the ranch story

Stop me if you've heard this one.

So this story dates back to that carefree bit of time after graduating high school but before emigrating to Portland. I was working at a restaurant called Big Bubba's Bad BBQ which is possibly more ridiculous than it sounds. For starters, it was located directly across the street from the fairgrounds, a mile or so from an army base and at the crossroads between wine tasting and Lakes Nacimiento and San Antonio. The exterior is a log cabin/ medieval battle fortress/ tree fort with a teepee-shaped bonfire out front. Inside was a mechanical bull, a goldfish pond with a bridge and a singing buffalo head. Customers could be seated in a corral or a jail cell and, oh yeah, the servers had to dance. Badly.

Let's take a little tour, shall we? Out front we have the mingling area where many a fist fight broke out. Beer plus fire plus cowboys is always going to be a rowdy time.

Here are the jail cells which I used for passive aggressively seating customers that irritated me.

 You might remember this buffalo head from "Sholeh"

And of course, the mechanical bull. 

If you want to get real deep into the setting, here is a video of the choreographed dances we had to do. This was filmed during the years that I worked there but fortunately not on a night while I was working.

Alright, we've got our setting, now on to the story!

I was working a sweaty Sunday evening in late summer which was slammed, as usual. Between waiting tables, line dancing, and giving each of the birthday tables the full Bubba's Experience™ I was losing my god damned mind. Cue the "ranch table." They were a gaggle of bloated lake rats sauntering in with flip flops, sunglasses worn backwards, and red patches across their noses and shoulders. With a second's glance, I was sure they had just parked their lifted truck out back that was no doubt towing a speedboat with those giant overhead speakers on the top rack. The women had probably shaken their bikini-clad jugs at passing boats as they blasted Nelly or Kid Rock or a horrifying combination of the two. I heaved a huge internal sigh and put on my brightest "Bubba's smile" to take care of them.

They were obnoxious right off the bat (of course). Their orders were complicated and customized and they wanted to try an assortment of the Bubba's cocktails but were too busy showing me how fun and clever they were to actually decide on which ones. I was about a half-second from punching each one of them in their stupid faces. Finally finally their orders were placed and their food was on the table. For some reason they had made this big deal about the ranch. We need ranch, but like a lot of ranch. Like if you think you're giving us too much ranch, you are probably aren't giving us enough and should give us some more. I didn't care and was too busy to give them each a bunch of tiny little ranch cups so I just filled a couple of bowls full and plopped them on the table. They wanted ranch so they got ranch.

I think they were pleased by this but I couldn't tell because they didn't eat any of the god damned ranch! I checked in on them periodically to make sure they were okay as they put half of their ribs in their mouth and half across their faces and clothes. It was honestly like a table of toddlers with the appetites of a pack of wolves. Their plates got emptier but those bowls of ranch just sat there untouched. I was pissed, but was way too busy to do anything about it.

After about an hour of this nonsense, I'm down to clearing the last plate when I ask it's owner if he'd like a to-go box for his leftovers. It takes him a moment to register my presence but once he does he gets a sharp look in his eye and asks me what happened to his ranch. I apologize and let him know that I cleared it away with the rest of the plates but I'm more than happy to get him another bowl if he needs it. NO he says dramatically as he slams down his Texas Toast It's too late, It's ruined now and I don't want it anymore. He shoves away his plate and crosses his arms in defiance. I push down my irritation and politely gather up his things to collect myself in the closet where we keep the dirty dishes. I only have to deal with them for a few more minutes and then they are out of my life forever (hopefully).

I drop by with my final task of offering dessert. I know they don't want any but it's part of my job so I ask anyway. In reality, I've mentally checked out and am waiting for the soonest possible second to drop their bill on their table and run. This is when sassy pants pipes up and asks, I don't know, do you have any dessert with ranch on it? Against all self control that I posses I felt my eyes narrow into daggers at his sloppy, sauce-covered face while his table mates tittered at his gall and the woman next to him slapped him on the arm. I quickly disappeared without a word.

Two minutes later I returned to the table the absolute picture of contrition. They turned to look at me as I all but cleared my throat for their attention while standing next to where my nemesis was stationed. I looked him in the eyes and said I felt really bad about what happened earlier with the ranch so I wanted to apologize by bringing you a free bowl of ice cream. He looked impressed as I calmly placed the bowl in front of him and smiled at everyone at the table. After a moment of hesitation he made a motion to grab the bowl. I stopped him with a hand on his wrist. But first, I said I wanted to make sure that you had plenty of ranch to enjoy it with. At that, I pulled my other hand from behind my back and used it to pour an entire cup of creamy, grade A, restaurant style ranch all over his bowl of ice cream. He was stunned. The table audibly gasped as they looked between him and me as we stared each other down. He was silent for a full five seconds. Finally, he looked me straight in the eye and asked Got a spoon? I smirked and pulled one out of my apron pocket. Without hesitation, he snatched it up and dug right in to that abomination of white, milky goodness. The table burst out into riotous laughter as he shoveled it into his mouth like a man starving.

I allowed myself a tiny smirk but was still busy off of my ass and so plopped their check on the table like I had planned to earlier and got back to the other ten tables that needed me. It wasn't until much later, when I was collecting the paid bills off of clean tables, that I finally got back to his folder to pull out a crisp twenty dollar bill and a phone number. I fell back into one of the wooden chairs and burst into a fit of hysteria as it all came back to me; his shitty attitude, the sauce-covered clothes, the look on his face when I poured that ranch all over his dessert, the way he wolfed that sucker down in a minute flat. I couldn't contain my giggles and didn't even try. That night, I taped his phone number to the wall by my full length mirror. Of course I never called him but the memory alone was usually enough to put a real smile on my face before I headed back to that crazy, ridiculous, unpredictable madhouse. Those were some trying times for me, but hey, at least it was never boring.