The lady that had hired me had sent out a mass email that my mother got, and so I had never met her before. When we spoke on the phone, I noticed that she had a very thick French accent- it was so thick, it sounded fake. I later learned that she had gone to college in France, and that she was a professor at three local colleges. As soon as she found out that I take French at school, she instantly slid into French and proceeded to address me almost exclusively in French for the remainder of the evening. I was very proud of myself because I was able to follow almost everything she said.
My family gives a lot of parties, but they bear little resemblance to the party where I worked last night. For one thing, our parties are always much smaller than that, and we usually have separate parties for friends and family. This is partly due to the fact that my parents don't have a ton of bosom friends. They have scores of acquaintances, but not on the order of these people. They actually kissed each other on both cheeks in greeting. It was like being inside a French II textbook!
For another, we always make our own food. Even when my father was leaving the board of Squeaky Wheel and we had all the artists, board members, and all of their spouses come over, we made everything. (That was when Caroline's much-lauded walnut tart made its debut. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water.) Although these people had a lovely kitchen, I got the sense that they aren't good at using it. (Their kitchen had about five of those posters that show multiple varieties of one kind of food with the names underneath the pictures, like chocolate or beans, only all of these posters were about mushrooms. And they were all different. Who likes mushrooms that much?) I could tell because my first task was slicing lemons and limes for people's San Pelegrino (nobody used them), and the lady of the house passed me some slices she had just made. They were thin and sort of ragged. She suggested that I use them also, so I arranged them artfully on the little trays I had been given for the lemons and limes, effectively concealing them.
And finally, my family is not composed of actual sadists who think it's a fun idea to hire a BAGPIPE PLAYER for a BIRTHDAY PARTY. The bagpipe player (bagpipist? I'll just go with "bagpipe player") was a ginger with a Scottish accent, and he wore a kilt. The whole nine yards. He played the bagpipe in the room just next to the hall where I was posted, waiting to take people's coats and shoes. It was absolute agony. And these people actually drew closer to the sound of bagpipes as soon as this guy started playing! I know my first instinct when confronted with the sound of bagpipes is an overwhelming urge to flee. I stood in the hall, gritting my teeth and fighting my perfectly reasonable instincts as I watched all these weirdos clasp their hands together in glee.
In the kitchen, there was a Polish lady who seemed to be some kind of caterer's assistant. As the limits of my job were vaguely defined once people had arrived and gotten settled, I went straight to my comfort zone- the kitchen- and began to help this lady. (I forget her name- it began with J, so that's what I'll call her.) J was very nice to me. She reminded me very much of my grandma, although much younger and much, much shorter- she just reached my shoulder. She came to America in 1972, she said, and she told me, "ever since then, I've just been helping." Really, she was so cute. And she let me have some of the leftover mashed potatoes, too, which was especially nice since I had forgotten to eat before leaving home. Once people's coats and shoes had been settled (which took quite a long time- there were maybe 30 people there!) I went and helped J with the dishes. She washed, and I dried. Washing dishes is very therapeutic to me- I actually just had a conversation with L about it. I find it steadying, because it's a way to help out in unfamiliar territory. That might not be the only reason why, but it's partly why.
All in all, it was an interesting night, and not terribly hand work, especially since I got to keep my shoes off.
1 comment:
wow, you're anastasia krupnik!
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