Continued Memoirs

I need badly to laugh right now. So hopefully I can make you laugh as well...a little, anyway. Although I admit...if this is the nicest story I can share about the subject at hand, it would make one wonder at the ability of the writer to survive it. I tell this often to friends in such a setting, when you begin to share yourself.....My mother was a bartender and waitress her entire life. She was the head bartender at the local American Legion hall in my hometown. All the old veterans apparently loved her, and she ran the place very much like she ran a household -- tough, profane, very strict...

One day, I was sitting at the end of the bar, having a beer, relaxing just a little on a late Saturday afternoon. The place was jammed, because the guys wanted to watch a ball game on TV. Suddenly a long-haired, fatigue-dressed young man came in, alr eady drunk and louder than anyone in the place. He sat at a barstool and banged his hand on the bar: "BA-A-R-R-TENDER!" My mom froze for a second, her back to the bar. Once again, the drunken voice ripped through the smoke-filled room, "WHERE'S the fuckin' BA-A-R-R-TENDER!?!?" She turned around quickly; her eyes were already stillettoed toward him. "What the hell do you want?" The man came back "I want a goddamned hamburger with mustard...and a draft beer!" She paused, knowing that all eyes were watching. "WHAT kind of hamburger do you want?" "A godDAMNED hamburger with MUSTARD -- and a DRAFT BEER!!" Mom drew his beer, slammed it to him on the bar and put the food order into the kitchen.

Okay, here we go...The young man began to bellow and talking loudly to anyone and no one. He was a 'Nam vet, having just gotten out of the Army after his tour in DaNang, as I remember him saying, and spouting the wrong epithets in front of the wrong crowd. Finally, Mom brought his order out and put it in front of him. Burger, fries, ketchup...no mustard. She turned around to get a jar. In the meantime, the kid saw his order, saw no jar mustard and launched once again into a mindless tirade: "B-A-A-R-R-TENDER! WHERE'S MY GODDAMNED MUSTARD???"

My mother again froze, jar in hand. She literally tossed the jar aside and turned around. She picked up a small stool that she often sat on when business was a bit lazy. She stood up on the stool in front of this kid. She raised her skirt up in front of him, exposing her white panties for all to see. And she shouted at this kid at the top of her voice:

"WHERE DO YOU WANT YOUR MUSTARD FROM.....MY PUSSY???"

He sat there in utter shock. I hid my head in my hands because I knew, I KNEW that my mother would, indeed, piss on his plate. All the rest of the crowd in the bar began to applaud and shout their approval "Yeah, honey, you tell him!... Oh, yeah, she'll do it, too, you just watch.... I've never seen that in my life!!!" And various, sundry comments. The young man threw down a fin, grabbed his sandwich and ran out of the bar as fast as he could.

Now... In another forum, this would have been hilarious. And like I say, I tell this story often. I mean imagine, just imagine if you will...Your mother has just said the word "pussy" in front of you. Now...here's the part I don't tell....As the applause died down, she looked at me and, front of all her patrons, pointedly shouted "Yes, Ronnie, I said "pussy". You've seen one, right???"

That's how I grew up.