Drunks & Toothless Canadians (pt.2)

The springy haired woman is correcting the drunk over something I have missed.  It turns out the drunk is saying she wants to go dancing at the Cuba Fest in the main square. ‘Listen that is Cuban music” she says pointing her finger in the air. She is wrong.  What she hears is the corny ‘Best of Dave Brubeck’ that the restaurant has been playing.  I keep eating and don’t bother correcting her.  The springy haired lady is complaining of her lack of sleep.  On a sad note, she admits that today is the fourth anniversary of her husband’s death.  The drunk tries to debunk the validity, but the woman with man hands reaches over, places her hand on the drunks and sternly says, “No. It is four years to this very day” and she settles the argument with that.  She raises her eyes and looks at us, and apologizes for her tiredness.  Tonya expresses sympathy to her and then we get a surprise.  “It’s not that.  I just have some horrible renters that I want to get rid of.  They are keeping me up all night.  I can’t get any peace with them here” she says. 

“Oh, they’re horrible people” the drunk adds.

“Have they been with you long? Tonya asks. “No, just a few days.  They are from Canada and they should not be here.  They signed on for two weeks and I don’t think I can take it.  I have to find a way to get them out of my house” the springy haired lady says.  Tonya asks the obvious question; what are they doing or what have they done that is so awful.  The two ladies look at one another and burst out laughing.  Perhaps it is an inside joke that we were not meant to get.  They are laughing so hard that it is hard to understand them; all I get is something about “teeth”. 

The springy haired lady gets her composure back and says, ‘Look.  They just shouldn’t be here.  One of the women is like 250 pounds.  It is not that they are bad, they are just relentless.  The first thing the fat lady says when she arrives at my house is, ‘Where’s the safe?’  I looked at her and said, ‘What do you mean ‘the safe’?  I tell her that I don’t have a safe, but I keep valuables in a locked dresser and that I will happily put her valuables in there if she needs me too” She smiles as she relays all of this.  She raises her hand as if to halt us from saying anything, and she cocks her head, “What valuables do you have?”  The drunk knows the punch line, so she starts laughing. “I have my driver’s license, my passport and my teeth”.  As if on cue, we all start laughing.  “The next morning the fat lady comes down and says, ‘It’s OK.  I solved my problem.  I put all my valuables on top of the wardrobe.  It is too high for anyone to look there,’ she tells as she shakes her head.  She holds up a finger and adds; ‘Now I am worried that one of them is going to die.  I don’t want them to hurt themselves on my property.  I can’t afford a lawsuit.  That wardrobe is very tall.  This is a very fat lady.  She is putting her things up there and standing on old wooden, wobbly chairs to do so.  I just know she is going to fall and hurt herself!”

I ask how old these women are.  One is in her 70’s and the other in her early 60’s.  According to the springy haired lady, one of the women sits on the porch and smokes over 2 packs a day while the more agile Canadian wonders the town. “It’s just not good.  I do not understand why they are here.  It makes no sense.  I know one of them is going to die while she is here.  I have to figure out a way to get them back to Canada.  The one…the poor thing that sits on the porch and smokes, she can’t eat!  All she does is drink water, and it drives me crazy!”

I am curious, and not quite following the story, “What do you mean she can’t eat?”

The two women burst out laughing again.  In perfect unison they yell out, “She left her teeth in Montreal!”  Tonya shakes her head and utters a simple, “Poor thing”.  The drunk beams as she adds, “I know there is a song in there some where!”  As she starts to sing the springy haired woman reaches over and pats her hands to quell the episode, and she continues to tell of how she has been babysitting the women non stop since they arrived.  “As soon as they got here and unpacked, they realized they left the one woman’s teeth behind.  All she does is smoke and drink water.  My maid tried to make her a three day supply of soup, but she will not eat it.  I told the women that I have triple filtered water in the house, but if need be, I would get them a big 20 liter container of water they could keep in their room during their stay.  They said it was ok, and no need to worry.  The second day they were here, at 6 in the morning I hear a scratching at my door.  I could not believe it.  My lover was there with me and he looks at me and asks, ‘What is that?  Is there some sort of animal in here!?’  I had no idea what it was.  It just kept scratching.  I got out of bed and went to my bedroom door to see what it was.  I slowly opened it to see the fat woman standing there saying she was thirsty, and would like for me to get her some water as promised. Oh my!  I could not believe it!”  The springy hair just shakes form side to side.  This is unbelievable.

“I can’t believe this!  They should not be here!  Now I have these two old Canadians who have paid for two more weeks of vacation-but one of them is going to die!  What is she going to do without eating for two more weeks?!  The other one can’t go buy her food or soup, because she had a breakdown and started having a panic attack while trying to find them food in the grocery store.  I can’t go do their shopping for them too!  They just have no business being here-but I can’t let them stay and have the toothless woman die in my house!”

I like the springy haired lady with the man hands.  She is funny, she is polite and she is partial Texan.  She says she likes us too.  She says she wants us to be in contact with her because she thinks we will like her friends who are coming to visit soon. “I just know you all will get along!”  She grabs a napkin and rips off a piece like a cheap floozy does when she wants to pass her number around.  She writes her name and number down and says we must call her and come visit.  She lives up in the hills, but says dinner together would be fun.  We say we will visit for sure.  The drunk grabs the ripped napkin and rips off a very small piece and scrawls down her info as well.  I have no idea what she said because by now it is all slurred.  She waves at the waiter to come over and as he approaches she says, “You’re South African!” as if this is a great revelation.  He just tries to get them all paid up and out of his hair.

The two older ladies finally get their money squared away.  The springy haired lady says she will not be going to dance in the Cuban Fest in the square.  They say how nice it was that we joined them at their table.  We partially agree, and again get invitations to visit both of them.  We say goodbye and they leave out under the stone archway into the night. Whew! Glad that’s over. “My salad was horrible” Tonya mutters. I look at her and say, “Well yeah, what kind of salad is cubed mango on top of sliced tomato anyway?”  “It was supposed to have pesto and all sorts of stuff on it.  Not at all what they brought out, I should have sent it back.  Now I am hungry” she grumbles.  What do you expect from a place called Mandingos’?  The waiter is no where to be seen.  I do not want to sit here all night waiting on him either.  We have had our fill and are ready to go.  I decide to get up and start searching for the supposed South African.

I walk in to a little bar in front of the restaurant.  A group of older Americans are walking out.  They smile and say ‘hello’. I peer in and there is the lanky waiter behind the bar.  He is wearing a hat now.  He is talking to two young ladies at the two-seater bar.  One of the young women is the leggy, braless one who was instructed to go into the men’s room.  I completely understand why service sucks tonight; the waiter thinks he is going to score with one of these two younger women, and I know exactly which one he thinks he is getting too.  I walk in and up to the bar.  The two girls stop talking.  I have totally just poured down on their little party.  I ask to pay up.  I want out of here.  The waiter fumbles for change and knocks over a stack of tickets.  He knows that I know what he’s trying to do.  He hands me my change almost as if embarrassed.  He should be. 

Drunks & Toothless Canadians (pt.1)

Back amongst the greyhairs, one has to be on their guard.  At times, this can prove difficult, especially when tired and hungry.  One of the few places we know and trust here is out of pizza (?!), so we have to forge on to a secondary choice which we had received a second nod of approval on just earlier this very evening.  As we do our about face, I am muttering not such nice words while walking down the cobble stone street. “Mandingo?  What kind of pizza could possibly be served up in a place called ‘Mandingos’?”  In a country where nearly anything goes, it is obvious that this applies to any sort of business too.  No thought in correlating names and goods, just call it something and serve something.

We walk in to Mandingos into an open courtyard with only two couples occupying a few of the tables.  It is quiet, and from the looks of it, terribly slow (or, unpopular).  We stand and look around and aside form the four patrons visible, there does not appear to actually be anyone working in this place.  My patience is already threadbare, so I walk over to peer inside the kitchen. Nothing but dirty pizza pans.  I walk back and tell Tonya that I don’t see anyone.

“Hey!  Come sit with us!  Have some pizza,” a voice says from a dark corner.  We look to the table of two grey hairs and their pizzas; one is raising their hand as if we were trying to spot them amongst a huge crowd.  I smile one of those polite, forced grins and give a gesture of ‘thanks but no thanks’.  “Here, have some pizza!” the voice bellows out.  Now, instead of a waving hand it is a hand held high with a piece of artichoke and olive pizza. “We won’t eat all of this.  You two come site with us!”  I shoot the death ray glare to Tonya, but she brushes it off and smiles and happily approaches the table of older women, and like a seal trained to fetch a cold fish, she reaches out for the piece of pizza and pulls up a chair.  Now we are in for it.  I put another forced smile on my face and pull up a chair.  Me?  I get lucky and sit next to the drunk one who is pushy and obnoxious.

The woman to my left is drunk.  She can barely keep her head out of her hands, except for when she is trying to hand us pizza. “Here, I won’t eat it all…you have some”.  The constant offering of artichoke pizza is getting on my nerves.  I decline once again, politely. The woman opposite me has a head full of springy, flowing grey hair and a big smile. “It’s so nice to see someone here without grey hair” and she laughs nudging the other drunk who bobs her head in accordance. “Hi!  It’s nice to meet you, what are y’alls names?” She says with a smile.  I turn my attention to the springy haired woman with manly hands and start in on an introduction.

“Have a piece of pizza” the drunken lady says, putting a piece right in front of me.  I decline again. ‘No thank you.  I am going to order a fresh one for myself.  Thank you though.” 

“Why won’t you eat my pizza?” she says annoyed.  Her eyes are barely open, and I don’t even understand how she can see me. “I don’t like olives…and I don’t like artichokes, that’s why”

“Why don’t you like artichokes?” she says.  She points at the artichokes and then her head wobbles to the side, “Look you can take off the olives…” and she starts to remove them.  I want this to end, so I grab the piece from her to save those fingers from going all over this thing and then being handed to me.  I will save us both the agony, I will sacrifice and I will eat a piece of the drunk’s pizza.  I smile and take a bite.  “Is the service always this sh*tty here or is it just a bad night?” I ask without hesitation.

“Oh…you have not ordered yet?” asks the drunk.  Suddenly she looks around, and then clumsily pushes her chair out, “Oh, that is horrible.  I will get someone here so you can order” and she gets up and wonders around the courtyard and peeps into the kitchen.  As she totters around the courtyard, a lanky man comes walking out and I wave at him, and ask for a menu.  It will still be a few minutes before he makes it over.  In the meantime, we continue on with our polite introductions and brief tale of how we ended up here.

As one would have guessed, the springy haired lady with the man hands is an ‘artist’.  Likewise, the drunk is an artist.  She says she has taught art for over 25 years.  I hope she did so in a sober state.  Perhaps it was all this art talk which actually drove her to drink.  The springy haired lady does a good job at trying to keep the drunk in line.  She corrects her, she reminds her and she politely chides her.  She keeps smiling at Tonya and me, as if to say ‘You know I have my hands full’.  Our smiles back let her know we understand the chore she is undertaking.  The waiter shows up and hands us two small laminated menus.  He quickly disappears.  I fret that this may be an all-nighter trying to get some dinner and getting sucked into a drunken folly with these ladies.  I make up my mind in moments as to what I want.  Now if the waiter would ever return…

As we are chatting about life here, the slender waiter returns. “He’s from South Africa!” the drunk with the bobbling head proclaims.  I smile.  I don’t like South Africans.  If he truly is from there, his crappy service is yet another reason to add to my ongoing list of why I dislike South Africans.  Tonya and I order immediately.  I don’t want any more time wasted.  ‘I’m sorry, but we are out of wine.  We only have beers, would you like a beer?”  He asks politely.  Odd.  He doesn’t sound like a South African.  “Ok, sure” and Tonya agrees as well.  He’s off and we are back to dealing with the drunk.  A young hot thing walks passed the table.  She’s braless, she has long slender legs and the cool night air works wonders with her choice of dress.  She too, appears to have been boozing, as she trips back towards our table, “Do you know where the restroom is?” she asks.  The drunk flings her arm back and burps out, “There-behind you!”  She points the girl to the men’s room. “You just pointed her to the wrong restroom” I say to the drunk. “Wha…?  I showed her the restroom…”she slurs back.  No need to get into semantics.  I smile and try to pay attention to the springy haired lady and her conversation. She obviously took notice of the young hot thing too, and says, “Isn’t it nice when women are at that age when they realize the power they have with their bodies and flaunts it to their advantage?  Did you see her long, sexy legs? Wow, she was in full control” Perhaps, but she just locked herself in the men’s room thanks to the misleading drunk.

The other couple at the table beside us gets up and starts to leave. “Good night!  Ya’ll have a great evening!” yells out the drunk next to me.  Yes, this lady with the small chubby face and slits for eyes sitting next to me is truly annoying.  I think that couple thought the same, as they grimaced as they glanced back to the drunken hostess and said not a single word.  The old man just stands and pulls out a small flashlight and shines it on the check.

The pizza arrives!  It looks great.  Goat’s cheese, cherry tomatoes and arugula on a nice thick round wooden platter.  The waiter sets it down in front of me.  I am hungry and can’t wait to eat.  Tonya gets a ‘salad’ which is a ring of tomatoes and some orange chunks on top of it, and a few pieces of basil.  “What’s that?” I ask.  She replies back the fancy name the salad has been given. “No, what’s that?” I say pointing to the orange squares on the tomatoes. “Mango”. “Does mango go with tomato and basil?”  Her salad looks like a disaster.  Taking a bite of my pizza, I realize that I made a great call.  For a joint called ‘Mandingos’’, it is surprisingly good pizza.  The waiter suddenly materializes out of thin air at my side.  He’s holding a wine bottle in his hands and two champagne glasses. “I know I told you we were out of wine, but I just found this fantastic Malbec which I think you will like very much. Would you like to try?  It will be nice with your dinner.  You do not have to take the wine now if you do not want it, you can still have the beer” he says.  I look at Tonya and she immediately says, ‘Yes, the wine is fine”. “I know you will like it” he reassures us as he pours it into the wrong glasses.  I take a sip and it tastes good.  I just wonder how much he will hit us up for this suddenly uncovered gem when it comes time to pay. I shant be a party pooper, so I keep my mouth shut and get on with my pizza eating.

...to be continued