Just days before the collapse of Wall Street, I sliced my finger with a paring knife in an Architect's model kitchen on the Upper East Side. As my bright, red blood spurted on the white marble, I ran for the sink to turn on the water. Being a model kitchen, it didn't work, so I slid past the tightly smiling female employee and bled my way to the bathroom.
Simple tray-passing was on the agenda for the night. An Architect and Architectural Digest magazine were teaming up to show the Upper East Side just how large and complicated their unused kitchens could be.
Six kinds of appetizers needed to circulate in a crowded space, which included two stone, spiral stair cases. Our captain warned us it wouldn't be easy, and the architects warned us that we, the caterwaiters, were forbidden to fall down the stairs.
The night's crowd was a hungry crowd. They were Park Avenue residents who were torn apart by food deprivation. They wore ascots and whiskers, hearing aids and tufts of ear hair, skinny jeans and chemical peels. One man in a tan linen suit primped and preened, fluffing out his hair in the mirrored walls of the dining room set. I paused by the bar to stare and snicker with the bartender.
"Um, is he going to whip out a hair dryer?"
I have learned my lesson. Never again will I be "that person." The person who stakes out the caterwaiter to snatch up the croquettes, who grabs her sleeve, yanks her crackers and trails her like a private investigator. I will eat daintily; I will not seek out the caterwaiter with my laser gaze and raise my eyebrows with hopeful expectation.
A portly man with color contacts asked for something "soft" and explained his recent root canal. He grabbed three lobster shumai with one hand while splashing soy sauce down the front of his shirt. A disheveled woman with lipstick on both mouth and face pretended like every time was the first time, "Oh, oh, I couldn't, is this …? Have I tried this one? Oh! hold on, let me just (mouth full) get one more!"
Meanwhile back in the office that was converted into a kitchen, Jasper, a slim, snide caterwaiter offered to pass some trays. I thought it generous and helpful, as he had been bussing trays of empty glasses up the spiral staircase before. Tina the silver-haired veteran, looked at him warily. She leaned toward me, "He's been fired from every company in town, have no idea why he's back."
He seemed appropriately invisible and hadn't fallen down the stairs,
"Fired? Why?"
She mimed the act of taking a croquette off of a platter and popping it into her mouth. Her eyes widened. "Eating! He was always eating. Someone even caught him lining his bag with food."
And sure enough, when I strolled to the model bedroom, he was standing with his back to the door, shoulders hunched, popping shumai like popcorn.
The party was clearing out and we caterwaiters were getting anxious. A blond on a blackberry called out to me from the empty kitchen "What's that?" I was so struck by her
face – the skin's confusing translucency, the small bandages, and her strained youthfulness- that I couldn't choke out the words "tomato tartelette with ricotta salata" and just stared. She slugged her wine and glared "My hands are kind of full anyway."
My task turned to bussing and I hovered impatiently over the remaining vultures milking their pinot grigio. A jovial man in a suit motioned to me, "You know, you have a beautiful smile." Well shit, I love compliments, so I gave him one.
"But, it is very cynical."
"Cynical?"
"Oh yes, cynical and intuitive. I can see on your face that while you are passing trays you are biding your time. I can see that you have a brain!" And he tapped his finger to his head.
"Cynical?" I smirked. "Intuitive?"
"Tell me young lady, do you have a degree?"
"Uh huh."
"What kind?"
"A Bachelor's."
"From where, young lady?"
"Ivy League University."
"And how long have you been out of school?"
"A while."
He chortles. "What's a while?"
I smile intuitively, savoring his accidental compliment. "Over a decade"
He pauses, "And you're doing this?"
--
Oh yes, I AM DOING THIS! Tonight I don my white mandarin/Nehru jacket to pass canapés at an event at the New York Public Library. It's a wonder that in this financial climate, with thousands gathering to protest the bail out on Wall Street today, who on earth is celebrating?
Looks like it's Goldman Sachs having a party tonight, and this caterwaiter is very excited to be a tray-passing fly on the wall! The caterwaiter sees and hears everything!
Simple tray-passing was on the agenda for the night. An Architect and Architectural Digest magazine were teaming up to show the Upper East Side just how large and complicated their unused kitchens could be.
Six kinds of appetizers needed to circulate in a crowded space, which included two stone, spiral stair cases. Our captain warned us it wouldn't be easy, and the architects warned us that we, the caterwaiters, were forbidden to fall down the stairs.
The night's crowd was a hungry crowd. They were Park Avenue residents who were torn apart by food deprivation. They wore ascots and whiskers, hearing aids and tufts of ear hair, skinny jeans and chemical peels. One man in a tan linen suit primped and preened, fluffing out his hair in the mirrored walls of the dining room set. I paused by the bar to stare and snicker with the bartender.
"Um, is he going to whip out a hair dryer?"
I have learned my lesson. Never again will I be "that person." The person who stakes out the caterwaiter to snatch up the croquettes, who grabs her sleeve, yanks her crackers and trails her like a private investigator. I will eat daintily; I will not seek out the caterwaiter with my laser gaze and raise my eyebrows with hopeful expectation.
A portly man with color contacts asked for something "soft" and explained his recent root canal. He grabbed three lobster shumai with one hand while splashing soy sauce down the front of his shirt. A disheveled woman with lipstick on both mouth and face pretended like every time was the first time, "Oh, oh, I couldn't, is this …? Have I tried this one? Oh! hold on, let me just (mouth full) get one more!"
Meanwhile back in the office that was converted into a kitchen, Jasper, a slim, snide caterwaiter offered to pass some trays. I thought it generous and helpful, as he had been bussing trays of empty glasses up the spiral staircase before. Tina the silver-haired veteran, looked at him warily. She leaned toward me, "He's been fired from every company in town, have no idea why he's back."
He seemed appropriately invisible and hadn't fallen down the stairs,
"Fired? Why?"
She mimed the act of taking a croquette off of a platter and popping it into her mouth. Her eyes widened. "Eating! He was always eating. Someone even caught him lining his bag with food."
And sure enough, when I strolled to the model bedroom, he was standing with his back to the door, shoulders hunched, popping shumai like popcorn.
The party was clearing out and we caterwaiters were getting anxious. A blond on a blackberry called out to me from the empty kitchen "What's that?" I was so struck by her
face – the skin's confusing translucency, the small bandages, and her strained youthfulness- that I couldn't choke out the words "tomato tartelette with ricotta salata" and just stared. She slugged her wine and glared "My hands are kind of full anyway."
My task turned to bussing and I hovered impatiently over the remaining vultures milking their pinot grigio. A jovial man in a suit motioned to me, "You know, you have a beautiful smile." Well shit, I love compliments, so I gave him one.
"But, it is very cynical."
"Cynical?"
"Oh yes, cynical and intuitive. I can see on your face that while you are passing trays you are biding your time. I can see that you have a brain!" And he tapped his finger to his head.
"Cynical?" I smirked. "Intuitive?"
"Tell me young lady, do you have a degree?"
"Uh huh."
"What kind?"
"A Bachelor's."
"From where, young lady?"
"Ivy League University."
"And how long have you been out of school?"
"A while."
He chortles. "What's a while?"
I smile intuitively, savoring his accidental compliment. "Over a decade"
He pauses, "And you're doing this?"
--
Oh yes, I AM DOING THIS! Tonight I don my white mandarin/Nehru jacket to pass canapés at an event at the New York Public Library. It's a wonder that in this financial climate, with thousands gathering to protest the bail out on Wall Street today, who on earth is celebrating?
Looks like it's Goldman Sachs having a party tonight, and this caterwaiter is very excited to be a tray-passing fly on the wall! The caterwaiter sees and hears everything!
© Caterwaiter-NYC
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