Wednesday, May 30, 2007

A waiter with adult A.D.D.

For my birthday on Saturday, I wanted to eat a good dinner and then barhop Hilton Head style. We settled on dinner at the Old Oyster Factory.

The wait for a table was 45 minutes on Saturday night so we sat in the bar area. Our waiter was a jittery guy named Chris. Love him.

You always knew what Chris liked. I asked him about the different oysters. He said he didn't have anything else to say that would add to the menu description. I asked about the Blue Point oysters. He excitedly detailed how big and juicy they were.

After we ordered, he moved us downstairs to a bigger table. I asked him about the night's dinner specials and he said "Oh yeah!" You could see the light bulb go off. He listed the specials. We asked him for more silverware. Chris dashed across the dining area so fast he flew into the glass window leading to the patio.

The Oyster Factory has steps leading from the bar area to the room where we sat. Chris jumped down the stairs like a little kid.

After dinner, I asked about desserts. Chris said, "We're not really known for dessert." (Luv him)

Our final Chris moment came at the end of the evening. My girl surprised me. The staff brought me a birthday cake and sing "Happy Birthday." (I'm still embarrassed and plotting revenge.)

Chris offered to take our picture. We handed him a camera. He pointed it at us and said 1, 2, "s---." Yep, he snapped the picture too soon. We laughed our faces off.

Turns out this was Chris first night with his own section. We weren't surprised, but judging from his demeanor, I have a feeling he's always spastic.

If you go to Hilton Head this summer and eat at the Old Oyster Factory, and you're not pressed about having a polished server ask for Chris.

Hot mamas and fun guys in Hilton Head

After dinner we headed to the plaza just outside of Sea Pines Planatation to begin my birthday night of barhopping.

After peaking into the Lodge and Brew Pub, we settled on One Hot Mama. My girl and I were walking out of One Hot Mama into the crowded plaza when I saw the empty table in the corner. I wasn't the only one who saw it. A dude and his three friends saw it as well.

The outdoor plaza was the courtyard for three bars (One Hot Mama, The Lodge and The Brew Pub) in the plaza leading to Sea Pines plantation on Hilton Head Island. Sea Pines is the happening area on the resort island known more for golf and pristine beaches than raucous partying. It was 10:30 and the plaza was starting to get packed. Speakers blasted music outside and 20- and 30-somethings filtered in as the 40-year-olds drifted out.

I didn't sprint, but I started a fast stroll to the table. The dude did the same. We arrived together. The dude looked at me, and said something like, "We got here at the same time." I smiled, and said we could share. My girl looked at me like I was crazy. Baby, there's four of them, she said. The foursome looked at each other like WT-?

I sat down and pulled up a chair for my girl. The dude said okay, and sat down as well. His friends pulled over two more chairs, and we spent the night drinking and swapping stories with Patrick, Wade, Tiffany and Laina. Patrick and Laina (a couple) were from Tennessee. They were in Hilton Head for a physical therapy workshop. Wade and Patrick went to high school together and were fraternity brothers. Wade and Tiffany, who live in Jacksonville, had dated before and were hooking back up. They came down for the night to hang out with Patrick and Laina.

Wade regaled us with tales about the men's urinal inside One Hot Mama's bar and restaurant. Apparently, there was a one-way mirror behind the urinal that gave him a view of the bar. Wade spent a lot of time in the urinal. Patrick and Laina giggled about a woman whose store-bought breasts were obviously out of place on her petite frame.

We all laughed about the black guy with the contacts that made him look like a zombie. They were all-white and made his pupils look like black slits. (But more on him later. Let's just say he said he was from New York, and unless there's a New York in Georgia, dude was lying.)

Tiffany's company is based in High Point, and she loves Charlotte. She said she visited for New Year's Eve one year and loved it. She stayed at a Hilton uptown, and was surprised to see streets were pristine on New Year's Day. She promised to stay in touch and hopes to transfer to the High Point area for work.

Patrick wanted to know about the live music scene. I told him about the type of shows that come to the our venues. He was drawn to the type of shows at the Visulite, such as Derek Trucks and Victor Wooten. I gave him information on MerleFest and told him to stay in touch.

After buying a round of lemon drop shots and toasting my birthday, we headed to Monkey Business, a dance club about a block away.

Getting into some monkey business

My final stop on my birthday night of barhopping in Hilton Head was Monkey Business.

When I asked people where to find a raucous club, everyone suggested Monkey Business.

We arrived at Monkey Business Electric Piano about 11 p.m. Inside, a man played piano and sang, and a drunk older woman stood on her chair and sang loudly. I walked through a thicket of people who ranged from Baby Boomers to one-foot-in-the-grave and headed to the bathroom. After surveying the crowd, I decided it was going to be an early night.

I snapped a few pictures and turned to catch up with my girlfriend. A man old enough to be my grandfather had snagged her near the door and was begging her to go home with him. He told her if she went home with him, he'd have a great night. He must have had a pocket full of Viagra and a defibrillator under his bed.

I howled with laughter, and thought about all of the readers who angrily dissed me about my Richard Gere column.

Outside of that Monkey Business, we noticed another club on the right tucked into the corner. Rap music blasted from speakers. It was the Monkey Business. With the exception of Mr. Contacts (read about him in other blog posts), my girl and I, and a group of Asian guys, the club was predominately white. It was smokey from fog machines, and a DJ played top 40 hip-hop. It wasn't crowded, but the vibe was fun. Large groups of friends mostly danced together, and couples watched from tables near the bar.

The club's clientele reminded me of my visit to Soho East/Daisy Dukes in the University Area. After about a half-hour, I was ready to go. Monkey Business is fine for a resort like Hilton Head, but I preferred people-watching in the courtyard area better.

Hey black guy, don't try so hard

I don't have a problem with black men who date white women. Some of my closest male friends do. Heck, my brother lives with one. But I do have a problem with black guys who act stupid to get a white girl's attention. My friends and I call it the minstrel show.

A buddy of mine loves to describe the black guy surrounded by white girls and starts doing the snake and other '80s dances. Why? Why? Why?

On Saturday, I saw a whole new act in the minstrel show. It started in the courtyard outside One Hot Mamas. As I mentioned in a previous blog, I took a picture of a black guy wearing all-white contacts. He said he was from New York, and he liked to be different. Ugh. Then Mr. Contacts started doing the footwork dance that kids in middle school here did years ago. Grown men do not do footwork.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the last of his antics. We ran into Mr. Contacts again at Monkey Business, a dance club just outside of the Sea Pines plantation. At the club, he continued his footwork clinic and kept trying to freak on groups of women. Embarrassing.

I have countless examples of black guys behaving badly to get white girls. Do white guys do the same thing to get black women or women of other ethnicities? Post your replies below.