Friday, April 20, 2012

The Disney Zumba Castle
Once upon a time there was a gala dinner for Olympia Club and Cinder-(K)-ella had only twenty minutes to change so her magical fairy-stylist (T) picked out her clothes and did her hair and her coachman/prince of a husband (F) whisked her off to the middle of nowhere.

I'm still hungover from pizza-opoli!

All of the sudden F and I see these looming four towers and we knew that, despite our crappy navigator from the Esselunga supermarket, we had arrived. F who was not about to pay thirty euro for a fish dinner on a school night went back home and left me in the competent care of Roberto the parking attendant who took me around the massive mud puddles two city blocks from the parking lot to the castle called the Villa Quattro Torri. It looked just like when I was six years old and we went to Disney land in Florida and I saw Cinderella's Castle for the first time, complete with the pink and purple lights. I had to fill out a membership card to even get into the place and my boss Elena was sitting at a long table out front with a bunch of frazzled staff people to facilitate that process. Her greeting was "Come here." Next she had someone else hand me a card. Then I was on my own.

I got inside and found my name card on a long table. I was going to sit next the gentleman from my class and his wife. This was great because it is like pulling teeth to get anyone else at this gym to talk to me. It turns out that they speak Dutch and English and Italian and she is Indian, but he speaks French, German, Spanish, Portuguese and I am just going to call him 007. They are buying their daughter an agriturismo and they need a website and a private masseuse! The wife takes Bollywood and belly dancing with T's friend's mother from Ireland. Anyway, the dinner and the service were just crap and 007 was none too pleased about it. It took three hours for them to serve three courses. Mine which was the first time they had ever been asked for a vegetarian plate were all basically zucchini. The people who were to have the usual fish dinner got served last. A few people who ordered meat at this fish restaurant got served a cruise ship sized endless buffet bowl of meats and everyone else waited forever for their handful of shrimp and slimy cold french fries. When we ran out of wine and they tried to charge 007 fourteen euros for a two euro bottle  he got steamed up and many frantic and defensive employees were called over. Eventually one free bottle showed up, but it was too late. A man at the table behind us got so angry that he took his work boots and stood up and literally walked across the white table cloth of his table and our table to go attack the manager, leaving nothing but muddy footprints behind him.

Double O 7's wife and I went upstairs to check out the disco and the bathrooms. While we were in there the lights went out. The disco was like a middle school dance situation but smaller and it smelled like cat pee. I knew I had little time to make an impression on this gym where I am destined to get fired because all of the good time slots are already filled and I never make the kind of numbers they like to see anymore. There was the usual House music cranking and no one on the red carpet covered dance floor with the flashing fairy lights. Well, I can't even count how many times in my life I have been the first to dance so 007's wife  and I cut to to center stage. What we didn't know is that the Zumba teacher and her class were waiting to come out to put on an exhibition. So we were moved out of the way by one of the many bodyguard guys that work out this glorified fish and chips stand. Not for nothing that they had a ton of bouncer guys, I saw at least four ugly confrontations and in the end even 007 was escorted out of the joint by these goons. My boss Elena briefly stepped on the stage to conduct the raffle lottery and after the Zumba teacher got to pick a winning ticket for a jubilant client, she pulled me up on stage and I got to pull a winning ticket out of her fish bowl. Sadly, my pick was a no show and so it was less of a joyful moment.

So after the Zumba performance there was a dance circle of Zumba people and I jumped in and learned four routines in less than four seconds and then free syled in the center having mini dance offs with the various teenage girls and one of their fake breakdancing boyfriends and the Zumba teacher who never did once look me in the eyes. Then I realized I had lost 007's wife and she was signaling that it was time for us to go because the clock had struck 1AM (the fashionably late Italian midnight )and things were about to go pumpkin raggy barefoot on my toned little ass. We held on to each other as we stamped through the mud puddles to reach parking zone five where a fuming 007 was muttering in seven languages. I apologized to them for encouraging them to come to this lousy dinner, but before I had exited the car I was invited to a dinner at their estate on Saturday night with my family.  He is coming to class today to give me the details. And the moral of this story is that you should not wear glass slippers to a muddy castle on a Thursday night in April in Coselli and that even the trashiest hip hop girl from New York can cut a rug with the Italian aristocracy if she dares.

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