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So we Tricked for our new friends who make the beer. And it was, quite possibly, the most fun we have ever had at a Trick. At one point in the night I looked around and said, "This is why we do this...this is fabulous ". And because I talk with my hands like a wildly gesturing freak I sort of flailed a paring knife across the work space where, fortunately, no one was standing. And on my way to retrieve said knife I slammed my shin on the open drawer I saw but apparently did not register it as something that would cause me bodily harm.

Anyway.

Everyone and everything was fantastic. The food, the beer, the people - even the weather was a non-issue. I mean, who doesn't love snow in April? On that note, if I don't start getting some sun on my skin I am going to develop mold in my arm pits. Are you with me, people?

The crowd was the type of crowd I like to call 'Salt of the Earth' - real people - people who gather because they truly like one another. People who smile like they don't have a care in the world, and who treat one another with such love. We had pulled the van around to the service door of The Venue and when we got out to unload there was a line of people with their arms out waiting to help us. At first I raised my eyebrow and said, "Are you robbing us? Because in case you didn't notice the missing hubcap - we got nothin'" They all laughed and insisted on helping - this was, as they said, a group effort. All I wanted to do was spend my night giving them hugs and exchanging phone numbers because I knew we could all be BFF's. (Acronyms... I am a little bit behind on the chat lingo, but can I tell you I just found out - after last week's brilliant 30-Rock episode - what the letters MILF stand for. Let's just say - I was off from what I thought it meant...)

So the night went on - the people ate, we served, they ate some more. The music came on - people danced.

And as I was clearing up the food table I got my groove on a little. My head was bobbing and I was singing along, and then I had a tap on my shoulder. Before I could turn around to speak my arm was grabbed and I was pulled onto the dance floor.

And all eyes were on me.

I know the look of horror on my face was clear because the crowd started to cheer - and clap. And I shook my head no and tried to find an escape route but my dance partner wasn't having it - he was bustin' a move all around me and all I was doing was wishing that paring knife had landed on my big toe so I could have a legitimate excuse to hobble away. But I stood there - praying - praying the electricity would go out or that maybe something would start on fire in the kitchen.

I mean, I am all about having a good time and being a good sport - but sweet merciful Jesus I cannot dance. I've said it before - my moves are comparible to someone being tasered or an octopus who's got one arm caught in the jaw of something fierce. It's just... well... bad. But I knew I couldn't stand there much longer because people were staring, and I didn't want to be a big poop. So I did the only thing I knew I could do - I started rolling fist over fist in what can only be described as my very bad version of The Hustle.

The Crowd went wild.

I prayed for death.

Fortunately the song ended and My Dancing Partner took pity on me and allowed me to graciously leave the floor. And because I am me - I smiled, waved a little, and on my way back to the kitchen I tripped and ran into the food table.

Good Times.

Posted by Foodwhore at April 23, 2008 01:16 PM

Posted by: Jen in WI at April 23, 2008 10:17 PM

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Posted by: Alida at April 24, 2008 09:30 PM