my own dark methods of dealing with that problem)
So after that, writing 1500 words off the top of my head, with my ears still ringing from the "this is one of my favourite songs" was, uh, a little strange.
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