Well I called Applebees and instead of being 3750 it was 4752, which kind of put me in another area of the Bronx entirely. I kept trying to hail a lime green cab but those assweeds kept passing me. Since it was rush hour, the buses were crowded and there was no way I was getting on, especially since every damn woman in the world had a freaking stroller and kid she probably couldnt afford hanging off of her. I thought fuck me, fuck my life, fuck my bad decisions. It was too late now though. I kept walking and figured this was the end of the eventfulness. The telegram would go well, right?
Oh no. I got to Applebees after a half hour walking. I felt like Moses and the Jews wandering the ancient desert for 40 years. I called the client. This was the correct Applebees. While I was so tired I could have died, I had a show to do. I got there and the manager was quick to help me get changed. The population of this Applebees was mostly black and Spanish. Some of the folks were scared as hell of the pink gorilla, where some waved and got their kids to wave. I was in the Bronx. This was a different planet.
Anyway, I went to sing to the birthday boy. The population at the table was kind of rachet hood, but they were good people and wanted to have fun. I started to do my thing rapping to the birthday boy, and a second later a manger comes over. This is how the first exchange went:
Manager: She can't do that here.
Client: I got clearance from the manager.
Manager: I am the manager. She can't do the telegram in that suit.
Client: I talked to the other manager, the pregnant one. She said it was okay.
So the manager walks off. The client instructs me to continue. I decide as long as Applebees is going to harass me, I am going all out. So I started rapping to "Big Booty Ho" by Kanye. While insulting the birthday boy was turning 21. Our table and the surrounding tables joined in as we sang this rap anthem that is incredibly insulting to women but fun as hell. So as we are having a good time this West Indian security dude comes over and he should have had asshole tattooed on the middle of his forehead. He walks over with his ethnically ambiguous Applebees employee climbing up the ranks. This is how this exchange went
Security Guard: Excuse me, Miss, you have to leave.
Client: She is a singing telegram. I have permission to have her here.
Security Guard: What?
Client: Yes. Now continue.
I sang Happy Birthday and decided it was best to get the fuck outta Dodge. While the client was supposed to tip me I also didn't want to end this adventure in handcuffs. So I finished my skit and was on my way out. Just then the client called me back in.
Client: I wanna give you a little something. You did a good job.
The client's family member, who by the way is missing a very important tooth near the front of his mouth hands me a twenty.
Security Guard walks over. This man is not going to lose and he is taking his job way too seriously.
Security Guard: I know you are trying to help her but she has to go. Come on, Miss.
Client: No, I was giving her a little something. She is a singing telegram. I ordered her.
Security Guard: She needs to go.
And what happened next would shock us all. Yes, she even wagged her finger hood style.
Client: LISTEN MUTHERFUCKER, I ORDERED THIS! Yeah, that;s right. I paid for this! I paid for this with my money, mutherfucker! And here you were all up in our shit when we had permission from the manager to do this. Oh, and you fucking ruined my video!!!
The Security Guard: I'm sorry.
Client: You better be, mutherfucker. I am so mad I could cut you.
Security Guard: There will be no need for that m'am
That is when she lifted her hands and I saw the biggest pair of Edward Scissorhands hood nails. The security guard, asshole on a power trip, was now afraid he was going to be sliced to shreds. This table perhaps had a weapon or two on them, but those nails seemed to be the most effective one of all. And who would have thought this would all occur at Applebees. That is when I waved, ran out, and jumped on the Metro North which was right there. Yeah, it ate up a few bucks. But it got me to Grand Central and I figured I had enough adventure for one day.
I say at the end of every shitty adventure there are not tears but punchlines. This was pure comedic gold. Note to self, come back in the next life as a West Indian dude just so I can say nasty shit with a cool accent. Or better note to self, come back as a rachet black lady and that way people will take me seriously when I threaten to cut them.
Either way, I am thinking of putting this one in the sequel.
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl