I don’t know if I have posted this one beofore. If I have- enjoy again.
If I have not- eat it up.
I have seen famous singers, 80’s rock bands, and circ de solei performances. I have seen firework displays, naked women painted gold (sick), and live art painted on stage. The entertainment at the parties I am working always doubles as my entertainment for the evening, and that is one perk of being a Palm Beach waitress. However, no entertainment act excites me more when they bring in the … traditional Japanese drummers.
Boom ba da boom boom boom ba da boom.
Can you hear them now? Probably not, and you probably think I am a dork for trying to write out their deep, soul vibrating sounds, but just go with it.
It is called taiko drumming, and is truly amazing.
They fill the stage with huge drums, and of course a massive gong. The drummers all dress in traditional Japanese clothing, but sometimes I wonder if they are just wearing a bathrobe from target. The taiko group comes to the hotel all the time, basically whenever someone orders a lot of sushi for a reception they feel it is appropriate to have such drumming played in the background. I have no complaints.
Most of the drummers are Japanese, but there always is the one little blond girl that always leaves me wondering how she got involved in such an extracurricular activity? And also leaves me jealous because instead of beating out all of life’s frustrations on a massive drum while wearing pajamas, I am standing in one spot for four hours offering champagne that I am not allowed to drink.
But yet, the best part of the drumming ceremony is not the blond girl, nor the loud deafening beats. The best part is the Samurai warrior that comes free of charge with every performance.
A man, a random, strange man dresses in traditional Samurai garb lurks through the ballroom, massive sword and all, in complete stealth.
He has a helmet that flaps over his ears, and a fu man chu moustache that resembles Hulk Hogan’s, but of course not platinum blond, rather it’s black and much more stringy. His thick armor hangs over his shoulders and around his waist. The best part, he even wears those ninja turtle toe type socks that they wear in Japan with those weird wooden flip flop shoes. Amazing oh ninja turtle sock man, you look absolutely amazing.
Now this warrior takes his job very seriously, coming up to you and staring you straight in the eye, holding his sword up like he is about to cut your arm off, and his lips quivering in anger. Hopefully the anger part is acting, and not his true pent up aggression towards his job, because he is holding a weapon, and things could get feisty.
Anways, with the Samari warrior in our midst I knew tonight was going to be a lovely evening. The guest start to pour in, and the sushi is flying off the plates, and a couple conveniently into my mouth behind the closed doors of the kitchen. Oops. The room is abuzz with excitement, chatter, and Palm Beach gossip.
About a half hour into the reception the drummers take their places, and begin their rhythmic banging, the beats vibrating the glasses I was carrying on my silver tray.
One particular woman in attendance at this party had already taken about 5 of my champagnes I had been assigned to pass out for the evening. Her lips were bigger than Goldie Hawn’s, and her hair a few shades lighter blonde. The skin on her face was stretched so tight it looked like the casing of a hot dog. Her dress was a floor length yellow number, that had more rhinestones than my high school dance costumes. The woman was Palm Beach fierce. She was talking so loud out of her fat hot pink painted lips, I could almost hear her clearly over the loud drumming. She was making huge motions with her arms, a little of her champagne spilling out of her glass with each syllable. She seemed oblivious to everything else except the little crowd she was entertaining with her stories and loud laughter.
The Samurai warrior suddenly appears next to me.
“Hello!” I say to him, in a very friendly tone, having seen him at several parties before. He looks at me and grunts. Man this guy never breaks character.
He too has spotted the bright yellow canary Palm Beacher chirping in the middle of the crowd. He studies her for a minute as if planning a war strategy of attack. His hand slowly and steadily reaches for his machete like sword, his eyes never leaving the woman in the annoying yellow dress.
He rears up his sword back over his shoulder, putting it at the perfect angle to decapitate someone at any moment. I am frightened.
The samurai begins his quiet slow steps over to toward the loud woman, each ninja turtle foot gingerly placed in front of the other with careful precision. This man, was on a mission.
The warrior gets within inches of the loud woman, her back turned to him she is completely unaware of the man with a nasty fo man chu breathing down her neck. His slow, deep careful breaths slightly flutter the woman’s massive diamond chandelier earrings.
People in her group obviously see the man behind the loud woman, but ignore him, most likely as curious as I was about what he was about to do.
The warrior puts his face up right behind the woman’s ear, lifts his sword over his head and lets out a loud, frightening war cry.
“RAAAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAH,” is how I can best dictate to you the ridiculous growl that escaped past his lips. Sound it out.
The loud yellow dress Palm Beacher screams bloody murder, her champagne glass flies up into the air, the sticky liquid raining down 8 nearby guest.
She whips around as fast as lighting, and is face to face with samurai attacker, his sword still drawn, and she faints.
Yes, she faints.
She is flat on the floor, in a puddle of champagne and embarrassment.
The warrior lowers his arms, looks around with his sly samurai eyes, puts his sword back in position, and takes his careful steps away out of the ballroom, never breaking character, never speaking a word.
I now realize why this man does what he does.
He must love his job.