A case of mistaken identities.
All _________(fill in the blank with an ethnicity distinct of yours) look the same.
One summer I was waitressing in a nearby town and moonlighting–ish as a cocktail waitress at a nightclub. I was 18 years old, finished with my first year at a women’s liberal arts college, home for the summer.
The nightclub gig was a result of my mom. She was renting retail space to a surf store who happened to own the local hotspot. LIke several cuter and older girls I was given a tray. Bartenders were supposed to take my orders and in retrospect I probably should have tipped them better although at the time I did not know any better. Perhaps that’s why I had to wait to place my order.
The manager of the bar and I did not get along. Our personalities clashed and in another lifetime the outcome would be different.
I remember being mortified when one waitress who was friendly with the manager told me my dad had called. “What?” I was shocked. In the era before cell phones our business was less private. I reasoned if my dad was looking for me, he would in theory call the nightclub – but why would he think I’d be there beyond a Saturday night? My heartbeat increased. The conversation continued until I realized that she was referring to the landlord of the nightclub. Apparently I had ousted as the landlord’s daughter, perhaps the only reason I was kept on as a once a week waitress who commanded no salary. The confusion lay as i was the daughter of the landLADY of the surf store in town.
And it was at said nightclub on a weeknight when I was merely a customer that i met a DJ of African American descent – as was a socially acceptable description of someone black.
The following week I had presumed the DJ with whom we had an amazingly fun night with a group of people walked into my restaurant one town away.