#honestly i think the reason she doesn't like mariachi bands is because she's uuuuh kinda racist

[crsinclair]

Suddenly remembering a family Christmas Eve dinner that I endured had some years ago at a Mexican restaurant, and though I started off the evening hating it and wishing I had the freedom to leave (I was forced to ride with someone else instead of taking my own car), by the time dinner was over I was quite eager to stay for dessert.

I should preface this by saying that I do not have a healthy relationship with my parents (biological or otherwise). They have never treated me well and the holidays were always, always a bad time for me because they would say words of love and then turn around and do things like gaslight or worse.

Anyways, a story of me being petty and taking advantage of a bad situation!

Now, I couldn't tell you the name of the restaurant to save my life. What I can tell you is that it was a fancy Mexican restaurant, the kind with the servers in white button up shirts, black slacks, and black aprons, they brought their fajitas out on a cart still cooking, and they only served certain meats (like cabrito) on an actual, literal spit that they brought to the table and let you carve up there. All the dishes were frightfully expensive, too.

I was not allowed to get anything expensive, no, but everyone else got to order fajitas and margaritas and that delicious goat meat and -

*deep breaths*

Anyways, I was not having a good time. I wasn't able to get anything good, nobody was ordering any fucking queso, and the place was crowded so I couldn't even hear most of my family talking. My step-dad was poking fun at me for being a grump, my mother was trying to tell me to cheer up because I was ruining the night, my grandmother was telling me to think godly thoughts, my aunts were looking at me in concern, my brothers were not getting involved (and honestly looking back I don't blame them), and my Gung Gung was just looking forward to cabrito.

About five minutes after we ordered our main dishes, though, the Mariachi band arrived.

They came in and immediately started playing music. Loud, obnoxious, in-your-face music. The restaurant was already loud, but oh, suddenly it was much, much louder.

My mother groaned and made a disgusted face. "Ugh, Mariachi bands."

"What's wrong with Mariachi bands?" I asked.

"Nothing, I guess," she said, shrugging, but her disgust did not fade. "I just don't like them. I just really, really don't like them."

So I looked at the band with intrigue.

For a while I just watched them go around the room, playing at tables one by one. I assumed, because people were waving them over, that they were playing music in exchange for some money. That assumption was pretty much confirmed when the band got closer to our table and I leaned over and watched as someone handed one of the band members a 20 dollar bill.

Then our server came by to refill our drinks. She noticed that I was watching the band, and as she poured water into my glass she smiled at me.

"Do you want them to play for your table?" she asked me.

I gave her an awkward smile and a shrug in return. "Oh, I don't have a whole lot of money."

"They've already been paid for by the restaurant," the server told me. "All you have to do is get their attention."

"...Wait, really?"

"Really."

I glanced at my mother. She hadn't noticed my conversation with the server at all.

"...Yeah, I would like them to play for our table."

Less than a minute later the band was right next to our table, and right next to me. All of the members of the band were eagerly looking at me, smiling widely. "What would you like us to play?" one of them asked. "Any requests?"

Still, no one else at the table noticed.

"No, play whatever you feel like," I said, smiling back. "And if you can, when you don't have anybody else flagging you down, please come back to this table? I don't have much, but I can afford at least a few dollars in tips."

That got confused expressions on their faces, but they shrugged, said sure, brought their instruments up into positions, and started to play.

The entire table jumped.

My mother turned around in horror, looking at the Mariachi band members as they started loudly playing and singing Feliz Navidad. She had no idea what the hell was going on, but she didn't like it. "Excuse me!" she called to them. "Can you move, please? You're right next to our table!"

"Of course they are," I piped up, surprising my mother. "I called them over here and asked them to play."

"You what?"

"I thought you noticed," I said, playing innocent. "After all, I'm sitting right next to you."

We stayed at the restaurant for another two hours. The Mariachi band came back to our table many, many times as they said they would - by the fifth visit they cottoned on to what my game was, and they stopped accepting my money. Instead, they happily danced around the table and played even louder. The tables next to ours also became aware of what I was doing, and they laughed each time the band came by.

I gleefully sang along to all the songs they played, even if I didn't know the words. My mother wanted me to stop, to be quiet, but I was "finally having fun, mom, didn't you want me to cheer up?" I even got my aunts to join in, and my step-dad and grandmother were too caught up in their drinks and talking to my Gung Gung to notice anything.

My brothers only sit there and laughed, too.

As we finally left, I was grinning and skipping. "I think I love Mariachi bands," I told my mother.

She could only groan.