"Does everybody at the bar have a full drink in front of them?" my manager asked hurridly - her eyes bulging, her face the shade of red that I reconize after a year of working with her could only mean her blood pressure had hit the ding-ding and heads were gonna roll.

"I hope so," I said cautiously, wondering what the hell I had gone and done this time.

The manager glanced around the bar quickly and then barked, "Well then come outside with me for a minute.  Fast.  Now."  

Oh great.  Now what was she snarfing about? 

As I half-walked, half-skipped struggling to keep up with the manager's hurried steps toward the patio, I began to mentally prepare myself for the corporte bullshit lecture that was surely seconds away from being squished in my face.  In preperation, I evoked the STFU area of my brain before I said something I DID mean, knowing that I have had experiences in the past of clenching my butt cheeks together after hearing the words "guest experience."  

Apparently beknownst only to my manager, we had made it to our destination because she suddenly stopped and whirrled around on a dime, but I was still coming full speed with my head hung in guilty-conscienced shame  and we totally almost face-planted.

Awkwarrrrrrd.

"Ok Amber.  I want you to look next door at our rival restaurant's patio and I want you to tell me what you see.  Go ahead and take a minute, drink it all in.  I'll let you think about your answer, and when you have one...let me have it."

"Oh I'd like to let you have it alright," I thought, my anger at being quizzed in the middle of a busy happy hour rising inside of me like a live volcano, wondering where I had gone so wrong in my life that I was there at that moment looking for an acceptable answer to something I couldn't give a truckload of manure about.   

"Well," I sighed, "let's see.  There's a lot of people over there, which of course makes me wonder why there isn't a single soul on our patio."

"Yes.  Good.  Aaand?" She probed...leaning in a little closer beside me, shifting my gaze toward the right. 

"Um...I don't know.  I guess the atmopshere of the (clench) guest experience must be higher than...wait a minute.  What's that? What's...OH MY DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN IS THAT A.....????"

My manager started roaring with laughter as my eyes adjusted to a large hispanic lady sat with her back directly towards us...with her pants sagging all the way down past her butt cheeks and exposing her entire dimpled ass as she sat enjoying her Tex-Mex spring rolls with a group of friends.  It was huge and at first I wasn't sure what I was seeing.  It was as if her ass crack went half way up her back.  It was a huge brown ass staring us right in the face and saying hello and there was no way of denying it. 

"BWAH-HA-HA-HA!  Oh Amber!  You should have seen your face," the manager squealed, tears streaming town her face as she doubled over slapping her knees and gasping for air, signaling for me to give her a minute. 

"The hostess noticed her when she took a curb-side order to a car and I had to (Wheeeeze) show you.  BWAH-Ha-HAAAAA!  (SNORT!)"
 
"Oh my GOD!" I screeched, then immediatly clamped a hand over my mouth so the bare-butted big ass wouldn't be any the wiser that we were gawking at her curiously looooong butt-crack.  "That thing must go on for miles!" I mused, starting to giggle uncontrollably.

"It's a FUUUUULLL moon out tonight!  High-five, right here!" My manager cracked as she raised her palm.

"It looks like Paul Bunyun's catchers mitt!  Woah-WEE-woah!" I cackled as I went to smack her hand and missed, making us both pee our pants a little.   

I'm terrible at high-fives 

I swear to all of you that this lady's entire ass was hanging out of the back of her pants, and it was by no means a pleasant sight because it was dimpled and crinkled and doughy and rollie.

"There is no freaking way she doesnt realize she is exposing her entire ass and butt line, as there is such a thing called A BREEZE" I gasped, wiping my smeared mascara from my eyes in an attempt to compose myself before returing to work.

"Maybe she thinks she's sexy," added my manager, waving her hands in front of her eyes to dry her tears. 

"But Amber...Amber.  You have to do me a favor.  You cannot tell anyone at the bar.  The last thing I need is a parade of drunken half-wits whooping it up out here and making us look bad," as she waggled her finger in my face.  "Just...just forget you ever...SNORT....saw anything, OK?  Hrrrmmmmmmph!"

Pshaw...this is me you're talking about here.  If I see or hear about anything funny, I write it for the entire Internet to see.

Before you knew it, it was like a clown car let out, as people poured out the door to witness the spectacle that they were suuuure I was making up.  

I don't make this shit up.  This is seriously my life.