Last night at Dancers Showclub in Indy, I had several bizarre experiences that made me feel totally out of sync with two members of the staff.
When my waitress approached me, I ordered a cocktail with Tanqueray gin. She asked me to say the name three times, particularly slowly the last time. I asked if she had ever heard of it, and she said she hadn't. She seemed very dubious about its existence, but I assured her the bartender would know what I was talking about. When she came back with my drink, I asked her if the bartender knew what I had been asking for. She might have been the subject of a little fun at the bar, since she rolled her eyes and very sheepishly said, "Yes."
We then had to settle the tab. The drink was $6. She took my $20, stood there with her head cocked to one side for about fifteen seconds and said, "How much do I owe you back?" She couldn't decide if it was fourteen or fifteen dollars. We discussed subtraction, number placement, etc.
Later, I was getting some privates from the most attractive girl in the club. She seemed to shy away from my sleeves, and I realized she was getting caught on my cufflinks, so I took them off. She got wide-eyed and said, "you didn't have to pull them off." I asked her what she was talking about, and she said, "your buttons--you didn't have to pull them off." I held up a cufflink to her face, and she told me that she didn't know what is was. I unfolded the cuff of my sleeve, and showed her that nothing had to be torn off--she thought that I had torn the cuff buttons off of my shirt, as she had never seen French cuffs before.
Well, the evening offered a lengthening experience to me, so hopefully it was a broadening experience to some of the staff.


Minnow, can you leave your pants there too to be pressed while you're in the VIP room? Now that I'd be willing to pay for.