Friday, October 28, 2005

hors d'oeuvres

Ah, parties. So much fun. Open bar, hors d’oerves the size of tiny crumpled up napkins, and enough Jay-Z spinning to make even Beyoncé vomit. I hate parties. And if you go to them, I also hate you.

Since I’ve spent the past 2.5 years slave to Ron…I haven’t been able to go to any parties. I’ve only gotten to work them. And working them means I have to walk around carrying a tray of fancy finger food, just to make sure all you free loaders don't get hungry. So now, when I hear the word party this is what runs through my brain: no tips, “what is it?”, and every dumb guy and his stupid joke.

No tips: Tips. This is what we waitresses pay our rent with. But when it’s free, people seem to forget this fact. When it costs money, people always pay extra. Explain this logic to me please. And would it kill you every now and then to slip us five bucks. I’m not beggin’ here…but all your obnoxious thank you’s aren’t gonna keep my electricity on.

“What is it?”: What is this fucking question? You’re at a party. You’re drinking for free and probably a little drunk. Like most people, you probably get a little hungry when you’re a little drunk. And there…low and behold before your eyes is a tray of food. Free food. As if God had descended from the sky and answered your silent prayer. And you’ve got the fucking nerve to look at the food and ask, “What is it?” It’s free fucking food, that’s what it is.

The great part is that “It” is usually something common, like chicken on a stick. It’s white meat people. We’ve walked past a Chick Filet. We’ve done this before. But when I answer, “chicken,” for the fifteenth fucking time, they’ll point to the sauce and ask, “Well, what’s that?” When I’ve finally finished describing where chickens come from, they’ll smile coyly, reach for a stick and say, “Well, I don’t usually, but…”

What do you mean, “you don’t usually?” You don’t usually eat? Bitch, you’re pushing two-fifty. The anorexic models who “don’t usually” are in the bathroom snorting coke. Nobody’s fooling anybody here.

Every dumb guy and his stupid joke: If ever you feel the need to make a comment to the waitress carrying food at a party, let me tell you one thing. You are not unique. Your joke about the food, the party, “Mmm, Honey…this chicken is so tender…do you beat it yourself?”…wink, wink… is not original. I just heard it from the past six guys I was forced to feed for free, so put the food in your mouth and shut the fuck up. Last night as I was carrying a tray of coconut chicken, some guy made one of the 8 classic stupid comments. And since my brain couldn’t help thinking a sarcastic reply to his joke, my face didn’t hide my annoyance. He later found me and tried to apologize.

“I’m so sorry, Honey. I don’t want you to be mad at me. I was just trying to cheer you up.”

Cheer me up? I’m 26 years old, with more school under my cocktail dress than half my friends, yet I’m carrying a tray of chicken skewers through a crowd full of drunk people. Cheer me up. At least the sample bitch at Chick Filet doesn’t have to wear heels.

So for the next party, I want to tattoo on my forehead, “Leave me alone. My boyfriend is a big crazy Puerto Rican.” He’s not, but I’m hoping people will see it, and just take their chicken and run.

7 comments:

Jaime Schwarz said...

All I can say is that venting requires someone to vent to so I'm just writing here as proof someone heard your screams. And actually, you didn't answer the question, what kind of sauce was it? ;)

concha said...

good to know someone's listening, man.

and it was a coconut sauce. with a red pepper couli.

RBrown said...

Where are these free food and drink parties with coconut sauce and red couli? I haven't been to one of these since Moses was a baby. When I get an invitation to one, I'll make damned sure to tip...I don't want to be a freeloading bastard.

But here's a question: how do girls tip other girls and not seem like creepy lesbians? I suspect it's kind of charming for a guy to slide you a tenner. Not so much when a sister's just tryin' to help a sister out...and I don't recall seeing the dreaded tip jar at a nice party (one with red pepper couli). Am I blind? Did I miss it?

PS - you probably make more money than the combined salary of 2 jr. copywriters serving chicken skewers. how sad is that for all of us?

concha said...

yes. i do make sick money and it's sad. but do you realize that after my boyfriend and i go to the misfits concert tonight, that i must come home...change into LINGERIE(!) and go back out to another club and whore away my self respect in order to bring in more non tippers to my club. i'll take 35k in manhattan any day.

mophead said...

i hate people who fall asleep at their own parties...muahaha;)

concha said...

are you talking about the time when we fel asleep at your party?

E_McTrouble said...

Your writing sure has taken off since I read your last story/song Life is a W… I am cracking up. And yes, always have a back-up plan. ALWAYS.