Security Guards and Secret Makeouts

While the beverage cart was my favorite department to work at the country club, I also enjoyed working formal dining at night - especially when those same people had been there all day. There was a huge party going on in the parlor one night. Within the first five minutes I had already seen one member making out with his babysitter and another rolling a joint. Then I saw it, a lady climbing up on a chair and unzipping her dress. Here we go, I thought, someone is about to catch a bra or an STD.

She was “balanced” with one foot in the chair and the other on the bar, high above the crowd. She threw her panties in the air and they landed on the face of someone’s wife who was walking in through the door. The bartender peered at me over his fake Ray Ban glasses and said, "What should we do?" I just rolled my eyes and pulled out my digital camera.

Within a mere four seconds, I saw a glass of wine sailing through the air, the stripper’s chair getting knocked over (with her in it), and a security guard, which I didn't realize we had, rushing in with two walkie talkies. That party ended a little sooner than everyone had expected. And by ended I simply mean changed locations. I nominated myself to stay late and work overtime in the dining room where the former Club Cheetah patrons migrated. I couldn't wait to hear the juicy fallout of that episode.  

One of my most favorite couples came in and sat in my section. They had a third party with them who was a woman, and I assumed she was someone’s sister. You know what assuming does.

The wife went into the restroom as I was bringing drinks out. The husband and the new gal began making out. 

What should I do?, I pondered, Should I run into the restroom and tell the wife? This was like a story you might see on daytime television, so my 16 year old brain told me I should call my best friend and ask her what she thought. She was no help.

As I'm walking back into the dining room, I noticed the husband was away from the table and the two women were making out. What kind of screwed up relationship is this? I ran right back to the phone room and called my friend again.

"Hey," I whispered loudly.

"What happened? Why are you whisper yelling?" she replied.

"It’s called a stage whisper. Well, now apparently the lesbians are making out. I don't even know what to say. I guess I won't say anything since they all seem to be okay with this. They do not do this at Harrison High School." (I actually found out years later that yes they did) (Hoya Hoya Saxa).

I went back over to check on everyone, and as the trio was getting ready to leave, the "husband" handed me a $200 tip and slapped me on the butt. I guess it was a happy ending for everyone.