Laryngitis

This is an excerpt from my book: “The Bar Wench From Hell”, available at Amazon or the Barnes & Noble website:


The only time in my life when I have gotten laryngitis, and ONLY laryngitis, was on a Friday night shift. I didn’t have a cold, or the flu, or any other symptom of anything, but I lost my voice. Completely! I couldn’t utter a peep, or an ahh or an umm. There was NO SOUND!

Of course, on the plus side, the phone would ring and there was nothing I could do about it.

Overall I felt great, but it was as if someone had stolen my vocal chords. I found it a wee bit cruel that the Friday night crowd should take such delight in my tribulation. I believe that they were under the misguided influence that they could get in the last word due to vocal incapacitation. HA! (middle finger) HA!

So what do you do when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, or Veal Picatta. I had so darn much fun that night. I never realized what a wide variety if sign language I knew or could make up to fit the moment! And all those ass holes made sure the night was fuckin’ laugh after another. It was kind of them to supply me with challenges the entire night, so as to keep me on my toes, and them constantly on the verge of getting shitty drinks.

When the Friday Night Supper Club decided it was time to order, they went through the usual routine and wrote out their orders on bevnaps. Since they were some of the front runners in the “Let’s Pick on the Poor Mute Bartender Contest”, I was careful to give their written orders a little extra scrutiny Dave and Betty got their order kicked back for poor use of abbreviations. I boldly ex’d out their abbreviation of chick noo, which they use for chicken noodle soup. I told them this was not a restaurant approved abbreviation. I am the only one who has to read these homemade bevnap orders, so I let this slide for the last 6 or 7 years, but not tonight!

They tried crossing it out and writing over it, but I sent it back again with a note on the back: “Too sloppy. Can’t read. Please rewrite.

In an effort to cut down on waste, I started to save some of the notes I had written and had them neatly sitting on the back of the bar. All I had to do to make my thoughts known was to turn around and pick up the appropriate bevnap. I had “Dumb Ass” and “Eat Shit” and “You’ll pay for this later,” and the most fearful of all was a simple “Uh-huh.”