Not gonna lie: I’ve been known to be a little judgmental. (It’s really just one of the many book titles I’m laying claim to in the innards of my brain: “I’m Just Saying What You’re Really Thinking”) So it’s actually with great irony that I must report how very publicly I was personally judged this weekend.
It came from a twenty-something waitress as she collected menus following my party’s drink and app order. We asked about the live music scheduled for later in the evening.
She surveyed our table and suggested that we might want to leave before the band arrived.
Excuse me, what?
“Well….they’re a little……” her voice trailed off.
What, we pressed. Loud? Violent? (I’m a big music fan but I draw the line at some of the stab-your-grandmother music that’s out there) What?
“Ummm,” she shrugged, “I just don’t think you’re gonna like them.” She walked off.
Where’s Steve Martin when you need him: Again, excuuuuuse me?
Detecting a challenge, we scrapped our plans to move on to a different venue later on and instead got comfortable. We claimed a pool table and kept the rounds coming.
When the band eventually began they opened up with a pretty awesome Tom Petty song. (Cue the confused looks at our table. Huh?)
For the next three or so hours they played great covers of everything from AC/DC to Van Morrison . I lost track of how many times I lifted my beer to proudly declare “Ha, THIS is on my I-pod, too!” (it’s a Nano but, you know, whatever).
I kept thinking, that snotty waitress can kiss my Adele-sized ass.
Now, I’ll admit there might have been a few vibes that (maybe. perhaps. if you stretched) hinted we may not have been the hippest bunch.
Getting to the bar at 7:30 might’ve been the first red flag, I get that. Young people — like vampires — repel sunlight and bars before ten. I know, I know, been there done that. But I will boast that we were indeed asked to “kindly depart” after the bright fluorescent lights had been on for awhile at last call. Not a proud mother-of-four moment (and certainly not the first fluorescents we’ve ever seen) but hey, no one can deny our chutzpah. It happens (so does taking the next day in its entirety to recover).
Also, there was one of us whose six-foot frame took out a speaker (and maybe a couple of bystanders) with a very animated fall on the dance floor (NOT ME). Lacking the grace of Brian Boitano (funny, how these always seem to happen in slow-motion), okay, maybe that could’ve shined an aging spotlight on us. (No one got hurt. I think. Maybe just their roadie? I dunno…)
And (alright, alright) perhaps a mob of middle-agers hysterically fist-pumping on the dance floor was a bit telling.. Ah well. Three fingers up to make a W: What-ev-ah.
Maybe a final dead giveaway was how we interacted. One thing that definitely set us apart from the youngsters around us as how we sat as a group and talked and laughed. You know, TO EACH OTHER. At one point, a group of four girls nearby all tapped away on cell phones at the same time. Having fun, ladies?
We sure did.
Take THAT, kids.
Here’s an interesting end note. Our waitress was arguably the worst restaurant worker in the history of food service. Her lack of charm paled in comparison to her professional skills. We had to hunt her down throughout the night, usually finding her sitting with friends chatting (I know, right?) Yet we still tipped her well because we are a different generation that does the right thing. (Not to mention that collectively we could put a sitcom into syndication with all the eyerolling actions of our own young-adult-spawn). It makes us somewhat forgiving.
Yes. That would be us: forgiving, freakishly good dancing and not-quite-ready-for-early bird-food-specials fun mongers. #We’llSleepWhenWe’reDead
Tina Drakakis blogs at Eyerollingmom and was featured in the 2014 Boston production of “Listen to Your Mother: Giving Motherhood a Microphone.” Her work has been featured in NPR’s “This I Believe” radio series yet she places “Most Popular 1984” on top of her list of achievements. (Next would be the home improvement reality TV show of 2003 but her kids won’t let her talk about that anymore). A witty mother of four, she takes on cyberspace as @Eyerollingmom on Twitter and Eyerollingmom on Facebook. and@Eyerollingmom on Instagram.