« Noah's Ark Builders | Main | Attack Of The Killer Green Beans »

I am starting to wonder if the real reason I do this for a living is for my love of all things food - or if I just love all the things I get to bitch about.

I think I should change the title of this blog to "Diary Of The Food 'Ho-Bitch".

Anyway.

So the trick got moved to the barn. Which, if you were a person trying to find a reason to be greatful, the barn was something to be greatful for. It was shelter from the torrential downpour and enabled the show to go on.

The Bride & Groom were unfazed as the band had a nice place to play, the guests had plenty of room to mingle and all was well in their world.

In my world...not so much.

First off, do you know what that kind of rain and humidity does to my hair? Let's just say Erika Badhu, sans head wrap, has nothing on this Food Whore.

Now, the only available space for me to set up my staging area was off in the corner of the main room. And while we were, indeed, "off in the corner", we were basically the centerpiece of the room, which I hate. One of the best things about being the caterer is the ability to disappear into the kitchen when you need a break from it all. It's that hotbed of gossip and mockery that we so look forward to every time we turn a trick.

We didn't have that. We were bare and exposed for all to see. And if I was an actual Street Walking Whore, I would be all about the exposure. But I am not. I need my privacy.

So, basically, what all this exposure did was created major inconveniences. The greatest of them was the fact that people stood and stared at us.

A lot.

I sort of felt like the gorillas at the zoo and was tempted to scratch my armpits and pick at the head of the person standing next to me. But instead I smiled a lot and made little funny jokes like a guy selling Ginsu knives at the fair and hoped and prayed I didn't have something grotesque hanging out of my nose.

And speaking of the person standing next to me...

She's not a part of our regular staff. She's a hard worker and I appreciate her a lot.

However.

She does not listen. She acts like she's listening, she even nods her head like she's listening. But when push comes to shove, she hasn't heard a damn thing.

And she argued with me.

If I would tell her to check to make sure the flames in the Sterno pots weren't too high under the chafing dishes, she would go over and make sure the caparese salad appetizer was full. Which - I appreciate that she was concerned about the food, but that's not what I asked her to do. And when I told her to get one pot going for coffee and another going for tea, she questioned why.

"Because they are having tea as well as coffee."

"Because they do."

And do you know that she made all coffee and did not allow a pot for tea?

I battled this all night with her and all night I had to resist the temptation to run at her, drag her sorry ass across the barn floor, and slam her face into the mud. Which I know seems incredibly violent. It is incredibly violent. But had you been there and been dealing with her, I promise you would have felt the same.

And then, you know, when you're on display like we were, people just can resist coming over and checking you out.

At one point I was headed back to our little corral when I caught a man with his finger in the pasta sauce (It was an Italian menu) and he deemed it so good that he went to retrieve a piece of bread off the antipasto tray and was heading back to dip his bread in the sauce. Fortunately I got back to the table before he did, which saved me the embarassment of having to yell at him from across the room. I put the lid back on the sauce and covered it up.

"Oh, I was just going to have a little taste."

"Oh, I know, but it was so good and I just want a little taste."

And, you know, if this were a family party I would have let him swipe that bread right through that sauce. But this was a function where guests were milling around and trying to be ok with the fact that the were eating a barn. They certainly would not have appreciated Drunk Old Uncle Harold fingering their food.

So at this point he actually was trying to get at the lid. Now, short of slapping him silly, what was I supposed to do?? I just smiled and moved the sauce to the floor behind our workspace.

He wasn't happy with me. Which, yeah. Whatever. I was trying to serve 300 people food with the smell of manure lingering about the place. The least of my concerns was ticking off a man with no sense and no manners.

There is so much more but frankly, I am tired of hearing myself bitch. Enough already.

The end result was that The Client was beyond thrilled. People raved about the food and everyone was happy. And that is the most important thing.

Well, that and having things to bitch about.

--------

Posted by Foodwhore at August 23, 2004 07:59 PM