Cara asked me to write a post about all the fun times we had at the beach. We had a blast and met a colorful cast of characters. It's too much for one post, but I'll share the highlights in a series of shorter posts. These are true stories, told to the best of my sharp-yet-beer-soaked recollection. I may improvise to fill in the gaps or paraphrase some dialogue, but this is basically what happened.
Meth Face Molly
Meth Face Molly: Hey! Back away from my man! You better watch out! You're not so hot!
Beana and Mama are stunned. Molly reaches under the bar, pulls out a stool that was previously unseen, and that Beana was unknowingly blocking, and sits down next to a guy who is young enough to be Molly's son. I'm watching in amazement, as Beana juts her head back, and Mama's eyes bug out of her head, their signature, non-verbal way of saying, "Bitch, who do you think you are?" Molly better check herself before she wrecks herself.
I'm standing back a short distance. I can observe the catfight better this way. I watch Beana and Mama, both so offended, muttering and grumbling things to each other like "That hag!" and "Who died and made her the Queen of AJ's!" I am really enjoying the show. Molly has gotten under their skin.
Mama pays for her drink and moves away from the bar. She stands behind Molly and loudly comments about "classless people". Beana pays for her drink, and as she turns to walk away, she endures one final insult from Molly: "It's a shame you can't get a man to buy your drinks for you!" Beana glares at her, her jaw dropped in disgust as though Patty spit on her shoes. She struts off, furious. Now it's my turn to face Molly's wrath.
Me: [smiling at the bartender] Redbull and vodka, please.
Bartender: Eight dollars
I hand a $10 bill to the bartender
Molly: It's a shame you can't get a man to buy your drink.
Me: [calmly smiling] My husband buys my drinks, thank you.
Molly: [stammering] Oh, yeah? Yeah, well, my--my husband buys my drinks too!
Me: [grinning] It's nice, isn't it?
Molly: Yeah. Sure is. I'd buy you a drink.
Me: What a sweet thing to say!
Molly: You're a sweetheart, not like these other bitches [points at Mama and Beana, still shocked by Molly's continued verbal assault.]
Molly: Especially this one [points at Beana, who gasps]
Molly and I both glance at Beana, then Molly and I lock eyes with one another
Me: [straight-faced and deadly serious] She better recognize.
Molly stares at me intently. She's trying to decide if I'm serious or if I'm mocking her. We're now in a staring contest. Molly decides that I'm sincere. I'm on Molly's side.
Molly: Yeah! She will if she knows what's good for her!
Me: I'll keep an eye on her. You have a good night.
Molly: Thanks, hon, you too.
Mama, Beana, and I walk off.
Me: She looked like a day shift hooker, no?
Mama: We almost got our asses beat by that meth face, and Freaky makes friends with her!
Beana: Yeah, what the eff is that about, Freaky?
Me: I just saved us all from getting our asses beat. You have to follow the rules for managing belligerent drunks: fully agree with everything they say, maintain eye contact, and match their intensity level.
Beana: How do you know that?
Me: Everybody knows that.