Had a blast “serving it” with my home girl, Joy, at the Mesa Arts Center the other night. We were both stylin’ and profilin’, buffed and puffed, and ready for our close-up
All was quiet on the theatrical front–that is, until a group of unattended children (I’ve been known to sell them to the highest bidder to work in factories in Third World Countries) in attendance for a production of “The Secret Garden” descended on me like a locust plague of biblical proportions.
While “Mommie Dearest” (an adult woman whom had obviously drawn the short straw and now had to wrangle a wolf pack of possessed 9-year-olds to live theater and more than likely rather be home drinking) was procuring tickets for the obviously ADHD brood, the little darlings had their paws all over my extremely organized table. My brochures were beautifully “fanned” prouder than a peacock’s tail, the black tablecloth was perfectly centered, and my signage was attractively angled for optimum viewing….but that was before the child apocalypse happened. Hey, I’m OCD people…and I have killed (or at least maimed) defilers of my handiwork…and these grubby little fingers were invading my “space”! So I popped a Valium (Prozac already on board), and decided my best defense was to deflect and redirect. I AM, after all, a Public Relations goddess!
So, in a very authoritative voice, I had them fall in line while I engaged their little developing minds in light banter on current events.
The topic I introduced for discussion was our government shutdown and what it means to them. Hilarity ensued–it was like a Girl Scout meeting gone VERY wrong with me as their “pack” leader–that is, until the “responsible” adult steered them away from me and told them not to look directly into my eyes. Sigh.
Before she twerked the little Miley wannabes away from the nice lady with candy, I had these little “Children of the Corn” at rapt attention and raising their hands to partake in our rapid-fire Q & A on the breakdown of our country and how we are all essentially, doomed. One little wascally delinquent went on record that she was against the shutdown. Another didn’t know exactly what I was talking about, but liked unicorns (lame). And another hated everything about the government. I’ll admit, I got a little “misty” with this one. I love me an anarchist in the making <insert that Whitney song here> and secretly wondered if I kept this one, if “harried mom” would even notice?
After I did my part “giving back” and formulating minds as the role model I am (Shit, I told them to stay in school, don’t do drugs, and get a job–my work was DONE!), but now, it was time to “work it” for the captive theater-goers of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.
Joy and I trolled the audience with light banter and our own form of improv. One dapper gent offered to buy raffle tickets from me if I could answer a question. Of course, I was prepared with my standard answer–“Yes, they are real!” But his ACTUAL question was if I knew who designed his tie. I did not miss a beat and said “Jerry Garcia”. Needless to say, he almost dropped his false teeth! He asked how I knew that, and I shared that one of my many ex-husbands had a little haberdashery that specialized in ties. My ex was a big, fat, lying cheating loser with great taste in ties and obviously, women (too many women…but I’m not bitter). So, needless to say, the transaction was completed–and I sold some tickets too (snicker).
I give the people what they want and they get their money’s worth with me…in New Orleans we call it “Lagniappe” (something for nothing). As I took their money, I did the “bunny dip” (reminiscent of the old Playboy Club” in Chicago, my old stomping grounds). One nice geriatric lady in a wheelchair–whom I later enlisted as my lovely assistant–like Vanna White on wheels–was most appreciative of this motion and my execution–obviously a lady of impeccably refined taste and wisdom.
All in all, a great night at the MAC…no blood was spilled and no charges filed. Winning!