I was living the dream of an actress in Los Angeles. I had it all–a killer headshot, an impressive resume, and the coveted waitressing job with flexible hours.
During one of my lunch shifts a tall, handsome Latino man sat at my table with his friend. The friend did most of the talking, because Mr. Hottie Patottie didn’t speak fluent English. That didn’t bother me as his gorgeous smile was worth a thousand words. They ordered a couple of ice teas with lemon on the side. Through a bit of small talk, I found out they were Brazilian; and the silent one was a fighter.
‘That’s cool,’ I thought..
Then I told them about how my Grandfather used to box while he was in the Army. And, as a matter of fact, he had won a boxing match which earned him a weekend pass home to see his baby daughter, my Mom, after my Mom was first born.
The friend said that they were into martial arts. This information was a perfect opening to tell them how I had traveled to Thailand a few years prior and was lucky enough to have the amazing experience of sitting front row at a Muay Thai match in Bangkok. I explained that even though the match was pretty rough and a bit bloody, that it had a beautiful flow about it and lots of tradition and rituals.
I looked at my new cute, but quiet friend, and told him that he should take some Muay Thai lessons. I told him that I had seen a few Muay Thai studios in the area, and that I would be happy to write down where I saw them. He gave me another knockout smile and nodded. I left to get their drinks and give them more time to look over their menus.
While at the beverage station preparing my ice teas, one of my fellow waiters came up to me and smacked me in the arm. “What the hell?” he asked me.
“What the hell are you what the helling me about?” I replied.
“That Brazilian guy at table 18, do you have any idea who that guy is?” the waiter questioned.
“No! Should I?” I asked.
“He’s an Ultimate Fighter,” the waiter answered in a tone usually reserved for a two year old.
I looked over at my new friend with his perfect little face and said, “Oh, shut up. You’re messing with me. How could that man be an Ultimate Fighter? Shouldn’t he have cauliflower ears or at least a crooked nose?”
By now a group of waiters had crammed themselves into the beverage station to hear what was going on. “He never gets hit!” continued the know-it-all waiter, “He is the champion!”
“ Well, that would explain his beautiful flawless complexion,” I replied sharply.
Just then another waiter pushed himself to the front of the group and said, “He is the longest reigning champion in the history of the UFC.”
“Yeh,” added yet another waiter. “He is considered the greatest mixed martial artist of all time.”
Now every waiter, who had managed to squeeze themselves into the beverage station, had their smartphones out and were showing me Youtube videos of the champ at table 18 in action. ‘Wow, that guy certainly could kick!’ I thought
I put the two ice teas and the side of lemons onto a tray, turned around, and yelled, “EVERYBODY, GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Like Moses parting the Red Sea, the waiters stepped back one at a time creating a path that allowed me to leave the beverage station and head back to table 18. A bit of a walk of shame, I guess you could call it.
I returned to the champ’s table and served the drinks. I looked at the champ and said, “It has just been brought to my attention that you may have already studied Muay Thai.”
The champ laid his menu down on the table, looked up at me, and finally spoke, “Yes, I have.” Then the champ ordered.
And that, my friends, is the day that I told Anderson Silva to go take some Muay Thai lessons.
FYI...he left me a fat tip.
