A little secret, my hubby knows I have a big mouth. After almost 30 years together, we have no secrets. Sad to admit, nothing is secret around me. Anything that is fit to be shared, I will talk about to almost anyone. So why are people so eager to try to throw me under the bus when Joey’s around. I have no clue. I manage to get myself in enough trouble, I do not need any outside help.
Joey and I met working together in a pizzeria, back when I had absolutely no sensors or boundaries. I married him because he is such a pretty man, not to mention, a very charismatic soul. With that said, why would anyone think either of us would be any different now? Just because I married him, and changed my last name, all those years ago, doesn’t mean it altered my personality. Once a Chatty Cathy always a Chatty Cathy. It’s the price I pay to be a “doll.”
Thank goodness my Joey loves me enough to deal with all my personalities, and although he does wish I came with a mute button, he swears he would only use it once in a while.
Oddly, my very first, “Wow, Joey is your husband?!” moment, involved a cater we worked together for my sister, Vivi.
At the time, she was the catering manager for a high end catering company, and at the last minute, she needed a server and a bartender for a ladies’ luncheon in a private home in a nearby exclusive, Orlando community. We were to serve lunch from her immaculate four car garage, using her personal china, Sterling Silver and cloth napkins. Joe was to prepare and serve mimosas for the 30 gals inside during their “mingle time.”
It was easy, quick cash, and we were promised a killer tip, because my sister had done several events for Miss Donna before, both in her home and at chosen venues. Not only did she always use the company, but she also always requested Vivi.
Anyways, the party lasts about two hours, not counting the two hour set up time we spend getting everything arranged in the garage and her dining area, but we knew it would be at least another hour or so at best afterwards, to clean everything up, and get all our equipment back on the van and then back to the shop to unload it. Joey just had to clean up his bar area and carry out the garbage. Everything else would already be organized and back in the van before they even had coffee and dessert.
That day, we were both a little anxious to get home as quickly as possible, because it was also our 1st time leaving our toddler with my other sister, Melinda. We decided “the sistas” would get it done, so Joey could leave early. Good thing, too. Had he been there to personally receive his TIP from Miss Barbara (One of the guests and Miss Donna’s BFF) I would have probably had to be physically removed from the property, and I would have ruined a lucrative thing for Vivi. Because despite missing all my polite references to him being mine throughout the day, she still had the nerve to ask, after she searched the grounds looking for JOEY and did not find him anywhere, “Did anybody see my bartender, I wanted to give him a little something for making this day so pleasant,” with a $100 bill in her hand.
To which I finally snapped and said, “Oh no, Joey left already. He had to go pick up our daughter from the sitter.”
To which she replied, with a dumb founded look on her – my husband is a million dollar plastic surgeon’s – face, “Wow! Joey’s your husband.”
“Yup,” my big sista chimed in as she took the $100 bill from her fingers and said, “We’ll make sure he gets it.”
“Thanks,” I said with a smirk as she handed the money off to me.
Yet, even that’s nothing compared to my favorite WOW Joey is your husband moment, which would have to be with Mama Jo and (the late) Chuckles. Over 20 years ago, I made friends with an older biker couple who used to frequent the diner I worked at. At the time they were in their mid-70s, and they were the coolest couple I had ever met. They would come in weekly for breakfast, and they always requested my section. They rode Harleys and owned really nice, expensive “toys.” We loved to share stories about their adventures and my long bucket list of wishes. At the time, they had been happily married for over 50 years, and I was in my mid-30s. I took advantage of any and all marital advice they would offer, and I would use them as my weekly counseling session, venting all kinds of personal – husband-and-wife – issues. They found my tales amusing, but I’m sure my hubby, who I constantly referred to as my knucklehead, would have probably found them unnecessary. Yet, I believe they grace my section for a couple of years, before I learned who they really were in regards to my household.
Back then, my husband sold motorcycles at a nearby Harley dealer by day, and managed a local bar at night. So it was rare for him to be out and about with me and our girls. But that evening was an exception, and we were taking advantage of it. We decided to go to the local Street Festival going on in our town. We were having a blast. Joey bought us cotton candy and boiled peanuts. The girls had their faces painted, and they played in the bounce house. And then, all of a sudden, as we were walking down the cobblestone path I heard someone shout, “Hey Lisa!”
I turned around to see who was calling me, and there was Mama Jo and Chuckles. They said they’re quick hellos to my girls, who they had met before at outings like today, and as I went to introduce them to my husband, Mama Jo screamed out, “Oh my goodness our Joe is your knucklehead?!”
“You know my Joe?” I asked with a sheepish smirk, trying to quickly recall all the crap I had ever shared with them about him.
“Yep,” Chuckles interrupted. “He’s been my buddy up at the Harley shop since he sold me the first bike 3 years ago,” he said grinning like the cat that just ate the canary.
“Really?!” I asked as all kinds of conversations started to criss cross among us.
“Crazy!” Mama Jo said with a grin. “Who would have known?”
Another, crazy wow moment was at the diner with the local fire chief. Chief was another one of my regulars that I loved to mess with. Not only because I have a thing for men in uniform, but because he liked to mess with me too. It was a Sunday and the back room at the diner was filled with firemen that I just finished waiting on. As they were exiting, my husband stopped in for a quick breakfast on his way to work. Oddly, as Chief walked toward the exit my husband approached at the same time, and just before I could say, “Hi honey,” Chief interrupted and said, “Hey Joe you coming in to eat? Try not to sit in this one’s section,” he continues, while pointing his finger at me. “This one’s crazy and she never stops talking,” he added with a giggle, just before my husband smiles and answers, “I see you’ve met my wife!?”
After we all exchanged some puzzling looks, I walked away to let my gentlemen continue to catch up on their own. But, not before my husband quickly added with a smirk, “If flirting was illegal we’d both be serving life sentences.”
Instead, combined, we share over 80-years experience in the hospitality industry, and we probably will spend the rest of our lives serving something to someone. It’s just what we do.
Don’t forget, if you’re looking for some extra giggles this St. Patrick’s Day, stop by the pink tent at Billy’s Cafe at 3:30 p.m. I promise I’ll be spreading the laughter.
Columnist Lisa DeMarco is the chatty waitress at Billy’s Cafe.
