The Alley Kat is my favorite spot in town. It’s just around the corner. Walking Distance. Heck, it’s stumbling distance. They have $6 pizzas on Monday night and Open Mike Night on Thursdays. I’m still practicing my saxophone for Open Mike night. That’s gonna be my next adventure. I already threw out the first ball at the local baseball franchise. If I could get just the right song for Open Mike night, I think I could maybe run for mayor of this town. I’ll probably play “Tequila.” But, tonight, I was just checking out the competition and enjoying the best pastrami sandwich in Pennsylvania.
Having finished dinner, Debbie and I were leaving the bar at 11 and Randy started bustin’ my horns. “You guys gonna leave before I go on?”
“It’s 11 o’clock,” I countered, “It’s over.”
“No, it doesn’t end until 12.”
I thought Open Mike was from 9-11 pm, but I was w-w-w-w-w-w-rong. See how I’ve grown? I can even admit when I’m w-w-w-w-w-rong, now.
“Well, Debbie just had two full glasses of ice water. The window for her being able to drive sober is now open, and I want her to get home safely, so we’re leaving. (Beat) I’ll be back when she’s safely on her way.”
Randy is a character. (Would he be appearing here if he wasn’t?) He looks like a short version of that big guy in The Green Mile. (note to self: Google his name…Michael something, I think.) He wears bib dungarees like you would expect a farmer to wear and when he gets up to the mike you’re just sure you’re gonna hear, “Massa’s in de cold cold ground” or “Zipadeedoodah” and then he completely fools you by singing Roadhouse Blues. He’ll usually follow that with something from The Who.
Everybody loves Randy. That’s one of the reasons he always closes the show. He lives about 50 feet up the block from The Alley Kat, so he knows everyone in the neighborhood, and everyone knows him.
Drunk white girls can’t resist him, and it just so happened that there was a drunk white girl in attendance that evening. She was with her two girlfriends, who were not yet as drunk as she was. When Randy got up to the mike, the drunk chick went up to him and started doing a dance that would have cost me money to watch in New York.
After a while, Randy, always the professional, gave her a look that said, this is all fun and stuff, but I’m trying to sing a song here.
So, not knowing what do to with herself, but still inebriated, she just went around the bar giving lap dances to anyone who would smile at her.
I, of course, smiled. What the heck. I like to encourage talent.
The next day, I called Debbie. “You’re not gonna believe what happened.”
“I went back to hear Randy sing and some drunk chick tried to give me a lap dance.”
“You didn’t let her!?!?!?”
“Of course not, Honey Bunny.”
Dating a Mennonite is a lot easier than I thought it would be. I don’t have to worry about her going on the computer.
Peace & Love, and all of the above