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Ok so it's not that I hate all people in general.

I happen to be a great lover of man kind.

Really.

But the rude-ass bossy cows of the world do get under my skin.

Or as The Sister-In-Law or The Friend In Baltimore would say, all the bossy Heifer's of the world.

Travel back in time with me to last Thursday.

We were in the kitchen, things were running smoothly. The Madeira sauce was simmering in perfection, the asparagus was waiting its turn in the oven, and the shrimp cocktails were perfectly plump and succulent. I was just in the middle of a joke about the latex gloves we were sporting (just a little Whore Humor) when in rushes the Matron of Honor.

“Ok, we’re here. And this is what you will do.”

I stopped stirring and peeked around the stove to see what was going on.

“The bridesmaids were supposed to cut and serve the cake but we decided on the drive over here that we don’t want to. It’s a pain. So you need to cut the cake. And when you do so, you will need to bring a tray of these pastries to each table, we don’t want to.”

“Ok? Have I made myself clear?”

Dead silence.

Awkward dead silence.

Before any of us had a chance to respond The Bartender slammed into the kitchen mumbling, “Fucking Pigs!”, while she grabbed more Chardonnay from the cooler. “Stupid no good ass holes – BACK UP FROM THE BAR”, was what she mumbled on the way out the door.

The Maid of Honor from Hell stormed out after her wanting to see what "all the fuss was about".

That’s moment pretty much set the tone for how the entire night was going to go. The MOH from Hell spent most of her night in the kitchen barking out orders along with random guests from the party asking for things like "diet Coke", "cocktail sauce with less heat", and "did we put all the smoked salmon out or were we hiding some in the kitchen". All the while The Bartender spent her night coming in and out of the kitchen to shout expletives and head back out into the throngs of drunkards and pigs.

That is how this group was known - The Drunkards and Pigs.

I don’t really know where it all turned. When meeting with The Clients they seemed like perfectly reasonable people. Very organized, very kind. Very willing to step outside the box and try new things.

But somewhere on the week of the wedding it all fell to Hell and everyone lost their damn minds.

And in the process we lost our will to fight. There was no winning with this group. So for the first time ever we worked in silence. Hauling plates and refilling water glasses and restocking the bar. I think it was more the shock of it all that had us so muffled. I just don't know how we could have prepared for any of it.

I don’t think I have ever served such an unruly crowd or dealt with such animals at the bar. People were eating with their hands. With their hands! I mean the people were dressed well, the decorations were stunning, and the food was to die for. But had you not known these people were celebrating a wedding, you would have thought it was a banquet honoring Henry IIIV.

At one point a Bridesmaid came running in the kitchen screaming, "We're having a crisis at the bar - we need help!" and I thought that out of sheer desperation, the bartender had impaled herself on the cork key. "Hurry, come quick!"

So I took off out of the kitchen trying to remember all the things I learned in first-aid class, hoping I could make a tournaquet out of my towel and a wooden spoon.

When I got there I had to actually elbow people to move out of my way. I really expected there to be a lot of blood but what I found instead was a lot of beer. And a lot of people so tightly crowded around the bar it looked like a rugby huddle.

This "crisis" was an untappable keg. The Bartender was trying to tap a fresh keg when one of the Shit For Brains guests thought he could do a better job and he messed it all to heck, causing a fountain of beer every time he pressed to break the seal. And no matter how many times The Bartender asked him to stop, he wouldn't.

I grabbed the tap out of his hand and told him to back up, but he was drunk and belligerent and would not respond to reason so I had to resort to something I vowed I wouldn't do - I dropped an F-Bomb in public. It wasn't loud or vulgar - I mean an F-Bomb is considered vulgar, but I kept it as discrete as I could. I simply squeezed his hand as hard as I could and said very quietly but very clearly through clenched teeth, "Give me the fucking tap or I am going to take it and walk out this door and not one more drop of beer will be served tonight. Got it?"

"She's going to take the tap!!!" He shouted.

Great. NoW I was going to be mobbed and ripped to shreds.

But by the grace of God everyone stepped away from the bar and I was able to get the keg tapped, which now made me the most popular person in all the land.

"You know", I said, "The police are all over tonight with road blocks giving random sobriety tests."

I so totally made that up. But the crowd thinned and the unruly fled to their tables to sober up.

But by this point The Bartender had enough. She went to The Client to inform them she would be leaving. The Client begged, but it was too late.

The Client came in the kitchen to see if we were ok - or "had we been offended." I laughed and said, "Nothing personal, but I think this will be our last job for you."

And with that we walked out the door.

And as we approached The Van, there by the front tire was a nice big pile of vomit.

And that pretty much summed up how we felt about the night, too.

Posted by Foodwhore at December 30, 2004 10:54 PM

Posted by: Amy at December 31, 2004 01:30 PM

Posted by: Cynthia at December 31, 2004 02:43 PM

Posted by: Jeanne at January 1, 2005 10:24 AM

Posted by: Cobby at January 1, 2005 11:29 AM

Posted by: Homefront Six at January 1, 2005 08:26 PM