This is an all-points bulletin. If you see this vehicle, please steer clear of it. There are dangerous Yankees inside. A male, about 6′ 2″, 185 lbs. glasses, graying, balding hair. Last seen wearing a gaudy yellow-print shirt made to match bad throw pillows and dry-cleaned Dockers. He has a distinctive hang-dog look, no doubt the result of being berated by his traveling companion.
His passenger is a woman in her early 60s, with shoulder-length blond hair, graying at the temples. She’s 5’10 and 170 pounds, although her license will read 120. The fake boob job needs a nip-and-tuck. She was last seen wearing an expensive silk dress of navy blue and yellow print, with navy jacket. She walks 10 feet in front of her companion with her sharp chin pointed every so obvious above the heads of anyone she is speaking to, so that she is always talking down her nose at others.
She is considered dangerous, armed with a sharp tongue and the sort of arrogance that only money can buy.
The two were last seen leaving the parking lot of this hotel:
That hospitality was pushed to the limits today by this Yankee woman and her hang-dog companion.
I was not the only witness to the affair, but I am likely the only one who hunted the pair down and issued an alert.
The Grand Dining Room opens at noon for lunch. They serve a very fine buffet for $16.95, but I opted for the Seafood Gumbo at $8.95.
After I was seated in the lower level that looks out on the Bay.
The hostess made sure to sit me and my companion far away from The Yankee Lady & her companion.
In fact, she took care to seat most everyone far away from The Yankee Lady after that unbecoming scene that had taken place as soon as the doors to the dining room opened.
I had barely noticed The Yankee Lady and her companion when I first arrived at The Grand. They were seated by the fireplace, odd I thought given it was 68 degrees outside. We’d passed the landscape staff planting pansies upon arrival. I’d even stopped to talk to them about the gardens.
My companion and I walked past the couple, made a stop in the coffee shop to look around and read some of the memorabilia hanging on the walls. Then we waited as the staff opened the doors to the lunch-time crowd, which consisted of me and my companion and The Yankee Lady and her Hang-Dog fella.
The Hostess turned to me and asked, “How many in your party?”
“Two,” I replied.
Then from behind me came that VOICE.
That Yankee Lady’s voice.
A bitter, haughty, “I’m better than all you little people” voice.
I’m sure you’ve heard voices like that, haven’t you? It isn’t a voice peculiar to Yankees, but it almost always belongs to people who use money as a tool to demean others.
“I was here first,” she said, as if we were all in a courtroom debating the matter. “I have waited much longer than any of these other people.”
I looked around, searching for the crowd that had muscled their way in front of her.
No one there other than me and my companion.
Oh. Wait. Two other women with silver hair had slipped in behind The Yankee Lady.
I tried smiling at The Yankee Lady. Tried to make eye contact with her to make sure she knew it was perfectly fine that the hostess sat her first. I wasn’t in any hurry. The dining room at the Grand is pretty grand, with lots of big windows for bay watching. I certainly wasn’t trying to elbow my way to the first seat. I just happened to be the first person the Hostess approached.
But the Yankee Lady wasn’t having any of it. She refused to make eye contact, although she was standing less than a foot away from me and directly beside me. She had her shoulders back, chin up and was looking down her nose at everyone around her.
The gap-mouthed Hostess said, “Certainly, follow me.”
Off they strode, the Hang-dog fellow 10 feet behind The Yankee Lady.
“And that folks is a classic example of how money can turn a perfectly decent lady into a total bitch,” I said.
My companion laughed, which was the response I hoped for.
Later, over lunch, we discussed this particular incident.
“That woman simply can’t be from around here,” I said. “Nobody local would ever act that way.”
And, of course, you know I just couldn’t let it rest.
“Harrington,” I said, as our waiter poured me another glass of sweet tea, which is the only way to drink tea, “I will give you $10 to find out something for me.”
Harrington from Jamaica laughed. (That’s what his name tag said.) Harrington looks more like a linebacker for the Steelers than a waiter. After he quit giggling, he said, “How can I help?”
“That lady up by the window?”
“The one in the navy jacket?”
“Yes. Her. The one with the Hang-dog companion. Find out where she’s from. I want to know where she’s from.”
“Okay,” Harrington said.
When he walked away, my companion made a guess as to what state the Yankee Lady was from. She blurted it out, right in front of God and everybody.
“She’s probably from ….” she said.
“Now why would you say that?” I asked. I happen to have spent time in the state she mentioned. I have friends in that state. I know sweet people who live there.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Just everyone in Tennessee says that when the people from …. come down they are always so rude.”
And you know what?
Harrington asked the Hostess who asked The Yankee Lady and sure enough if my girlfriend from Tennessee wasn’t spot on about where that Yankee Lady was from.
We all had a good laugh over that.
I’m glad I know good people from …..
I’m glad I know a lot of good-hearted Yankees. Yankees who would never, ever act like that Yankee Lady did. Truth is, it’s a misnomer to call her a Yankee Lady. It’s an insult to all the Yankees and to all the Ladies I admire.
She’s just a woman who sadly figures her value and worth is all wrapped and tucked neatly away in her pocketbook.
Bless her broken heart.