Flavor-Flav and Captain Underpants

Friday night – all is quiet.

Well, at least as quiet as it gets here on a Friday, one of our busiest days.

So I’m bopping around doing my awesome FloorMan shtick-helping customers stand upright, helping the girls doff and don their costumes (one of my more intriguing jobs) and generally making sure everyone plays nice in FantasyLand.

So in walks – or, to be more precise, bops – a pair of yahoos that I immediately labeled Flavor-Flav and Captain Underpants. Flavor-Flav looked a lot like this:

Flavor-Flav

Yep, without the high-tech timepiece, that was him!

Captain Underpants, on the other hand, was a perfect companion: he rocked the “Pants-Down-To-The-Knees” look:

captain-underpants-2

Yeah, like that …

They came in with Flav dancing maniacally to some unheard tune and the Captain skulking and posing and throwing what seemed to be the Sesame Street version of gang signs. I watched for a while as they got progressively more cooked on regular draft beer, to the point where they knocked over a trash can (without bothering to pick it up again), spilled their beers three times and finally committed a VERY bad no-no: touching a dancer inappropriately.

Just as I was gearing up to quickly escort them out, the manager-of-the-night came over and began his negotiations. Now, this manager is well-known for his lackadaisical attitude toward work, but more germane to this story he is known as a pushover. He bargained with these two drunk, stoned dudes for 10 minutes while I stood by in “Ready Mode”.

Finally, I suppose in a gesture of ultimate coolness and toughness, Flav parks his butt on a stool and refuses to budge. He even had the balls to try to grab a dancer’s wrist as she walked by. That’s what set me off. I delivered a sharp downward parry to his forearm, then slid up next to him and whispered in his ear “In three seconds, either you or this stool is going to end up on the floor”. He slowly stood up and moved the stool between us.

Wrong move.

I flipped the stool behind me and came up in his face growling. His friend, the good Captain, must have sobered up quickly when he saw this because he spent his remaining energy trying to pull Flav out the door. After further negotiations from the manager – oy! – they walked/stumbled through the door to their waiting cab.

Funniest part – when I came back in I received a round of applause from both dancers and customers and was offered WAY too many complimentary drinks.

What a life – I wouldn’t trade it for anything!

flavor flav

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